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!

The garden; marking the passing of time

Time is so relative, isn't it.

It feels like a decade since Catherine left, but today it is only 2 years and 5 months, exactly.

I don't know where the time has gone; how long or short it has been. It is immeasurable.

For Pax, it's over 31 years. That doesn't make any sense. I miss him!!

The lifespan of Pax was short, just about 3 years and 5 months, which is roughly how long we have lived in this house. It is a "new build". We moved in at the beginning of February 2010.

This was our back garden when we moved in. It's a blank canvas, rather like a person's life at birth. It exists in time and space. There are limits to its length and width--I suppose that might mean that's as far as their life will go. There is a foundation of soil and grass, rather like the baby's genetic inheritance.

It's quite a small garden space, as British gardens go, but it still has potential. Here it is today, 13 September 2013

I think it looks bigger. We've packed so much in -- it's been one of my main therapies.

Catherine gave us the bird feeder (in front of the conifer) as a moving-in present.
We put up the summer house after Catherine passed away. That became my little garden sanctuary.
The lavender bushes (back wall and front right) were small bushes we brought with us from our previous house(s). Some grew and multiplied; some didn't survive. The apple trees (right side, difficult to see) were also presents from Catherine. This year they're covered with young apples that are hopefully going to ripen.
The centre piece has a  pond with 9 goldfish. Most of the flowers still in bloom grew from seeds. We get loads of sparrows virtually living in the garden now. We also have ducks, a dove and badgers, but they're made of stone and painted. You can't see the greenhouse (hard to get a full view) but it's full of tomatoes.

I love our little garden, with all its imperfections. I spend a lot of time in it, and I enjoy its company. No amount of photos or little video clips can properly express it. I can't share with you the scent of the flowers nor the feeling of peace and safety when I'm sitting in the summer house. Yes, a lot has happened in 3 1/2 years, more than anyone can understand, much more than even I can recall.

A lot happened in Pax's little life of 3 1/2 years. There are pictures and videos, memories I can tell you about, as well memories that I have now lost. He was here; the walls of his garden were very tight (3 1/2 years only). His life was short but precious. He is loved.

A lot happened in Catherine's life, just short of 31 years. I can't begin to express it all. But she was here. She was loved; she IS loved.

What is our life? Is it like the empty space of a new garden, more or less a blank canvas that we work with? How much difference does it make if it covers acres of territory or is just small and limited? I'd rather have a big rolling garden like this one we visited last week in Wales, but that is not one on my life's possibilities. (And how many people could ever have a garden like this?)

Bodnant Garden, near Conwy in North Wales

So I've worked with what I have, and made the best of it. But there have been factors that I can't control:

- The foundations, or genetic inheritance. --We have some nasty perennial weeds in our garden that were no doubt in the soil when we got here. We're never going to get rid of them; they go too deep. I couldn't prevent my children having genetic anomalies.

- The climate and vagaries of the weather. --We can water the garden when it's a hot dry spell, but we can't bring out the sun, nor keep away the torrential rain, nor cover it with fleece to keep it warm in winter. I couldn't protect my children from all difficulties and sorrows.

I've done my best with my garden; sometimes when the plants aren't doing well or the roses are attacked by aphids I'm discouraged and feel that my best is never good enough.

And that is the hardest part of my life now; feeling that no matter how much I love and loved my children, no matter how much I tried to care for them, it wasn't good enough. People tell me that's it not the case, but it's hard to move away from that feeling. Hard to be alive when my children aren't. But that is where I am, and there is little I can do to change it.

Dreams

Recipe for a better start to the day: Dreaming of Catherine as a little girl, playing and happy and so full of life.

Recipe for a worse day: Having TV-induced nightmare, waking up trembling, then realising that the reality is worse than the nightmare. Both of my children are gone.

Can't control dreams. You know what I'd choose.

2 candles

Every night I light 2 candles, one for Pax and one for Catherine. I leave them burning until I'm ready to (try to) go to sleep. Then I pray for the children, or I talk to them, and blow them out.

I keep the matches I use to light the candles, eventually burning them, and keeping the ashes.

Yes I have a box of ashes from the matches from the candles.

I Have many physical reminders of my children all around me, and I bet some people reading this might wish me to "move on ".

