Time has passed...

Someone posted a comment: Their brother died and was buried in one of the graves pictured in this blog, in Bhopal. If you're reading this, I'm sorry for your loss. 

I haven't posted anything on this blog for years! In fact, I'd almost forgotten about it. Mostly I write on my "Living with Loss" blog which you can find at avalleyjournal.co.uk  

It's been almost 6 years since I wrote anything here. 2017 feels a lifetime away. In many respects, it is.

I had kidney cancer in 2015. In 2016 I started the "Living with Loss" project. Since then it's been non-stop. I've run - how many retreats? Perhaps 30 or 40?  I've met hundreds of people and have been able to walk beside them in their grief. I also have a few people working with me now. Small beginnings have led to something quite established. It wouldn't have happened without Bhopal!  

I do all of this in honour and memory of my children Pax and Catherine, of course.

Last week I was interviewed for a short film on grief. Not my first filming experience of the year! I was on BBC TV in January!

I told the film crew ever so briefly about Bhopal and said if they ever got funding, it would be a great trip to revisit on film. Anyway... 

In 2020 the pandemic sent our world spinning, or rather stationary in some respects. 

Dear Father Arul, who had helped us so much with creating the memorial site for Pax, sadly died from Covid-19. A man who gave his life to help the poor people he lived amongst sadly was taken too soon. 

In 2021 my second brother died from pancreatic cancer. That happened very quickly. I'm glad I got to see him before he passed. 

The only member of my immediate family who is still living is my sister, but she is in New Zealand and I haven't seen her since 1973. 

My husband John got diagnosed with bowel cancer one year ago, precisely. Happily, he is still with us, and his treatment has been successful. 

I became a pensioner! But I haven't retired. I seem to be getting busier every year. I hope next year to slow things down. 

I still miss my children. I always will. 

On a Welsh mountain this spring. I do love green spaces.

    

And there went 2017

I tend to forget this blog even exists, but I just discovered ot and did a brief reliving of our trip to Bhopal. I'm so glad I wrote it down because my memory is hazy.

2017 is finishing in a few hours. My heartbreak at losing Pax and Catherine is deep and sometimes still quite unbelievable, but most of the time it is not as raw and I can manage it.

I laugh sometimes, I enjoy things, but then I have to look at them and check they're okay with me.

This year was free of major disasters. Simon's health has inconvenienced him but it isnt too serious. I am steadily stronger, still cancer free.

The biggest thing this year was supporting other people in their grief journeys. This is now the major focus of my work but Im not sure how long to continue. Sometimes emotionally it is very costly. The nice thing though is people apppreciating the help plus more people getting to know about Pax and Catherine. So thats somewhat of a legacy.

I am learning to drive. I failed my first test bit am hopeful for the next.

And so life continues for me.

2017. Over and out

2016 came and went

It's Pax's birthday today. He would be 38 which is hard for me to imagine. I try to picture him as a young man, nearly 40! but that's a challenge. I haven't seen him in 35 years. Do we grow older in heaven?

I haven't posted on here for a long time. I had a strange 2016 which seems to have passed in a blur.

2015 (the last time I posted!) ended quite dramatically, as it turned out I had cancer. I had surgery to remove my kidney, discovered it was a stage 3 cancer but they got it all out, and have spent the past year trying to regain my strength. Also been busy, published another book, started leading bereavement support events, got involved with other charities, so it wasn't like recovering was spent sitting around. Rather the opposite, as I have tried to get my energy back. But it's like being in slow motion. I'm at perhaps 60% strength of what I was before. I am thankful to be alive, but wish I felt a bit more so.

Who knows what 2017 has in store. We'll see.

Saved from the troubles of this life

I don't write here very much these days - mostly I blog on my "Valley Journal" blog.

This one is for more personal reflections.

Pax died 33 years ago.

Catherine died four and a half years ago.

Since Catherine died, I got peripheral neuropathy. My arthritic knee deteriorated rapidly. My mother and brother died suddenly. I had knee replacement surgery to fix my knee. And now I have a tumour in my kidney which may or may not be malignant and am awaiting surgery.

