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.