Aunt Sadie

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Aunt Sadie was always strange according to my father, but to me Sadie was wonderful.  The day she died I knew, I heard her voice first when I was sitting quietly in the conservatory.  I looked up and there she was at the end of the garden, stroking the pussy willow just as she always did.  She had been poorly and I knew she was dead, she wouldn’t have got there unaided.   She had no shoes on her feet, her red wavy hair was untied and she was wearing an emerald green dress I hadn’t seen in years.  It had never occurred to me before then that you could wear what you liked when you were dead.  Sadie has told me since that you can be any age you like too, but I’m jumping ahead of myself here.  Anyway that was the day I started to talk to dead people.

From a young child Sadie was my favorite person in the world, she didn’t act like the other grown-ups, she pleased herself.  My father, her brother, despaired that his sister might influence his daughter in some way.  Sadie was full of stories, she collected them and wrote them down in journals she kept by her bed.  She told me once that there was energy in stories and when you recounted an experience and turned it into a story with meaning you were helping the world turn around and adding your own sparkle to the stars.

There were times I will admit that I did get a little scared of Sadie’s eccentricity, like when she would start to talk to someone but there was no one in the room.  The temperature always seemed to drop a little on these occasions but Sadie told me there was nothing to worry about, like attracts like and if you were a good person then that is what you would attract.  After she died when she started to visit me I kept this in mind when she brought along her new friends.  It wasn’t long before I would meet these people without her being present, like when I was shopping in town and a lady waved from across the street.  It took me a minute to realise but when I looked a little closer I could see she was not quite there.  It is like looking at someone through a net curtain, you loose a bit of them, but can see them at the same time.  I can turn it off and on now.  I worried at first in case I would be disturbed in the shower but I can control it, although if anyone really wants to talk they will make something happen to alert me.  Like a dish falling over on the dresser, a book falling off the shelf that you know was tucked in securely or a window blowing open on a calm day.

I don’t mind the interruptions to my life so much now, it’s like having a whole new circle of friends.  Not like the friends on facebook and twitter but friends you actually meet in person.  What is more than that I have found my vocation.

Sadie’s funeral was perfect, just like she wanted it.  She told me just how it should be and to be sure, she was sitting in the room with the family when the priest visited, whispering instructions in my ear.  He asked that we say a little about Sadie’s life for the service.  My father was dumbfounded when I was able to recall events as if I had been there, but it did make for a great day.  Sadie was sitting next to me at the front of the church and clapped and cheered when I read the eulogy just right and as we had practiced.  Okay, there were some confused looks when I curtsied but I didn’t mind as Sadie was happy and it was her day after all.  The music too was perfect and Sadie danced with the others as the curtains closed on her coffin to the tunes she had chosen.

After Sadie’s funeral I started a small business of arranging services myself, they are celebrations of life rather than funerals.  I sit with the family and we talk to the deceased, ask them how it should be on the day.  Plans usually move quite quickly once I can provide evidence through the memories of the person, that they are in fact there.   I’m amazed at how quickly my little business has taken off and how my name seems to have got around without advertising.   What is important to me is that the real story is told and from the person who knows it best, who lived it.  What is also great is how people are able to express their love to each other and know it is heard.

I’m busy enough but as more people have heard about what I do they are realising the importance of involving the dying in their celebration planning before death.  I’m sometime invited along to help tell the stories, but not always.  People who feel they have little control over the end of their life are now able to take the lead if they wish in a small way.  Choose what flowers they like, have the very best photographs around and invite the friends they want to be there.

Sadie does still visit and she is always around if I need her but it is not as often now, she is getting on with being there.  She tells me it is wonderful and she is not seen as strange there, but not to hurry myself as I have work to do and stories to tell.

Looking out for Martha

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Martha makes a horrendous noise when she yawns. It is because she can’t get enough air into her lungs and this is the noise her body makes. It is terrifying to hear but what frightens Anne, her daughter, is that it has become an every day noise. When Martha made the noise today in the bathroom, Anne’s son ran from his room to check she was okay. Anne saw fear etched on his face, as he asked his Nan if he could help. She heard herself saying ‘Its okay love, Nan does that all the time’. She wondered when she became so immune to her mother’s illness, when did the pain she goes through on a daily basis become acceptable.

Martha was diagnosed with a lung disease 10 years ago. At that time they told her she had no time left, she was in such poor condition. Martha has defied the specialists and the disease in some way. Although she is in the later stages of the illness now, her amazing and powerful spirit is still fighting. As a family, they have had plenty of time to get used to the illness and know what Martha needs. The number one thing is love, but they also recognise and meet all her other needs.

