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

Making space

Simon and I are both self-employed. It's necessary to keep copies of our accounts--bills, receipts, paperwork, etc, but basically only for 6 - 7 years.

A few weeks back I did a big sort out of papers pre-dating April 2006, and then a big burning in the garden.

Papers, even receipts, are full of memories. Although these were connected with work, as work was such a big part of my life in that period, the memories and feelings invoked were not all happy. Far from it. Suffice it to say, I thoroughly enjoyed burning that heap of papers!

I kept a few for nostalgic reasons, also as memory joggers in case I ever get around to the book I've started and planned.

Getting rid of the old makes space for the new. Or maybe it just makes space.

I also managed to put together over two banana boxes full of books that we then donated to the Samaritans charity shop. Lots of books that I have never read, or have read and don't need to read again. More memories. There was one box full of Catherine's college books, many of which I'd bought for her as she started various courses over the years. They weren't doing any good sitting in the garage; I hope someone can use them, and also that Samaritans makes some money from their sale. They provide a very important service.

Cath at 3. She could read simple books already. An early reader,  home-educated. 

Catching up, and an invitation

Haven't written in ages. Few reasons:

The anniversary period for Catherine--her passing and the funeral-- is a difficult time for me.

Had some situations with my elderly mum that needed taking care of.

Perhaps not surprisingly, my health wasn't too good with a resurgence of migraines and arthritis.

On a more positive note, I started a new voluntary position on the management board of a charity called Healthwatch. Between meetings and lots to read, it’s taking up a lot of time and energy. It's good to try something new and use what I've learned about healthcare, particularly mental health, but it’s also quite a strain in some respects but it’s a challenge that I'm glad to try it. Still keeping up with other work too.

All in all, I haven't felt so creative.

The next thing around the corner, besides an interview about another voluntary job (!), is Pax’s anniversary.

I had a very special dream last night. In my dream, although both of my kids were dead, they were allowed to be alive again for awhile. Catherine was there, though I don't remember the details--I do dream about her quite often. (Always puts me in a good mood!) But then there was Pax. He rode off on a tricycle.We went to the hospital and he was there, in intensive care. But the doctor let me hold him in my arms and feed him. The feeling of holding him was so real, I can almost feel him still. It is SO rare that I dream about him, at least not so realistically, I am very grateful. It makes me look forward to dying. I think only a bereaved parent will know exactly what I mean.

Well, that leads me to your invitation to his anniversary. If you're reading this, you're invited. May 27 we'll be doing an informal ceremony at Catherine's Alton grave with his soil. Then lunch or supper either locally or at home. If you are in the UK and think you might like to come, please get in touch.