Catherine had a tender heart and kind nature, but mentally - due to her condition - she had a hard time dealing with things. An elderly aunt who she hardly knew died and she ended up back in hospital. So it is hard to imagine how she would have dealt with all of this.

"Good people pass away; the godly often die before their time. But no one seems to care or wonder why. No one seems to understand that God is protecting them from the evil to come." (Isaiah 57:1) 

I'm actually at a point that I am relieved that Catherine and Pax have been protected from the evil of this world. May they be at peace, and watching over me as I walk through this next valley. 

The passing of time: Bereavedhood

I haven't posted anything new here for a long time. I have another blog (www.avalleyjournal.co.uk) in which I write about more general bereavement subjects. I was trying to make that one "supportive" and this one "personal" but I almost forgot...

Catherine's 4th anniversary came and went, preceded a week earlier by my mother's anniversary and the death of my mother's sister. At 94-ish, that wasn't a surprise, and we weren't close, so it didn't have much impact on me except a sadness at the passing of generations. A month before that was my brother's anniversary.

So from early March to the middle of April, I was anniversaried, and now I'm coming closer to Pax's.

March-April-May are not happy months for me, which is a warning about that which follows.

Lots of other things are trying to drag me down at the moment. For the first time in my life, I don't have any required work to do, any projects that I must pursue, or anybody to take care of. (Hubby retired and we have enough to scrape by.) I do some health and social care related volunteering, I help with writing articles and leaflets on bereavement, I do the occasional other nice thing. I've been trying (not too hard) to promote my "A Valley Journal" book but it's not going far.  A major writing/editing project that threaded through my previous decades has now come to a complete end, and a book proposal with a new publisher has been rejected. It would have been me something else to put my teeth into.

I do have lots of other stuff in the pipeline that I'm working on, but none of it is essential.
I don't seem to be able to put my weight down on anything in particular. A bit of this, a bit of that. I can work on one of those projects for a few hours, or play the piano, or paint, or read a book, potter in the garden, or look at the sky. I bet some people would love to be in this state of liberty, but it's not helpful for me. To feel un-needed by life in general and rather directionless is not healthy in my bereaved state.

Bereaved state. That's not something that many people understand.  I don't know why, because we have words for states:

Motherhood, fatherhood, parenthood ...

And me: bereavedhood.

That's it for now.

We sold Catherine's bike today

Ever since my mother and brother died, there have been so many things to sell and give away. I worked on that with my older brother...the house went in the middle of October, and now there are just some electronics.

It was necessity and it got me into the rhythm of moving things along. So today, finally, we sold Catherine's bike. I was a bit emotional. (I think the guy who came to look at it probably thought I was a bit crazy.) I held onto the handlebars for one last time... and it is gone. May its new rider enjoy the bike

We're going to use the money for something that we'll use often, like maybe a car radio or something like that. So that it's not just absorbed into food and household expenses...but there's a replacement for the bike

I suppose it says something about me and where things are that I have managed to part with it.

And it says something else that I'm writing this blog again!

Another passing, another aniversary

I feel as though I'm living on the border between life and death. Not because of myself, but all that's happened.

6th March, my brother died.

6th April,  my mother died. (To a very extent, a consequence of 6th March.)

And tomorrow is Catherine's 3rd anniversary...on Palm Sunday.

Surprisingly,  I am feeling quite calm now. The hope of Easter is filling my heart. I can't really explain it but I'm coping, even relaxed. I don't know how I will be tomorrow morning but that's how it is at the moment.

If you're celebrating mass tomorrow, or even if not, please remember Catherine in your prayers. And Pax too of course.

(The picture is Catherine with my mum, about 2009)

Events

It's been more than a month since I posted anything here. I hope you haven't given up on me. It has just been too eventful a time; I haven't had any energy or even moments to reflect here. So this is a little catch-up.

On Wednesday 5 March, my dear husband left on a trip to Australia to visit his family (from his first marriage). It is the first time he's been back there since we lost Catherine, and I guess for a long time it would have been really tough for me to be left alone. But I have been busier and more engaged with life recently, and I felt ready to "brave it". So I encouraged him to go on this trip; it was time. So that was Wednesday.

