Leaving Bhopal
It’s taken me almost two weeks to write it our last day in Bhopal. Our time in Goa has been drifting by. I try to get up early, much earlier than I’m used to, and go for a long walk before the sun gets hot. So that means leaving by 7:30. We have “second breakfast” at a beach shack (cafe/restaurant) mid-morning and go for a swim/paddle/splash in the sea. Then we either “take shelter” under the shade of a beach shack or go back to our rented holiday flat before 12:30. Otherwise it is too hot to walk. The sun is burning hot. The temperature is in the low 30s which might not seem much to some of you but it’s hotter than I’ve been for many years.
Then, in the cool of our air-conditioned flat, I do a bit of typing, which has been mostly this blog but I have some other stuff in the works too. Then we go to the pool in the afternoon, and then in the evening we sometimes bring our PC tablets to the beach shack that offers free wifi. The evenings are warm and balmy. We have dinner at a beach shack; we’re gradually visiting all of them. Food is much cheaper than the UK.
We don’t drink much but enjoy just sitting. My mind wanders then sometimes, and the joy is replaced by sadness as I remember... So that’s what being bereaved does to you. It never quite goes away. When we see little children I think of my kids; when we see young women of any age from young teens to 30s, I think of Catherine at various stages of her life. I remember coming to Goa when she was a little girl—I’m fairly sure I’ve passed the hotel we visited. I remember travelling around India with my first husband. In our “pastoral support work”, we travelled up and down the country and saw many places. We got around by train and spent whole days and nights on long train journeys. I would bring a potty for the children to use so they didn’t have to go into the stinky toilets. We had a basket with food—canned fish, powdered milk, canned “Amul” cheese, and we’d buy fruit as it was offered at the stations we passed through. It was always peeled. We had lots of hand disinfectant and always kept things very clean.
We never did much sightseeing as far as famous buildings like the Taj Mahal in Agra (never went there), but we did see the local sights. I remember going down to Cochin in Kerala (which like many cities has been renamed) and visiting an ancient synagogue that goes back to the first few centuries A.D. I guess Jews had travelled across the sea from Palestine. Near Cochin we also saw these amazing fishermen’s contraptions and I have pictures of Catherine sitting with her little friends by the fishing nets on the harbour.
We used to eat out a lot too, partly because we travelled so much. Sitting in the cool of an air-conditioned restaurant can’t be appreciated in cold Britain but it sure is here.
Even when we moved back to Europe when Catherine was 5 ½, I always took her out to eat for special occasions. We never had much money but we always seemed to have enough to eat out. So her photo album has pictures in all sorts of restaurants, from an Indian restaurant in Vienna (7th birthday?) to Hungarian restaurants with violin players serenading us when she was in her teens.
Then there was ice-cream. Both of us liked it. In Budapest there was a place called “Butterfly” near one of the main squares (if I saw a map I’d remember it) and the ice-cream was served in particularly delicious cones. Catherine and her friend would go in and buy one cone with one scoop, then go back in and buy a second. The cones were free. So two cones for the price of one if you bought them separately! When we lived in a little village called Neulengbach in Austria, we used to sometimes go into Vienna for shopping or doctors/optician appointments. Then we’d go to Schwedenplatz to an Italian ice-cream place. There you’d buy it by the small bucket, loads of different flavours crammed in. Delicious! On Catherine’s last visit to us, we’d gone for a drive in the country, a picnic by a small lake, and as we were walking back to the car she said, “you know what we need” (or words to that effect—I can’t remember exactly, isn’t that sad??) and I said, “Ice-cream” and she said, “How did you know?” There were no fancy ice-cream shops in those Staffordshire roads but we stopped at a little supermarket and bought a box of four cones. Catherine ate two. I think that’s fairly good evidence that ice-cream was something she enjoyed up to the last. And that’s the last time we shared ice-cream together. Actually that’s the last time we ate together. Then we kept driving and ended up at a Garden Centre called “Jackson’s” and we had coffee. But ice-cream was our last “food.”
After the coffee, we took Catherine to the station, said goodbye, and that was the last time I saw her alive.
Next time you eat ice-cream, please think of Catherine. If you knew her, and particularly if you knew her during her long years of illness and troubled mind, please try to remember that there were good moments.