The autoimmune disease Martha has affects so much of what the family does now. Winters are long and spent inside the home, as Martha cannot venture out in the cold. It’s not only the weather but also the fear of catching the winter viruses that imprisons Martha. She lives for the summer, warmth on her face and vitamin D for her bones. Anne feels her mother’s frustration during those winter months and wants to be able to make her happy in any way she can. Anne feels guilty that she can run around town and enjoy the fresh air but Martha always insists that she does.

It is not often Martha and Anne visit a café anymore, maybe only on hospital visits these days. But when they are in café and Martha has a coughing fit, Anne can see herself waving the waiting staff away when they attempt to help by bringing water. It is not that she is not grateful for their kindness but she knows it is not water her mother needs, coughing is what she does all day, every day. People and the germs all around are as dangerous to her autoimmune disease as anything else, so Anne attempts to keep them away and shield her mother. She has come to recognise the coughs and would know if her mum was in trouble, Anne hopes to god that’s the case anyway. Anne believes she must look like the daughter from hell to strangers, she doesn’t really care what she looks like to other people as long as what she does for her mum is right.

If Anne is honest, she has in fact always cared what she looks like to others. She has always wanted to be accepted and approved of, but she has also learnt to put these feelings aside for now. It is not about her at the moment, what is important is what she can do for her mum.

Martha is fiercely independent and when she goes to any of the many hospital appointments, she likes to go into her consultations on her own. Martha says there will come a time when she needs Anne with her, but until then she wants to be able to manage by herself. Anne understands this but it does not mean she doesn’t sit in the waiting room wanting the floor to swallow her up sometimes. She feels the looks and almost hears the thoughts of the people who witness her remaining seated while allowing her mother to struggle across the room trailing her oxygen cylinder. Anne wants to shout, ‘she won’t let me go with her’, but she wouldn’t dream of causing a scene. For now she needs to harness the same strength as her mother.

Old Bones

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My bones ache, it seems they have had enough activity of late and are trying to tell me the only way they know how. I got up today and my bones didn’t want to get out of bed with me, they had no choice, my bladder was the victor.

I think back to my youth, when I could spring from the bed and into the shower with one bounce. Today I creek as I take the steps down the hall towards the bathroom. My legs are bent at the knee for those first few steps, shaped still as they have been in slumber, defying any messages from my brain to straighten up and stand tall.

My legs are like bananas today, they are not doing what they should. Oh how I once loved to walk, walking was my life back in the day. I was going to walk from John O’Groats in Scotland to Land’s End in Cornwall, downhill as I saw it. I was going to take a month off of work to complete the walk, but my retirement came and I saw more of my armchair and slippers than anything else.

I look down at my feet, its little wonder my legs are not up to much having to rely on those feet as their foundations. I have bones growing out of the sides of my feet now, my bunions ache today, it must be raining outside.

When I was young it was wet hair that told me it was raining, now it’s my feet and the joints in my hands. I wonder to myself if Noah had bunions when he built the arc. I suppose, to put a positive spin on things, I don’t have to get out of bed now or turn on the weather report to know what the weather is doing outside.

We never think the day will come when we are young, when our bodies automatically do as they are supposed to, that anything will change. We are invincible and believe our bodies will go on forever. How I thought the old were a different species back then. If only I had taken a little more care of myself, kept up with the cod liver oil and maybe considered a few less little treats.

I search around for my glasses, running my hand across the side covered in news articles I still have to read, in search of them. There they are, I prop them up on my nose and head for the kitchen.

I make up my muesli and pop a couple of prunes on top. I think about the days of doorstep sandwiches loaded with bacon and how much that would play havoc with the constitution now.

Outside I see the world busying itself for the day, people running for buses, children skipping to school. I turn back to my home and head for the sitting room. I switch on the morning TV to see what is happening in the world, the world I find so alien now.

The Park Bench

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The elderly man sat down on the bench in the park and looked across the lawn to the tennis courts.  It was the first day of spring and the courts were full with youngsters, it reminded him of the love he once had for the game.  He remembered the trip he took to Wimbledon’s Centre Court for the final, all those years ago.   He hadn’t watched a game in a very long time and today was not going to be the day for catching up.

At the top of the bench there was a shiny silver plaque, the inscription in italic read ‘George Knox – loving father and husband, died as he lived in peace and love’.  He looked at the plaque for a moment and thought about George.  The family had done well, the bench was in a lovely spot, it got the warmth of the afternoon sun but also benefitted from a little shade at one end from an old oak.  The oak tree had been there for as long as he could remember, before the tennis courts, before the playground and long before the bench.  The scene, together with the glorious sunshine, was perfect for today.