On Thursday 6 March, I got the final report from the Parliamentary Ombudsman for Health regarding my complaint into the care of Catherine by the NHS Trust prior to her death. It has been a long journey to get that, and though it was partially satisfactory, it wasn't entirely. Also, getting the "final" report was another ending. It left me quite shaky. (I may write about it more another time. I'm still trying to absorb it.) That was Thursday.

On Friday 7 March, approximately 8 am, I got a call from my older brother to say that my second brother J had unexpectedly collapsed and died. They live in another city, but I was able to get a train and get there within a couple of hours. J had been the full-time carer for my elderly mother, 91, with cancer and almost blind. She was confused and heartbroken, quite naturally. I know too much about being a bereaved mother.

And basically since that date, one month ago, I've been going back and forth between here and there. My mother is now in a nursing home but already frail before this happened, she has since deteriorated a lot, and will not last much longer.

If you have followed my blog, you know that trains have a lot of significance in my life's journey. Tomorrow I will be going to the station where I last saw Catherine alive--on exactly the 3rd anniversary of that trip to the station. From there I will be taking the train back to the other city...and it is possible--actually likely--that by the time I come back I will have said goodbye to my mother for the last time in this life. So this probably another final train trip.

There is a lot of sorrow and stress in all of this. But a few things have come into focus:

-- There is no bereavement like losing a child. No matter how much or little you love someone, there is a natural order in the death of the older person. It is painful, but somehow dealing with it is more within reach. But there is nothing "natural" about losing a child. That is agony, pure and simple.

-- To have lost both of my children, to be without the possibility of grandchildren, of descendants, to miss my children, is constantly with me. Sometimes the grief is more bearable than other times, but it is ever present. Nothing and nobody can take their place.

-- To be a Christian means to have hope, and to have love as the pre-eminent value in life. That is a REALLY GOOD THING! Whatever the next life holds, having the security of a God of love, who puts love at the top of his list, who loves us unconditionally, and teaches us to do the same, is what I value the most. Thank God for Jesus.  

Breathing again

I've finally come up for air, climbing out of that deep, dark place. It's been an easier week. Partly because my wisdom tooth extraction finally stopped hurting; partly because I finally recovered completely from the flu; partly because the manager at the office of the Parliamentary Health Ombudsman kept saying Catherine's name during our phone conversation. He probably has no idea how much it meant to me to hear her name. There were other reasons too, but you get the idea.

Going back to feeling a bit more cheerful, all I can really say is what I often say: Grief is spiral journey, and you don't know when you're going to end up in a dark place, but eventually you come out into a slightly brighter space.

Snowdrops peeking out of Catherine's grave; bittersweet teardrops. 

Zero fillings

(Wrote this a few weeks ago. Forgot to post it. Might as well.)

Yesterday I went to the dentist, a dreaded but necessary visit. That's not the point.

While I was waiting, that's the point.

Every time I visit the dentist  I think back to Catherine and the gum problems she had in the period prior to her death, and how scared she was to be told she may lose all her teeth. In mental health terms, that is termed "catastrophising" or something like that--when a piece of information is blown up out of proportion. While it's true that with severe gum disease you can  lose all your teeth, it would have to be really severe, and I think the dentist was just trying to push her to take better care.

Then I remember going with Cath for her last dentist appointment, and sitting in the waiting room, and her coming out quite happy saying everything was fine.

Yesterday my thoughts also turned to another aspect of Catherine and dentists. She never had any fillings. Nor did Pax, but he was only 3. But Catherine never needed a filling or an extraction, and she was nearly 31.

Credit to her, for taking care of herself, but also some credit to her upbringing--healthy food and more or less avoiding sweets except for occasional chocolate, cakes and pies--oh and icecream, that was another exception, probably the most frequent exception!--but virtually no hard sweets, and hardly any white sugar in her diet at all.

And that's a positive thought. She had a healthy dietary start.

It's SO GREAT when I can manage a positive thought and not just be beating myself up for mistakes and regrets and decisions.

Multiple losses

The loss of my children is the dominant feature of my life now. I'm coming to the end of February 2014. Two months of a new year. There have been days in which I was relatively upbeat, but mostly I find myself in the darker reaches of the valley once more.