But it doesn't make any difference whether I have these comforting little rituals. My sorrow and loss is not going away. I can be somewhere completely new, watching something I've never seen before --like yesterday at the gymnastic display at a country fair, and My thoughts go to my kids and the experiences they did and didn't have.

That's the story of a bereaved mother.

Catherine with the dog we got her. His name was Barney and he was a good companion until she was nolonger able to take care of him.

 Catherine aged about 2, having a run around with a ball.

Pax feeding pigeons, about 2

Where have I been, and what's in my head (microchimerism)

What happened to this blog? I have been in a silent stage. I don't have much to say, at least not here. Been doing a lot of introspection and my-life-until-now-spection. Cannot see my way to any future-spection!

On a forum for bereaved parents I wrote recently,

"I have emotionally flatlined, and I don't know where to find the pulse."

Sounds very low, doesn't it.

I did also add,

"I'm breathing."

And I suppose that's it; I am still breathing.

It is said that when a woman is pregnant, some of the DNA from the child goes into the mother. Our children literally become part of us.

I'm not imagining things; it's called microchimerism

A serious source: http://singularityhub.com/2013/02/05/new-studies-show-cells-from-fetus-end-up-in-mothers-brains-and-hearts/

And an easy-read version: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2209176/Seattle-cancer-study-DNA-pass-womans-body-foetus-reaching-brain.html

Is it any wonder that my children are on my mind continuously? They may not be alive in the physical sense, but they live in me.

And does that that mean that as long as I am alive, in a sense my children still are? Perhaps my death will be their final physical demise.

I hope someone will remember Pax and Catherine when I die. Perhaps if you're reading this, you're one of those who will. 

Our Bhopal visitor

A few pics with Father Arul from St Francis Cathedral, Bhopal

Newsflash!

Perhaps you're wondering how I could possibly have a newsflash. No, my kids haven't been resurrected, but I do have a piece of news.

If you've been following this blog from the start you know it started with our trip to Bhopal and finding where Pax is buried behind the St Francis Cathedral.

The senior priest from the Cathedral is on sabbatical and visiting England, and so the newsflash is... he's coming to stay with us for a few days next week.

It's going to be like having some of Bhopal right here. "Bhopal in Staffordshire."

We've never hosted a Catholic priest before, but I think we'll manage. I've spoken with the father from the Catholic church in Alton and we'll go there for a visit, as well as the local Catholic church that we always visit on Christmas Eve, and I have a few other similar things lined up.

Rather exciting!

Word-less

Haven't been able to write in awhile; it's been a very difficult time.

Now, imagining this as an in-person or on-the-phone conversation, rather than a monologue, I can imagine the friendly sympathetic, "oh, what happened, is everything all right?"

And I may well choose the easy answer,,"fine, thanks"--easy perhaps, but not quite the full story.

So, what is wrong?  Both of my children are gone. I think that's enough,.

Langos

Langos. A deep-fried Hungarian snack that reminds me of sunny days ambling through the artist village of Szentendre. Days out with Catherine. Ice-cream scoops. Boat trips to and from Budapest along the Danube. Visits to Margaret island where we swam in the open air pools, soaking in the warm sulphur pools. More icecream...It was cheap and good.

Today I was in Hanley, the commercial centre of Stoke on Trent, for a meeting of the charity of which I'm a board member. Afterwards I'll be heading up to Alton to bring fresh flowers to the grave, so once the meeting has ended, I go down to the market under the Potteries Shopping Centre. It's the best place to get flowers before I board the bus, but before buying them I have a quick walk around getting market in search of a sun hat.

I didn't find a hat, but in the far corner there was a small snackbar selling...Langos.

I'm surprised, amused. I don't buy any as I don't actually like them, they're much too greasy for me. But Cath liked Langos, And I just wanted to call her up and tell her my discovery. Better yet,bring her here for a surprise on her next visit.

The sun is shining; it's as hot today as it was those long days ago in Szentendre, and now we have Langos.

But that is not a conversation we'll be having. I could call,  but there's only a recording to greet me. Catherine won't answer and won't be coming for a visit.

I am in agony.

Catherine is not coming back.

PS. Here I am at the foot of Catherine’s grave. I cleaned the cut grass off the headstone, replaced the flowers, watered her lilies, and lit a candle, and had a one-way chat.

