We sold Catherine's bike today

Ever since my mother and brother died, there have been so many things to sell and give away. I worked on that with my older brother...the house went in the middle of October, and now there are just some electronics.

It was necessity and it got me into the rhythm of moving things along. So today, finally, we sold Catherine's bike. I was a bit emotional. (I think the guy who came to look at it probably thought I was a bit crazy.) I held onto the handlebars for one last time... and it is gone. May its new rider enjoy the bike

We're going to use the money for something that we'll use often, like maybe a car radio or something like that. So that it's not just absorbed into food and household expenses...but there's a replacement for the bike

I suppose it says something about me and where things are that I have managed to part with it.

And it says something else that I'm writing this blog again!

Another passing, another aniversary

I feel as though I'm living on the border between life and death. Not because of myself, but all that's happened.

6th March, my brother died.

6th April,  my mother died. (To a very extent, a consequence of 6th March.)

And tomorrow is Catherine's 3rd anniversary...on Palm Sunday.

Surprisingly,  I am feeling quite calm now. The hope of Easter is filling my heart. I can't really explain it but I'm coping, even relaxed. I don't know how I will be tomorrow morning but that's how it is at the moment.

If you're celebrating mass tomorrow, or even if not, please remember Catherine in your prayers. And Pax too of course.

(The picture is Catherine with my mum, about 2009)

Events

It's been more than a month since I posted anything here. I hope you haven't given up on me. It has just been too eventful a time; I haven't had any energy or even moments to reflect here. So this is a little catch-up.

On Wednesday 5 March, my dear husband left on a trip to Australia to visit his family (from his first marriage). It is the first time he's been back there since we lost Catherine, and I guess for a long time it would have been really tough for me to be left alone. But I have been busier and more engaged with life recently, and I felt ready to "brave it". So I encouraged him to go on this trip; it was time. So that was Wednesday.

On Thursday 6 March, I got the final report from the Parliamentary Ombudsman for Health regarding my complaint into the care of Catherine by the NHS Trust prior to her death. It has been a long journey to get that, and though it was partially satisfactory, it wasn't entirely. Also, getting the "final" report was another ending. It left me quite shaky. (I may write about it more another time. I'm still trying to absorb it.) That was Thursday.

On Friday 7 March, approximately 8 am, I got a call from my older brother to say that my second brother J had unexpectedly collapsed and died. They live in another city, but I was able to get a train and get there within a couple of hours. J had been the full-time carer for my elderly mother, 91, with cancer and almost blind. She was confused and heartbroken, quite naturally. I know too much about being a bereaved mother.

And basically since that date, one month ago, I've been going back and forth between here and there. My mother is now in a nursing home but already frail before this happened, she has since deteriorated a lot, and will not last much longer.

If you have followed my blog, you know that trains have a lot of significance in my life's journey. Tomorrow I will be going to the station where I last saw Catherine alive--on exactly the 3rd anniversary of that trip to the station. From there I will be taking the train back to the other city...and it is possible--actually likely--that by the time I come back I will have said goodbye to my mother for the last time in this life. So this probably another final train trip.

There is a lot of sorrow and stress in all of this. But a few things have come into focus:

-- There is no bereavement like losing a child. No matter how much or little you love someone, there is a natural order in the death of the older person. It is painful, but somehow dealing with it is more within reach. But there is nothing "natural" about losing a child. That is agony, pure and simple.

-- To have lost both of my children, to be without the possibility of grandchildren, of descendants, to miss my children, is constantly with me. Sometimes the grief is more bearable than other times, but it is ever present. Nothing and nobody can take their place.

-- To be a Christian means to have hope, and to have love as the pre-eminent value in life. That is a REALLY GOOD THING! Whatever the next life holds, having the security of a God of love, who puts love at the top of his list, who loves us unconditionally, and teaches us to do the same, is what I value the most. Thank God for Jesus.  