Well, you can see I’m talking more about Catherine now. As we sort out things for Pax, as best as they can be sorted, Catherine has returned to the front of my mind.
Returning back to Bhopal now: The last day in Bhopal was the 21 month anniversary of Catherine’s death.
We had another very early start, and a big day ahead of us. The plan: Go to the Church of North India (CNI) which were expecting us, then go back to the Cathedral.
The CNI was a nice white building, quite large, I guess maybe it could seat a few hundred people. (I’m sorry that you’re not getting pictures as you read but I can’t upload large files where we are. Eventually I’ll do some picture pages.) It was simply furnished. The “organist” was playing an accordion type of keyboard. The “9 o’clock sharp” start of the service wasn’t that sharp, but it didn’t matter. A few dozen people were there and eventually it filled up—maybe 100 or 150 people, I’m not sure exactly.
The service was in Hindi so obviously I couldn’t understand exactly what was going on, except when we stood up to sing hymns. As CNI was created from the Anglican church, almost all of the hymns were familiar. So I sang softly in English while everyone else sang in Hindi. They sang all the verses of the hymns though, and I could only remember 1 or 2 verses at best in English, so I repeated over and over!
The Pastor led the service, which followed the Anglican liturgy so I knew basically what was happening. Sandeep co-officiated, as the visiting pastor (his church is in another town). Then I was invited up to give my talk, as we had planned. Sandeep translated for me. Simon was ushered out by the Sunday School lady with the children in tow, and there he went to entertain the kids. I could hear them clapping in the background as he made balloons and “told” the story of Noah’s ark with balloon animals and a big balloon ark he’d made. I don’t think anybody here has seen anything like the balloons that Simon makes. He’s even made them just for fun at the beach shacks for some of the Russian children (most of the tourist families seem to be Russians) and they’ve been a hit.
I wasn’t really nervous about my talk. I was aware it was an opportunity to try to pass on something of what I’d learned and that was my focus. I’ll post the talk somewhere, maybe on the blog, later on. It told the story of my conversion to Christianity, then the loss of my two children, and then the lesson of walking through the dark valley of the shadow of death, seeing neither where I’d come from or where I was going, but the realisation that even in the darkest of places, and even when we can’t feel it, the Lord is with us. And eventually we come through. “I walk through the valley of the shadow...” We don’t remain there. It’s a journey.
There isn’t much audience reaction so I don’t honestly know how it went over. Except one young lady whose eye I caught literally gasped when I said about losing Catherine after losing Pax.
Then Sandeep gave his sermon. He was quite fired up—not that I understood much of what he was saying—but it was obvious and he was challenging the congregation. Then there was the taking of the Lord’s supper, and finally the service was over. Simon was back in the church by then, and we were invited to walk out with the Pastors and then stand at the door to shake hands with everyone as they came out. I’ve never been in that position before and it felt peculiar.
I gave some people the “visiting card” I’d made of Pax.
Then we sat down and had coffee, and there was lots of picture taking, and soon we left and went home.
After lunch we set out again to the cathedral of St Francis. We got back there early, as I wanted time next to Pax. Chairs were once again provided for us thoughtfully. Simon sat with me and I told him stories of Pax’s life and cried and smiled. Our private peace was not that private; the compound is surrounded by the local Muslim population* who peered down over the high wall and from the apartments. One of the church workers came and talked with us; it was a little difficult for me as I really wanted time alone, but it also seemed important to make friends with these people who live right here and would have an eye on the grave when we were gone.
*(Yes, Muslim rather than Hindu population. Bhopal has a high percentage of Muslims, maybe 40%? They live in the old part of the city. There hasn’t been communal strife as far as I know.)
Then it was time for Mass. It was an English mass and there were only a few dozen people there, including a few nuns. The mass was partly in honour of Pax and of another deceased person. I was invited to take part and I came to the front to read some of the portions of scriptures. That was an unexpected privilege. The mass was led by Father Stan (the young father) and his voice was beautiful. The message was of the baptism of Jesus and of the cleansing of baptism and the opportunity to start again. How significant that is for me!
Afterwards we had dinner with the two priests. We fellowshipped and talked about England, about India, and all sorts of things. The meal had been specially prepared without much spice. The dear cook was so eager to please but we could never eat as much food as we were offered! We had our first beer in India which was cold and very welcome.