There are a few reasons why my grief has become less manageable, I think.

The biggest factor has been a breach of communication with my family. It's a long story and too private to post here; it's not something I can honestly take the blame for. In the past I would have taken it in my stride. Now, it's yet another agonising loss, something I cannot do anything about.

That's the trouble with bereavement, especially sudden, unnatural bereavements. You find yourself disempowered. There is nothing you can do to change what has happened.

For instance, I have really tried to sort things out for my daughter. I sorted out her belongings, I've tried to sort out the problems with the health service's care of her and report into her death. Nothing is going to make any difference though. She isn't coming up.

I tried to make peace with what happened to poor little Pax, with the trip to India (where this blog started). That was something I COULD do. But bringing him back... no that's not within my power.

Now to have another loss--in this case not a loss of life, but a loss of relationship--about which I can do nothing--despite trying over the past 3 months--I have to concede defeat. If I am not wanted by this person, I am not wanted. And I am powerless to change that.

As I started to say, in times gone by I could have just "taken it on the chin", stayed busy, put my mind to something else and leave it aside. But it's another loss; another layer; and has been very hard to bear.

Then I have been sick, and even had a wisdom tooth removed. Between pain and sickness, and out of necessity taking rather more painkillers than I am accustomed to, I am lacking energy in so many ways: physically, mentally, psychically (does that exist?), spiritually, emotionally...

And my better half is going away to the other side of the world for two months. It was my idea; I have promoted it; he needs to spend some time with his family. He hasn't visited them since Catherine died. The last time he went, I missed him, but I managed. This now will be the first time I am properly alone since losing Catherine.

There are other bereaved parents I have "met" on support forums who don't have partners, and I am very fortunate and blessed to have S., but knowing he'll be gone is another loss.

There's an old scripture that's come to mind. "He that loses his life for my sake shall find it." Surely there is something to be found in all of this loss?

I hope so.

PS. If you are following this blog by any chance, you might be interested to know I've started another one, which is a bit more upbeat because I'm trying to promote my forthcoming book. You can find it here A Valley Journal/

Speak and Spell

Passing some time in the waiting room of the specialist arthritis hospital where I come twice a year for check ups.

Cath came with me once on one of her visits. And on her very last visit, she and Simon picked me up and we went for a picnic. Later that does we took her to the train station. That was the last time I saw Cath alive. I can't believe how calm I am writing this.

The first few times I came back to this hospital were very emotional. I was reliving that last day. Now I can manage it. There's always a long wait so lots of time to reflect. Maybe that's why it is more manageable now, I've processed it over and over.

But what got me writing right now was a woman sitting in the waiting room with her daughter, probably 2 or 3 years old. They were playing an educational game on a tablet, spotting letters of the alphabet.

And it made me think of Cath at that age and her "Speak and Spell". I guess it was one of the earliest versions of an electronic educational game device.

Cath was always a great speller. Don't know how much Speak and Spell had to do with it but she enjoyed it.

And that is a happy memory.

(Picture will follow)

 

Spirals

Haven't been having such an easy time of it lately--understatement! There were the Christmas and New Year blues, but more than that, there was trouble with my family, and then the difficulty on working on a response to the Health Ombudsman about the report into Catherine's death.

I suppose what I want to say here--the reason for writing today--is that grief is not a linear journey. You don't get in a vehicle and travel in a straight line, passing one point after the other, or those nicely packaged "stages" that are sometimes referred to. According to that model, finally you get there, to that place of peace where you are reconciled to the loss. I wish it was like that, but it isn't.

No, grief is spiral. You come to a gloomy, dismal point, you think you've gone past it, but then things happen and you find yourself there again.

An old friend has been posting comments on this blog, so this has led me to re-read some of my posts from a year ago. I just read about "finding joy", and at the moment I can barely imagine what that felt like! But it was me who wrote it!!

It's odd the things that knock me for a loop. Over Christmas I watched the final of "Strictly Come Dancing" which is a bit of silly entertainment TV that I quite enjoy. I consider Strictly as "safe" viewing as there's nothing about death or mental illness or disaster which would drag me down into a sad train of thought.--One of the hazards of film, television and news watching.