Breathing again

I've finally come up for air, climbing out of that deep, dark place. It's been an easier week. Partly because my wisdom tooth extraction finally stopped hurting; partly because I finally recovered completely from the flu; partly because the manager at the office of the Parliamentary Health Ombudsman kept saying Catherine's name during our phone conversation. He probably has no idea how much it meant to me to hear her name. There were other reasons too, but you get the idea.

Going back to feeling a bit more cheerful, all I can really say is what I often say: Grief is spiral journey, and you don't know when you're going to end up in a dark place, but eventually you come out into a slightly brighter space.

Snowdrops peeking out of Catherine's grave; bittersweet teardrops. 

Zero fillings

(Wrote this a few weeks ago. Forgot to post it. Might as well.)

Yesterday I went to the dentist, a dreaded but necessary visit. That's not the point.

While I was waiting, that's the point.

Every time I visit the dentist  I think back to Catherine and the gum problems she had in the period prior to her death, and how scared she was to be told she may lose all her teeth. In mental health terms, that is termed "catastrophising" or something like that--when a piece of information is blown up out of proportion. While it's true that with severe gum disease you can  lose all your teeth, it would have to be really severe, and I think the dentist was just trying to push her to take better care.

Then I remember going with Cath for her last dentist appointment, and sitting in the waiting room, and her coming out quite happy saying everything was fine.

Yesterday my thoughts also turned to another aspect of Catherine and dentists. She never had any fillings. Nor did Pax, but he was only 3. But Catherine never needed a filling or an extraction, and she was nearly 31.

Credit to her, for taking care of herself, but also some credit to her upbringing--healthy food and more or less avoiding sweets except for occasional chocolate, cakes and pies--oh and icecream, that was another exception, probably the most frequent exception!--but virtually no hard sweets, and hardly any white sugar in her diet at all.

And that's a positive thought. She had a healthy dietary start.

It's SO GREAT when I can manage a positive thought and not just be beating myself up for mistakes and regrets and decisions.

Multiple losses

The loss of my children is the dominant feature of my life now. I'm coming to the end of February 2014. Two months of a new year. There have been days in which I was relatively upbeat, but mostly I find myself in the darker reaches of the valley once more.

There are a few reasons why my grief has become less manageable, I think.

The biggest factor has been a breach of communication with my family. It's a long story and too private to post here; it's not something I can honestly take the blame for. In the past I would have taken it in my stride. Now, it's yet another agonising loss, something I cannot do anything about.

That's the trouble with bereavement, especially sudden, unnatural bereavements. You find yourself disempowered. There is nothing you can do to change what has happened.

For instance, I have really tried to sort things out for my daughter. I sorted out her belongings, I've tried to sort out the problems with the health service's care of her and report into her death. Nothing is going to make any difference though. She isn't coming up.

I tried to make peace with what happened to poor little Pax, with the trip to India (where this blog started). That was something I COULD do. But bringing him back... no that's not within my power.

Now to have another loss--in this case not a loss of life, but a loss of relationship--about which I can do nothing--despite trying over the past 3 months--I have to concede defeat. If I am not wanted by this person, I am not wanted. And I am powerless to change that.

As I started to say, in times gone by I could have just "taken it on the chin", stayed busy, put my mind to something else and leave it aside. But it's another loss; another layer; and has been very hard to bear.

Then I have been sick, and even had a wisdom tooth removed. Between pain and sickness, and out of necessity taking rather more painkillers than I am accustomed to, I am lacking energy in so many ways: physically, mentally, psychically (does that exist?), spiritually, emotionally...

And my better half is going away to the other side of the world for two months. It was my idea; I have promoted it; he needs to spend some time with his family. He hasn't visited them since Catherine died. The last time he went, I missed him, but I managed. This now will be the first time I am properly alone since losing Catherine.

There are other bereaved parents I have "met" on support forums who don't have partners, and I am very fortunate and blessed to have S., but knowing he'll be gone is another loss.

There's an old scripture that's come to mind. "He that loses his life for my sake shall find it." Surely there is something to be found in all of this loss?

I hope so.

PS. If you are following this blog by any chance, you might be interested to know I've started another one, which is a bit more upbeat because I'm trying to promote my forthcoming book. You can find it here A Valley Journal/

Speak and Spell

Passing some time in the waiting room of the specialist arthritis hospital where I come twice a year for check ups.