I went out to say goodbye to Pax’s grave place. I don’t feel he is there, but is it still his place. One of the workers had placed candles all around. It looked very beautiful and peaceful. I kissed the ground and took my leave. That took all of my strength.
Then we were back to the house. Sandeep came bearing gifts from his wife. We said our farewells, finished packing, paid our bill, and went to sleep ready for the early morning flight out of Bhopal.
So on Monday morning we were at the airport and finally we were airborne. I didn’t know how I’d feel, leaving Bhopal, but I was okay. I can’t explain it really, but I felt so much more peaceful. Pax means peace, and to an extent, both had been found.
Of course, that’s not the end of grief. It isn’t “closure” because Pax isn’t alive, he hasn’t lived out his life as we would have wished, and I haven’t had the joy of raising my son. There is no closure but there is doing what I should have done all those years ago.
In the weeks since we’ve been in Goa, we’ve been back in touch with Father Anto as we are trying to arrange for a more permanent memorial to be put up on Pax’s gravesite. We’ve also met up with Joaquim who is continues to repeat that nobody thought it would be possible to find the place; it was a “needle in a haystack.”
But we found it. And one very troubled woman is just that much less troubled.
From the airplane, flying away from Bhopal. 14/1/13
Pax is buried down below,
But at least now his grave is known.
In the shadow of the church
In a little garden
There is his cross.
Remembered with love,
We respect his remains
But look above
His spirit lives,
He was here, yet he was not.
I can't understand everything.
I can't think too hard.
I don't have to understand.
His grave was found without my understanding.
Heaven will be found the same way.
Tell everyone, Pax was here for one day
Yet he has long since flown away.
A body can't be all there is to life.
If it was, we would forget
But we know our loved ones yet.
Remembering Pax with love forever. May he rest in peace.
It’s taken me almost two weeks to write it our last day in Bhopal. Our time in Goa has been drifting by. I try to get up early, much earlier than I’m used to, and go for a long walk before the sun gets hot. So that means leaving by 7:30. We have “second breakfast” at a beach shack (cafe/restaurant) mid-morning and go for a swim/paddle/splash in the sea. Then we either “take shelter” under the shade of a beach shack or go back to our rented holiday flat before 12:30. Otherwise it is too hot to walk. The sun is burning hot. The temperature is in the low 30s which might not seem much to some of you but it’s hotter than I’ve been for many years.
Then, in the cool of our air-conditioned flat, I do a bit of typing, which has been mostly this blog but I have some other stuff in the works too. Then we go to the pool in the afternoon, and then in the evening we sometimes bring our PC tablets to the beach shack that offers free wifi. The evenings are warm and balmy. We have dinner at a beach shack; we’re gradually visiting all of them. Food is much cheaper than the UK.
We don’t drink much but enjoy just sitting. My mind wanders then sometimes, and the joy is replaced by sadness as I remember... So that’s what being bereaved does to you. It never quite goes away. When we see little children I think of my kids; when we see young women of any age from young teens to 30s, I think of Catherine at various stages of her life. I remember coming to Goa when she was a little girl—I’m fairly sure I’ve passed the hotel we visited. I remember travelling around India with my first husband. In our “pastoral support work”, we travelled up and down the country and saw many places. We got around by train and spent whole days and nights on long train journeys. I would bring a potty for the children to use so they didn’t have to go into the stinky toilets. We had a basket with food—canned fish, powdered milk, canned “Amul” cheese, and we’d buy fruit as it was offered at the stations we passed through. It was always peeled. We had lots of hand disinfectant and always kept things very clean.
We never did much sightseeing as far as famous buildings like the Taj Mahal in Agra (never went there), but we did see the local sights. I remember going down to Cochin in Kerala (which like many cities has been renamed) and visiting an ancient synagogue that goes back to the first few centuries A.D. I guess Jews had travelled across the sea from Palestine. Near Cochin we also saw these amazing fishermen’s contraptions and I have pictures of Catherine sitting with her little friends by the fishing nets on the harbour.
We used to eat out a lot too, partly because we travelled so much. Sitting in the cool of an air-conditioned restaurant can’t be appreciated in cold Britain but it sure is here.
