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.