How is it that when speaking of friendship or love affairs that "absence makes the love grow stronger", but when referring to someone who has passed away, "time is a great healer." What makes people think that you miss someone less and less after they die? What makes anyone think a bereaved parent can or even should "move on"?

I have some nice memories that I wouldn't have if I'd never been a parent, that's true. But the agony of longing is my strongest emotion now. I want to take Catherine for a Langos, and I can't. Never. Ever. I miss her, and Pax.

And that is the life of a bereaved parent.

Catherine's birthday

Today is 20th June, and yesterday was the 19th--Catherine's birthday. She would have been 33.

Last year I had quite a crisis at birthday-time. (My birthday is 2 days later and we always used to celebrate together. It was a birthday "season" rather than just one day.) And last year I'm sorry to say I went out and drank a bottle of wine with Catherine. As she wasn't there, I had to drink it all. It didn't have a good outcome.

This year dear Simon has been vigilant to help me not be so silly again. Awhile back I saw a video about Georgia (Eastern Europe, not USA) and how the tradition there on certain occasions is to go to the loved one's grave and have a little feast or picnic right there, to include them in the festivity.

So that's kind of what we did yesterday.

Cherry liqueur: A memory of happy times living in Hungary, and a drink that Catherine liked that we both enjoyed back there. When we opened the bottle and sang her "happy birthday", we poured the first and second helpings onto the grave.

Marble cake: Something we served at Catherine's funeral. White and black symbolising that life isn't simple. There are sweet times and bitter times.

Strawberries: Memories of Catherine's childhood, taking her out "Pick Your Own" strawberry picking. And it turned out that Simon had another more recent memory. I can't say I exactly remember this, but he recalled an occasion that Catherine was visiting and we went out to a market and they were selling off the over-ripe strawberries and Catherine bought loads and loads. We ate a lot, she gave us some to keep, and took some home with her.

We also had ready-cooked chicken legs from Tesco, but we didn't end up eating them right there. Catherine loved chicken, and when we would visit her in hospital we would often bring her the cooked chicken like this, as she liked it and requested it. And when we visited her at home, sometimes she'd cook for us but other times she wasn't well enough to cook, so we'd pick up the chicken on the way there. I must confess I don't like it which wasn't a problem when she was around as she'd eat and eat it, but this time she wasn't here... So I left it all for Simon.

Any bereaved parents who are reading this will know how difficult their child's birthday is. I don't know if this "birthday picnic" will appeal to you, but for me, it helped. Also this year, instead of getting tearful because I couldn't buy her a birthday card, I bought a card and brought it to the grave. Well, I still cried when I bought it, but it felt better to do something than nothing.

Something else that got me through the day was posting on Facebook  the theme I have for each of her birthdays, basically: "Do something kind in Catherine's honour and memory", and there were quite a few comments from this person and that. I so much want Catherine to be remembered with love. I wish with all my heart that she is still aware that she is loved and missed.

So that's Catherine's 3rd post-living birthday. It's difficult to conceive that it is always going to be like this. It's not like she's emigrated and might one day return. I'm not so sure she would want to either.

All of this "being busy" helps me survive, but honestly, with both of my children gone, that isn't easy. But survive I am, and now the next stage of busy-ness, besides earning a bit of a living and my new charity work, is doing things to honour their memory. Hopefully that might be the theme of my next post.    

Memorial service for Pax -- pictures

The cemetery in Alton as it is on this day, 27 May 2013. This is the view away from the grave. The building is a maintenance shed. The barrel collects rainwater which people use to water the flowers on their loved one's graves. It's a very well-kept cemetery. It is incredibly peaceful. 

The soil in the bottle is from Pax's actual grave garden in Bhopal.  This is part of what we brought back from India. 

It was quite chilly and raining off and on  by this time. We sat in the car and  read some memorial-type readings. Then  Simon dug a little hole into which we put this blue metal case with the jar of soil and Pax's picture. We prayed over it and then Simon covered it up.

Candle lit for Pax. We bought a pair of these candles in Bhopal. We lit one and left it on his grave at the St Francis Cathedral. Today we lit the other candle here. 

The grave is busy as you can see, with flowers, a bird, and various angels and candles. I also bring small rocks and shells back from trips.

 In January I took soil from Catherine's grave. Some of that soil is now in Bhopal, India. From Bhopal we brought a little soil from Pax's grave. Now that soil is in Alton, England, in Catherine's grave. We have come a full circle.