But even Strictly wasn't safe after all. Because there was a young woman, dancing beautifully, and there was her mum sitting watching proudly and emotionally. There, just there, is that relationship I miss: Mother and daughter, proud and happy. Mother and daughter, together. Mother and daughter, making memories.

I don't have enough memories of Pax and Catherine. There can never be enough, because it should be the other way round. I should be gone, they should be the ones who will be remembering their mum.

Pax's birthday message received from Bhopal

What a lovely message to receive today from Bhopal! My heart is so touched

------------------------------------------------

Dear Loving Friends Abi and Simon,

wishing you all a Very Happy New Year from me Fr. Stan and Mr. Kenny.May this new year be filled with God's mighty blessings, Peace and Prosperity.  They express their gratitude towards your Christmas gift which I have shared with them.

Today is the birthday of our Pax. Morning onward  our Kenny decorated his grave with flowers and lighted candles. I am happy to inform you that I did offer a Holy Mass for the repose of his soul. May our good Lord keep him in heaven as little angel to sing and pray for you all.  May our Lord bless you and solace and courage to you.This is my humble prayer for you and May His soul rest in Peace.

Thank you so much for your great support and encouragement in our mission. I deeply appreciate and admire your sacrifice you make towards the poorest children education. Thanks for your friendship and spirit of solidarity. Our best wishes and greetings to Simon please.

Yours true friend,

Fr. Arul Samy 

Happy birthday, Pax

3rd January. Pax was born in 1979. He would have been 35 tomorrow (today in an hour)

This time last year, we were getting ready for our big trip to Bhopal. Thank God for all the wonderful people who helped us on our journey... Sandeep, Savita, Father Anton, Father Samy, Joaquim, Kenny, and nameless car drivers and others.

I am glad Pax now has a tomb; I'm so glad we located his grave. I'm glad that so many more people remember Pax, he has made it into many more consciousnesses than we know.

But I still wish that rather than all that, he was here.

God give me strength for this childless future

Christmas 2013

It's Boxing Day today. Making it through the 3rd Christmas without Catherine.

We have a few traditions. One started several years before Catherine left; a Christmas eve carol service at a Catholic church. We took Catherine one year, and on the empty pew to my right, I kept thinking of her. I managed better this year as far as singing, but when it got to "Away in a Manger" I wept. My children in His tender care...

Before the service we went up to Alton and lay a wreath and some candles.

Then the next tradition is new since Catherine went away. I didn't know how I'd survive the first Christmas and we found a church that does a big meal for the elderly, lonely and poor and so this was an ideal place for us to help out. They serve over 300 people, I think. Anyways Christmas morning was our third year there. I helped pack up salad boxes for the "meals on wheels" that were delivered around the city. Simon made balloons to entertain the guests while they waited for their meal. It was good.

Came back tired. Simon slept and I watched "Carols from Kings" (on Iplayer--missed it on Christmas Eve). I was so glad for the peace; I had candles lit for Pax and Catherine, and a special candle for the other parents who are childless, and just reflected.

We have an old friend staying. As young teens, Catherine was good friends with his son, who is now an accountant and married with two children. His younger daughter is also married with two. And Simon, as you know, has 9 children, about 14 (???) grandchildren and 2 more on the way this spring. So as you do, yo talk about what's so-and-so doing, and how's so-and-so, and how tall that one has grown, etc.

And I smile, joining in their happiness.

But there's a knife in my own soul. My own children are fixed in time. They're not getting older or taller, they're not getting new jobs, new partners, new anything.

All I have our memories, and how happy I am when an old friend pops up online or somewhere with some fresh anecdotes. These comments have appeared on Catherine's Facebook page, a friend from her time in Birmingham.