Even when we moved back to Europe when Catherine was 5 ½, I always took her out to eat for special occasions. We never had much money but we always seemed to have enough to eat out. So her photo album has pictures in all sorts of restaurants, from an Indian restaurant in Vienna (7th birthday?) to Hungarian restaurants with violin players serenading us when she was in her teens.
Then there was ice-cream. Both of us liked it. In Budapest there was a place called “Butterfly” near one of the main squares (if I saw a map I’d remember it) and the ice-cream was served in particularly delicious cones. Catherine and her friend would go in and buy one cone with one scoop, then go back in and buy a second. The cones were free. So two cones for the price of one if you bought them separately! When we lived in a little village called Neulengbach in Austria, we used to sometimes go into Vienna for shopping or doctors/optician appointments. Then we’d go to Schwedenplatz to an Italian ice-cream place. There you’d buy it by the small bucket, loads of different flavours crammed in. Delicious! On Catherine’s last visit to us, we’d gone for a drive in the country, a picnic by a small lake, and as we were walking back to the car she said, “you know what we need” (or words to that effect—I can’t remember exactly, isn’t that sad??) and I said, “Ice-cream” and she said, “How did you know?” There were no fancy ice-cream shops in those Staffordshire roads but we stopped at a little supermarket and bought a box of four cones. Catherine ate two. I think that’s fairly good evidence that ice-cream was something she enjoyed up to the last. And that’s the last time we shared ice-cream together. Actually that’s the last time we ate together. Then we kept driving and ended up at a Garden Centre called “Jackson’s” and we had coffee. But ice-cream was our last “food.”
After the coffee, we took Catherine to the station, said goodbye, and that was the last time I saw her alive.
Next time you eat ice-cream, please think of Catherine. If you knew her, and particularly if you knew her during her long years of illness and troubled mind, please try to remember that there were good moments.
Well, you can see I’m talking more about Catherine now. As we sort out things for Pax, as best as they can be sorted, Catherine has returned to the front of my mind.
Returning back to Bhopal now: The last day in Bhopal was the 21 month anniversary of Catherine’s death.
We had another very early start, and a big day ahead of us. The plan: Go to the Church of North India (CNI) which were expecting us, then go back to the Cathedral.
The CNI was a nice white building, quite large, I guess maybe it could seat a few hundred people. (I’m sorry that you’re not getting pictures as you read but I can’t upload large files where we are. Eventually I’ll do some picture pages.) It was simply furnished. The “organist” was playing an accordion type of keyboard. The “9 o’clock sharp” start of the service wasn’t that sharp, but it didn’t matter. A few dozen people were there and eventually it filled up—maybe 100 or 150 people, I’m not sure exactly.
The service was in Hindi so obviously I couldn’t understand exactly what was going on, except when we stood up to sing hymns. As CNI was created from the Anglican church, almost all of the hymns were familiar. So I sang softly in English while everyone else sang in Hindi. They sang all the verses of the hymns though, and I could only remember 1 or 2 verses at best in English, so I repeated over and over!
The Pastor led the service, which followed the Anglican liturgy so I knew basically what was happening. Sandeep co-officiated, as the visiting pastor (his church is in another town). Then I was invited up to give my talk, as we had planned. Sandeep translated for me. Simon was ushered out by the Sunday School lady with the children in tow, and there he went to entertain the kids. I could hear them clapping in the background as he made balloons and “told” the story of Noah’s ark with balloon animals and a big balloon ark he’d made. I don’t think anybody here has seen anything like the balloons that Simon makes. He’s even made them just for fun at the beach shacks for some of the Russian children (most of the tourist families seem to be Russians) and they’ve been a hit.
I wasn’t really nervous about my talk. I was aware it was an opportunity to try to pass on something of what I’d learned and that was my focus. I’ll post the talk somewhere, maybe on the blog, later on. It told the story of my conversion to Christianity, then the loss of my two children, and then the lesson of walking through the dark valley of the shadow of death, seeing neither where I’d come from or where I was going, but the realisation that even in the darkest of places, and even when we can’t feel it, the Lord is with us. And eventually we come through. “I walk through the valley of the shadow...” We don’t remain there. It’s a journey.