There is a certain peace in doing all of this, feeling like I have done as much as I can as far as "stone" memorials. But now it is time to start working on living memorials. Not actually start, because I've been doing that already, but more actively and determinedly. I'll write more about that soon...

Rest in peace, Pax. I wish so much to hold you in my arms once more, to hear your voice. Please God there is a place where that will one day be possible. 

Pax Memorial Walk 2013 Photo Log, Part 2

Long delay in continuing this story: We went away, camping! That's another story. First time camping since I left Europe with Catherine and Pax in around March 1981. We'd been camping with E, my first husband, in the Bois de Boulogne in Paris. That's a very long story so I'll go back now to 27th May 2013, travelling north on the "Staffordshire Way" up the River Dove.

There are many "Ways" to walk. They are waymarked with little signposts; it's a public right of way that takes you through woodlands, on small lanes, over hill and dale, and sometimes through private land and farms. The UK is dotted with cycle ways too, and often I prefer to walk on those because they are easy underfoot--but mostly because it's fairly impossible to get lost. They are a very clear path, which the "walking Ways" often are not. And if there's a chance of losing the path, I seem to manage it.

So as you might guess from this, although I started on the Staffordshire Way, and ended up there on the end again, I ended up on a "longcut". But it was interesting.

Here's the photo route.

Approaching the River Dove, just a few hundred yards from Dovebridge.

The Dove at this point weaves through fields, and to cross it there is there rather impressive little footbridge. It's a bridge from nowhere to nowhere. 

After crossing the field, I came to a stile and a few paths going in different directions. Although I had 3  maps in hand--a local walking map from the village, with written instructions, and a proper OS (Ordnance Survey) map, plus another official map of the Staffordshire Way, I wasn't positive which way to go. But there on the step of the stile was a little ladybird, and I figured she was leading me that direction, and it turned out to be correct (for once!)

Took a little detour to look at the old stone bridge. It's no longer in use; I crossed it and there's no path through on the other side. Traffic now speeds along a new bridge on the A50. But this one looks so much nicer. 

View of the Dove from the stone bridge, looking north. 

Happy moment, I know for sure where I am, I'm on the path! It's just a barely visible track through the fields. I hope there won't be cows.

Climbed a hill adjacent to woodland. This is the view looking back towards Dovebridge

Until this point it was a very peaceful walk; I think I'd only seen 2 people since I started out, and both of those were close to Dovebridge. Then, as I kept walking, I started hearing popping sounds, and they got louder until...the Way took me through a Shooting Ground. Don't worry, it was a safe path! These are the little shooting areas, targets, whatever you call them. 

This picture isn't all that is seems. Looks peaceful, doesn't it? But it wasn't! This was just a few yards through the shooting ground, and very closely  within earshot of the guns firing. But I guess the sheep are used to it and didn't seem to notice. 

This lamb had escaped from the field and couldn't his way back in.  The grass looked greener on the other side. Poor little thing was bleating and bleating trying to find a way back to his mum. It was easier to leave than it was to get back. I guess that's a parallel... 

Pretty spot on the riverside, where I sat and had my little picnic lunch. 

Leaving the woodland through the squeeze gate. Looks narrow! I couldn't figure it out at first as most of these stiles need climbing, but on this one, the middle bar lifts up and you squeeze through. 

Woodland walk in Derbyshire. The River Dove forms the border between Derbyshire and Staffordshire, and at this point I was on the Derbyshire side. 

Looking over at Staffordshire. But I've lost the Way! 

This horse seemed keen on having its picture taken. 

It looked like the Way, but it wasn't. 

Contented sheep.

Wooden ducks in the grounds of a posh private school. I ended up on a quiet lane that took me through the property. I found it quite significant as I had been thinking a lot about starting a charitable fund in Pax and Catherine's memory to sponsor the schooling for the poorest children in India and Africa, starting with some of the children in the tribal belt of Madyar Pradesh, the state where Bhopal is. Bhopal itself is a city but there are other rural areas that are desperately poor. Our friend Sandeep, the pastor who had helped us in the search for Pax's grave, does some work in this belt and he told us it costs about £60 to send a child to school for the year. I'll write more about that later, as it's an idea I'm exploring, but that was my main train of thought as I was walking along, so it seemed kind of significant to find myself in a school. (I bet that school charges more than £60 a day, never mind a year!!)