Cath came with me once on one of her visits. And on her very last visit, she and Simon picked me up and we went for a picnic. Later that does we took her to the train station. That was the last time I saw Cath alive. I can't believe how calm I am writing this.

The first few times I came back to this hospital were very emotional. I was reliving that last day. Now I can manage it. There's always a long wait so lots of time to reflect. Maybe that's why it is more manageable now, I've processed it over and over.

But what got me writing right now was a woman sitting in the waiting room with her daughter, probably 2 or 3 years old. They were playing an educational game on a tablet, spotting letters of the alphabet.

And it made me think of Cath at that age and her "Speak and Spell". I guess it was one of the earliest versions of an electronic educational game device.

Cath was always a great speller. Don't know how much Speak and Spell had to do with it but she enjoyed it.

And that is a happy memory.

(Picture will follow)

 

Spirals

Haven't been having such an easy time of it lately--understatement! There were the Christmas and New Year blues, but more than that, there was trouble with my family, and then the difficulty on working on a response to the Health Ombudsman about the report into Catherine's death.

I suppose what I want to say here--the reason for writing today--is that grief is not a linear journey. You don't get in a vehicle and travel in a straight line, passing one point after the other, or those nicely packaged "stages" that are sometimes referred to. According to that model, finally you get there, to that place of peace where you are reconciled to the loss. I wish it was like that, but it isn't.

No, grief is spiral. You come to a gloomy, dismal point, you think you've gone past it, but then things happen and you find yourself there again.

An old friend has been posting comments on this blog, so this has led me to re-read some of my posts from a year ago. I just read about "finding joy", and at the moment I can barely imagine what that felt like! But it was me who wrote it!!

It's odd the things that knock me for a loop. Over Christmas I watched the final of "Strictly Come Dancing" which is a bit of silly entertainment TV that I quite enjoy. I consider Strictly as "safe" viewing as there's nothing about death or mental illness or disaster which would drag me down into a sad train of thought.--One of the hazards of film, television and news watching.

But even Strictly wasn't safe after all. Because there was a young woman, dancing beautifully, and there was her mum sitting watching proudly and emotionally. There, just there, is that relationship I miss: Mother and daughter, proud and happy. Mother and daughter, together. Mother and daughter, making memories.

I don't have enough memories of Pax and Catherine. There can never be enough, because it should be the other way round. I should be gone, they should be the ones who will be remembering their mum.

Pax's birthday message received from Bhopal

What a lovely message to receive today from Bhopal! My heart is so touched

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Dear Loving Friends Abi and Simon,

wishing you all a Very Happy New Year from me Fr. Stan and Mr. Kenny.May this new year be filled with God's mighty blessings, Peace and Prosperity.  They express their gratitude towards your Christmas gift which I have shared with them.

Today is the birthday of our Pax. Morning onward  our Kenny decorated his grave with flowers and lighted candles. I am happy to inform you that I did offer a Holy Mass for the repose of his soul. May our good Lord keep him in heaven as little angel to sing and pray for you all.  May our Lord bless you and solace and courage to you.This is my humble prayer for you and May His soul rest in Peace.

Thank you so much for your great support and encouragement in our mission. I deeply appreciate and admire your sacrifice you make towards the poorest children education. Thanks for your friendship and spirit of solidarity. Our best wishes and greetings to Simon please.

Yours true friend,

Fr. Arul Samy 

Happy birthday, Pax

3rd January. Pax was born in 1979. He would have been 35 tomorrow (today in an hour)

This time last year, we were getting ready for our big trip to Bhopal. Thank God for all the wonderful people who helped us on our journey... Sandeep, Savita, Father Anton, Father Samy, Joaquim, Kenny, and nameless car drivers and others.

I am glad Pax now has a tomb; I'm so glad we located his grave. I'm glad that so many more people remember Pax, he has made it into many more consciousnesses than we know.

But I still wish that rather than all that, he was here.

God give me strength for this childless future