There isn’t much audience reaction so I don’t honestly know how it went over. Except one young lady whose eye I caught literally gasped when I said about losing Catherine after losing Pax.
Then Sandeep gave his sermon. He was quite fired up—not that I understood much of what he was saying—but it was obvious and he was challenging the congregation. Then there was the taking of the Lord’s supper, and finally the service was over. Simon was back in the church by then, and we were invited to walk out with the Pastors and then stand at the door to shake hands with everyone as they came out. I’ve never been in that position before and it felt peculiar.
I gave some people the “visiting card” I’d made of Pax.
Then we sat down and had coffee, and there was lots of picture taking, and soon we left and went home.
After lunch we set out again to the cathedral of St Francis. We got back there early, as I wanted time next to Pax. Chairs were once again provided for us thoughtfully. Simon sat with me and I told him stories of Pax’s life and cried and smiled. Our private peace was not that private; the compound is surrounded by the local Muslim population* who peered down over the high wall and from the apartments. One of the church workers came and talked with us; it was a little difficult for me as I really wanted time alone, but it also seemed important to make friends with these people who live right here and would have an eye on the grave when we were gone.
*(Yes, Muslim rather than Hindu population. Bhopal has a high percentage of Muslims, maybe 40%? They live in the old part of the city. There hasn’t been communal strife as far as I know.)
Then it was time for Mass. It was an English mass and there were only a few dozen people there, including a few nuns. The mass was partly in honour of Pax and of another deceased person. I was invited to take part and I came to the front to read some of the portions of scriptures. That was an unexpected privilege. The mass was led by Father Stan (the young father) and his voice was beautiful. The message was of the baptism of Jesus and of the cleansing of baptism and the opportunity to start again. How significant that is for me!
Afterwards we had dinner with the two priests. We fellowshipped and talked about England, about India, and all sorts of things. The meal had been specially prepared without much spice. The dear cook was so eager to please but we could never eat as much food as we were offered! We had our first beer in India which was cold and very welcome.
I went out to say goodbye to Pax’s grave place. I don’t feel he is there, but is it still his place. One of the workers had placed candles all around. It looked very beautiful and peaceful. I kissed the ground and took my leave. That took all of my strength.
Then we were back to the house. Sandeep came bearing gifts from his wife. We said our farewells, finished packing, paid our bill, and went to sleep ready for the early morning flight out of Bhopal.
So on Monday morning we were at the airport and finally we were airborne. I didn’t know how I’d feel, leaving Bhopal, but I was okay. I can’t explain it really, but I felt so much more peaceful. Pax means peace, and to an extent, both had been found.
Of course, that’s not the end of grief. It isn’t “closure” because Pax isn’t alive, he hasn’t lived out his life as we would have wished, and I haven’t had the joy of raising my son. There is no closure but there is doing what I should have done all those years ago.
In the weeks since we’ve been in Goa, we’ve been back in touch with Father Anto as we are trying to arrange for a more permanent memorial to be put up on Pax’s gravesite. We’ve also met up with Joaquim who is continues to repeat that nobody thought it would be possible to find the place; it was a “needle in a haystack.”
But we found it. And one very troubled woman is just that much less troubled.
From the airplane, flying away from Bhopal. 14/1/13
Pax is buried down below,
But at least now his grave is known.
In the shadow of the church
In a little garden
There is his cross.
Remembered with love,
We respect his remains
But look above
His spirit lives,
He was here, yet he was not.
I can't understand everything.
I can't think too hard.
I don't have to understand.
His grave was found without my understanding.
Heaven will be found the same way.
Tell everyone, Pax was here for one day
Yet he has long since flown away.
A body can't be all there is to life.
If it was, we would forget
But we know our loved ones yet.
Remembering Pax with love forever. May he rest in peace.
We too had many meals out with our young children. And ice cream parlours a favorite for us too. Spagetti ice in Germany in Grunberg. Italian ice cream with too many choices to make. Ruth unlike Catherine didn't like the cones and prefered sorbet as a young adult but still happy memories of family times like yours
ReplyDeleteSo so good that you have found PAx and had that special time to be at his graveside. As you say the pain never really goes fully but the process moves forward. Catherine dying is so much more complex Abi so I guess may preoccupy your thoughts more? WHo knows. Just know you are loved by me and thanks for your blog
xx