Here's the school

Didn't take photos for awhile as I had to take a long walk down a winding road until I reached the main road, turned left, and eventually made it back to the River. I wasn't really lost as I knew where I was on the map, but I ended up walking a lot further than intended. Eventually I reached the Dove again at the small town of Rocester.

Historical plaque on an old building, dedicated to Richard Arkwright the inventor of the spinning frame, which I guess was a big step towards the advent of the Industrial Revolution....

But the building (on the right) has been modernised, and new buildings added, and it's an Academy. So that's the educational theme continuing, 

I'm still following the River Dove, but I'm on the Limestone Way now. This should take me up to a Garden Centre where I can have tea and wait for Simon to pick me up (he's working in Nottingham today). Unfortunately, this was a good plan but it didn't happen. The Limestone Way seemed to have even fewer clear markings and I lost track of it. I ended up on a long detour, and by then I was really tired. I gave up trying to get to the Garden Centre and decided to head to a little pub in Denstone instead, looking forward to a long cold drink. But somehow... yes I lost the path again and ended up on a muddy woodland hill, scrambling down semi-dry stream beds trying to get to the path. At one point I could see it through a wire  fence, but there was no way through! But finally, I ended up on...the Staffordshire Way again. 

Not the River Dove this time, but the Churnet

My destination. Unfortunately, it was closed!! But more fortunately, Simon wasn't too far off so I sat and waited for him, and then we went to Alton where we had coffee and went to the cemetery for Pax's memorial ceremony.--Next post.

I hope you've enjoyed these pictures, just a small glimpse of Staffordshire and Derbyshire. This walk didn't have to be so long, especially if I'd had a bit more common sense and stopped in Rocester. I hope someone who's reading this might like to accompany me next year on Pax's anniversary for this memorial walk or another one. At least now I know some of the ways NOT to go in order to stay on the Way.

Life's roads don't always take us where we expect, do they. That's the particular pain of being a bereaved parent. You thought you were going somewhere; you have a child, you expect them to see them grow up, have a life of their own. But it doesn't happen. The path you took didn't take you where you expected. I never expected to be here now, with no living children. It is just so difficult to believe. But it's real. This is where I am.

Pax Memorial Walk along the river Dove

Monday was the anniversary for Pax and I spent most of the day on a memorial walk. Pax means peace. A Dove is a symbol of peace. So what better route for a memorial walk than along the River Dove.

I started in a little village called Doveridge. (Simon dropped me off on his way to a booking in Nottingham.)
Starting point was the church of St Cuthbert., which dates back to something like 1400 AD. In the churchyard there's a yew Tree that's around 1400 years old!  Apparently it's the second largest in Derbyshire.

Walkway under the tree, supported by posts.

.to be continued...

Maps and locations

I have discovered more I can do with Google Maps! So here's a little tour of places.

(Each link opens a map in a new window)

Pax was born here (approximately) --Karachi, Pakistan

Pax is laid to rest here --Bhopal, India

Catherine was born here (approximately) --Athens, Greece

Catherine was living here when she passed on --Dudley, England

Catherine is laid to rest here --Alton, England

But where are they now??

The Christian faith to which I cling...

(Cling is the right word--imagine someone thrown off a ship into a stormy, dark, freezing cold sea. This person is a poor swimmer at the best of times, and now in these dire straits, she is utterly desperate. A hand reaches down from the ship. She reaches up. Her hand meets his; she clings on desperately for dear life. Okay, you got the picture, I'm clinging.  Clinging desperately.)

To continue: the Christian faith to which I cling tells me that my children are still alive in the sense of consciousness. The true being, the true self, lives on. Moses and Elijah appeared to Jesus on the Mount. They weren't too dead to hold a conversation. Jesus taught that our God is the God of the living, not the dead. (Matthew 22 if you're interested)



"Whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die," Jesus taught. Well, obviously in the past two thousand years, countless people who believed in him have died. Physically. My own children included. (Catherine was a believer when she was young, though more confused about it in adulthood. Still, she was  taking the Lord's Supper at services in hospital during her last admission. I have a feeling that she too was clinging, but only she can tell us what she was really thinking...)