Miss you loads Catherine! Miss our shopping trips up town and trying to con our way into the wedding dress shops to try on wedding dresses! Miss trying every possible perfume on in Debenhams and the laughs we had xxx

We used to talk about our dreams of marrying our boyfriends, what we would have at our weddings and what colour scheme we would have. When we tried to con our way into wedding shops, we were told that we needed proof of pending marriage from a church to be able to try anything on - not that it stopped us!!! One of the funniest times we had was when we were shopping in the sales and there were a lot of things on sale in a shop called La Senza; well, I decided to get a knicker and bra set that was quite sexy; anyway, when I got to the cashier, she asked me was it a present and did it need wrapping, or was it for me? Then out of nowhere, the most gorgeous man who was also in the queue piped up and said at the top of his voice "No, it's not for her, it's for her boyfriend!!" Catherine and I just fell about laughing, it was so funny!! xxx

I thank God for the happy memories, but my heart breaks for the memories that it is too late to create, the "what could have beens".

Rest in peace, Pax and Catherine.

Catherine's mountain bike

The last years of Catherine's life were fraught with difficult due to her mental health condition. There were a lot of bad moments, bad days, bad months. Of course it wasn't all like that, but when she first passed on, it was difficult for me to remember anything good or happy; it seems to be a natural part of the reaction to a sudden death.

But gradually, I have been able to enjoy the better memories of her life.

One of the good things she enjoyed was her bike.

I can't remember if she bought it herself or split the cost with her boyfriend of the time, Leigh. It's a good bike, a mountain bike with lots of gears and stuff.

She used to ride here and there. Her concentration wasn't very good, partly because of her medication, and she never had a very good sense of direction, but she seems to have found places to ride.

Then there are the funny stories of her cycling off far away and Leigh needing to pick her up, or her leaving her bike outside a shop or something and it needing to be picked up. She also cycled at the gym -"spin classes" - but the bike was hers. She kept it in her front room to preserve it from the rain and elements. Guess it shows how she valued it.

Here's Catherine's bike, as she had it in her front room.

We gave away a lot of Catherine's furniture, but kept her favourites. Her dining table, sofa and rug are in our living room. Her treasured bike went into our garage, still kept safe from rain, sun and snow.

However, we know that neither Simon and I will ever be able to use it. We've both got short legs. Simon had his knees replaced and loves to cycle, but we had to get a lower framed bike for him. I have arthritis and my knees have never been able to manage cycling, and even if they could, I also couldn't get up on this bike.

Realising this, I decided the time had come to sell it. It's never going to do us any good; let someone else enjoy it, and we can use the funds we get from the sale to get something we can use that will be a lasting happy memory of Catherine's happy memories of the bike. Maybe a car radio or something like that which we'll use for a long time.

So Simon took pictures and posted an advertisement on "Gumtree." We put a decent price on the ad, and didn't go to a lot of effort. Then, oh no! two days ago someone responded to the advert and wants to come and see the bike with a view to buying it.

It was at that moment that I realised just how difficult it was going to be for me to part with the bike. Even though I can rationalise the sale completely, it makes me upset to even think of parting with it. We'll have pictures, we'll have the memories, maybe Simon could take a picture of me next to it to add to our photo-memory, and Catherine herself wasn't one for hoarding things and regularly got rid of things she didn't need or like any more. So, from the rational point of view, this is the right decision.

But emotions and feelings aren't rational, are they.

The idea that Catherine was happy on the bike, that she sat on it and smiled, that her hands were on the handlebars and at those moments she was happy, make the bike much more than a bike. It's like a depository of good memories.

But... the memories won't go when the bike goes. So logic says, it's time to sell.

Simon hasn't contacted the prospective buyer yet. He says he'll get around to it. So we'll see. For now, the bike is still safely in our garage. I kind of hope he doesn't make the call and the bike doesn't sell, not yet...maybe I'm just not ready.

It'll be another goodbye, and however you look at it, goodbyes are sad.

Looks like I have a publisher for "The Valley Journal"

A chain of events. Simon and I had a stand at a Christian Resources Exhibition. We had free tickets to give away and send some to friends. Avril sent the ticket to her brother Steve. He attended the exhibition. While there, he met an innovative Christian publishers and invited them to a Christian Writers Book Fair. Avril invited me to the same Fair. And that's where I met the publishers who want to take on "The Valley Journal."

It's a bit like the tale of "for the want of a nail the shoe was lost....and the kingdom was lost, all for the want of a nail", but in reverse. Each event linked on to the next, hopefully bringing this project to fruition.