But back to the promise "shall never die." Physically, they have, they do, we will. But our inner self, the bit that goes into the light in the near death experiences, the bit you feel even when someone is absent, that bit won't. At least, that's the promise.

So where are my children now? The real true non-dying selves? As a Christian, I will say "with God." But it is by faith (here's the clinging again), because for Him, I have no Google Map link.

Bhopal cemetery

Father Jerry Anto from St Francis Cathedral in Bhopal just sent me the photos of Pax's tomb in the main cemetery, just finished.

Maybe you're a parent or a grandparent. The pictures you post are parties, outings, special occasions, school graduations--your child and their lively self. I wish I could keep doing that, but I can't. I can post old pictures of course, but they  are ever more distant in time. But the only new pictures I have are these. Tombs and memorials. And that is the reality of bereaved parenthood.

Memorial tomb for Pax, adjacent to this beautiful shrine

Location of Christian cemetery in Bhopal (opens new window)

Gardens and hope

Today is 2 years and 1 month since Catherine passed on.

When she was living in Dudley, we used to drive down the A roads to visit her. It was shorter than the motorway and a more pleasant trip. Along this route we would pass an outstanding garden centre called Dobbies, and it became our tradition to stop in, if it was still open by the time we drove home. At this point we'd just moved into our new home and had an empty garden to fill. So we'd scour the bargain section for redeemable plants. We hardly ever spent very much, sometimes just pennies really. Some of the plants didn't survive and couldn't be resuscitated despite my best efforts, but others thrived. The annuals have long since passed away, but we still have a hedge and various plants growing from that time.

Today we went to the Dudley area again for the steering group for the Triangle of Care project, which I'll write about another time or you can Google.

So on the way back, you can guess where we stopped. I was a lot more extravagant in my plant buying than I used to be,  but we still got some bargains that I hope will bear fruit -- literally, strawberries and beans to be precise. I bought 3 lily plants in Catherine's memory--this is the third year... They are hardy so I hope they'll survive a long time.  I think I'll make a Catherine corner in the garden, and another plot for Pax. Lilies are for Catherine and we have a stone dove for a centrepiece for Pax. Hopefully pictures will follow, eventually. Catherine already has a pot of lilies at her grave.

Gardening has probably been the single-most helpful activity for the past 2 years. Watching things grow, waiting almost breathlessly to see what's survived the winter, listening to the birds and watching as they flit around, listening to the wind (thank God for the summerhouse!), watching as the sky changes colour, light blue to dark grey in moments, watching the miraculous springing to life at spring--some days I could almost see the ornamental grass spring up in my sight!; watching the golden daffodils unfold then glow as bright golden trumpets, then gradually fade to be replaced by deep red goblets that are tulips, watching bees visit the white blossom of our young cherry tree, hoping this year it will produce more than the half dozen cherries of 2012, waiting to see if some unfamiliar green shoots are growing into a welcome plant or a weed... There’s so much going on, no wonder I can spend so much time staring at the garden, never mind about the actual time spent gardening.

Having the luxury of time to sit and watch is exactly that, a luxury. I am fortunate in that regard. I am glad to say "thank you Jesus" for the time, and the garden to watch, of course.

I was studying the little willow tree we planted the first year, and thinking we probably planted it a bit too close to the house. But it will take many years before it's too big to be a problem. By that time, I expect it won't be my problem, but I'll be with my children.

Sitting here (summerhouse, where else?), it’s quite easy to see the cycle of life, the seasons of growth, fruitfulness, death and rebirth. The unexpected beauty of a flower, the sadness as it's short life ends, but the knowledge that if it's a perennial, it will grow again. Are we perennials? That's the hope of Christianity, isn't it. And with that thought, I'll leave you with a poem I wrote awhile ago.

To Catherine...

I used to like the scent of lilies
And they were your favourite blooms;
We bought them to adorn your casket
Perfume filled the room.

Each lily now is a teardrop
Leaving my heart, entering the soil
For that’s where they laid my daughter
Yes you, my precious girl.


Can you still smell the lilies?
Please tell me if you can
For then I’d know that you still live
Though how I do not understand.

If you can smell the lilies
Then their fragrance, soft and sweet
Will no longer be a curse upon me
But a promise we’ll one day meet.

One of our plants from Dobbies. I don't know what this is called. It's a perennial and spreads like crazy!

Our summerhouse, my garden haven