Well, we're not there yet, but it's a positive step.

Need to pray for the finances as we are going to need some to get it moving, but I believe it will work out.

How nice, to have something positive to write.

None of this brings my children back of course, but it does make them better known--memorialising my children is very important for me, as you full well know if you have followed this blog! And it does also give me hope that I can help others, as incapable as I feel.

It was All Soul's Day when we met the publishers. It all seems to fit, doesn't it?

This is the memorial wall in the small park opposite our house. When they built the wall, the residents were given the opportunity to have memorial bricks put in for their loved ones. So we went for these. As my children aren't  known around here, obviously, I put my name to kind of anchor their presence. I can see the wall from my office window. But I hope now I can do more living memorials

All souls day

November, the month of remembrance

• It's All Hallows Eve. Tomorrow is November 1st, All Saints Day, And then comes November 2nd, All Souls Day. It's the month for remembering.

Of course foremost in my mind there's Catherine and Pax.  But there are some other folk I'd like to write about here as well.

I'll start with an old friend who I haven't seen in more than a decade, probably more. He was a Hungarian Doctor I knew as Luke but that was an adopted name,. I heard that he passed away last week. He was a kind man who always had time for his friends and patients. God bless him, may he be at peace.

Then there's Jonathan, an artist who was a bit of a crazy missionary. All he wanted to do was go to Congo. We gave him a place to stay while he had medical treatment, and later on again, I think it was 4 September's ago. Then he went to stay with his son, still with plans to go to Africa, and then he passed suddenly. May he be at peace.

Then there's another friend, Libby, who died about 20 years ago.And there's  Joy, the wife of Joaquim should helped us find Pax’s grave place. She passed a couple of years after Pax.And another Joy, mother of many children who succumbed to cancer.

May they all be at peace with God.

I suppose the older we get, the more losses. All losses hurt, but there is particularly pain when they're untimely.

I'm going to be writing some articles about this for the magazine of a bereavement support charity. I vwrote one already, but that was on my own experience. These are going to be general well not really general, but not about my own situation.

 The first is going to be on complicated grief, when the person you have lost had an unhappy or difficult life before their death. Maybe they had been in prison, or on drugs, or suffered a painful physical or mental illness. Their departure might leave you without quite a bit of confusion--sorrow mixed with just perhaps a little relief that their suffering is over, and possibly a lot of unresolved issues.

The second is going to be on anticipated grief. If you're caring for someone, old or young, and you know their condition is terminal, how do you react when the inevitable arrives?

The idea of writing these is to help people by putting into words what they may be feeling, and giving them some thoughts on how to deal with those feelings. I feel very unqualified to do thus, but the articles will be edited and checked by professional counsellors.

If you're reading this and have any thoughts that could guide me, please let me know.

The other major project closest to my heart is my book The Valley Journal. I've had lots if interest but am still waiting for the "right" lead for it. Just want to see it used.

And so this is life after death--my life, after my children's death. A lot of what I do is on the death subject, but not all, it's just what I focus on here.

Tomorrow I'm helping out at a charity event with Simon, and then we'll go to Alton and bring the children flowers. May their souls be at peace. I miss them more than I can ever express and am just trying to survive by finding meaningful, helpful things to do. I hope I can.

Another month gone by

Had a very busy month, at least relatively busy for me. I don't seem to have the mental/emotional/physical resources for as much as I used to. Now if I am busy with something for a few days it seems like I need the rest of the week to recover.

Early in October Simon and I had a stand at a Christian Resources Exhibition. It's hard to be positive about the sale of books--it didn't go well at all. What ended up being more of a focal point was a draft I have printed out of my bereavement support book, "The Valley Journal". I hope some of the people I talked with may end up being leads that will bring the book into a properly published state. It's quite easy to self-publish but I want this book to circulate.

Anyway all the effort that went into getting ready for the exhibition, then doing the exhibition, left me utterly exhausted. And since then I have flitted from one thing to another. A bit of work (essential), some meetings as part of the charity work I'm involved with, and some gardening. Lots of walks in the autumn sunshine/rain.

It's hard to focus.

But here I am!