The man had not been to the park for a very long time, he had never before sat on the bench.  Today was special, he was in the park to meet someone.  He turned to the gates, she would come from that direction and it wouldn’t be long now.  The clock above the bandstand showed it was a little after two thirty in the afternoon and she would have certainly finished her lunch. There she was, slowly entering the park with her walking aid, a small trolley with seat she pushed along in front of her to steady herself.  It gave her some independence and allowed her to visit the park when it was warm enough, today the temperature was just right.

Even from that distance anyone could see Marion was a fine woman.  He didn’t move towards her, he had to hold himself back but he watched every tiny step she made as she walked slowly and purposefully towards the bench.  There was a glimmer of a smile on her lips as she approached, she would be happy to see a space to sit herself down.  Now he was sitting along side her, he looked closely at her profile and again marveled at the fine bone structure and soft almost milky skin.  There was no need for her to wear make-up but he noticed a little lipstick, feint and unnoticeable to most but there all the same.  Marion was wearing her Christmas earrings, red enamel clip-on’s with a little sparkle.  He wondered why she had chosen today to wear them again.

The trolley was left to the side of the bench, she had taken the last couple of steps unaided.  They would not be taking it along with them, he would give her all the aid she needed from now on.  Marion sat on the bench until the sun set over the park.  It was only then that anyone noticed the old lady had died peacefully, her heart stopping gently at three, twenty-three.

George and Marion Knox walked together from the park arm in arm, reunited once more.

Walking Back To Happiness

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I’ve not got a bad pair of legs even if I do say so myself.  The thing is, I paid for them, my mother walked my legs into me and scared poor cellulite from ever coming near.  From an early age, her love of walking was ours, like it or not there was no choice in the matter.

At the age of six I was holding onto the side of my sister’s pushchair while walking with mum to visit my grandmother seven miles away.  We walked from Morden, where we lived in South London to Balham and back again.  This was a regular occurrence and at the best of times without detours it was fourteen miles with short legs.  Can you imagine how many steps a six year old needs to take to walk that distance.  We didn’t own a car, mum couldn’t drive but the long and the short of it was my mum loved to walk.

I have a scar on my knee now from a fall on one of those walks, I don’t look at it today without thinking back. I can see the blood and the small stones stuck into my knee and I can still feel the kiss that made it all better.  In fact many of my childhood memories could be played out on the A24 otherwise known as the London Road.

I remember having dreams as a child of trying to walk or run from a monster and as much as I moved my legs I couldn’t go anywhere.  I wonder now if this might have been on the nights of our long walks, my legs still stepping one in front of the other under the bedclothes.

It wasn’t all-bad, we chatted ten to the dozen there and back, I knew my mum then like I do today because we talked to each other, we never walked in silence. I always think it strange when I see families walking along not speaking to each other, what a waste of precious time.

We played guessing games, told stories and sang songs on those walks, my sister joining in from the pushchair.  The sweet game was my favorite, it was a special treat when it happened as mum didn’t like us to have too many sweets.   We had to suck a sweet and see who could make it last the longest, last one with the sweet won.  My sister always won that game, I couldn’t work out how she managed as she talked as much as us.  I tried and tried to win, stuck the sweet under my tongue, held it between my teeth and kept my mouth open without swallowing but she was always to be queen of that game.

Mum used to say one day she would walk the length of England, I always hoped when she did eventually do this, she would wait until I was old enough to stay at home.  I think I probably walked the length of England a few times in my childhood, but hey I’ve got good legs.  What’s more I have the best relationship with my family, wonderful memories and a driving license!

Oxygen

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They delivered the new oxygen today.  As well as the small cylinders you have got used to, they delivered a concentrator, a large box that takes oxygen from the air. You didn’t want it, but it was necessary as you have required more and more oxygen to do the simple things you used not to think about.  You hated it, you said you felt like you were a dog on a lead being attached to the box wherever you went.  I tried to make light of it, look for the silver lining we usually find at difficult times, but it wasn’t easy today.  I said it only meant getting used to something different, that it would make life easier when you didn’t have to wait around for your oxygen to be delivered.  I reminded you of how you would start to get a little stressed and anxious if you ran low and this wouldn’t be a problem anymore now that the oxygen was on tap.

I felt helpless when I saw you were tearful.  It’s so easy for me, who can run around town in no time at all to tell you everything will be alright.  We know it won’t, you will need oxygen now for the rest of your life.

It’s spooky in a way that you had claustrophobia all your life, that the thought of not being able to breathe was your worst nightmare.  You have lived an exceptionally healthy life and end up with an incurable and hateful lung disease.   It’s like from childhood you subconsciously knew what was to come.  When I think of your illness I often think of the stories of you as a child, licking salt from the factory walls or wearing the old gas masks you told me about.

I took you for a drive today, I thought the sun being out would cheer you up and it did.  We drove down the coast a little to a town with some tearooms.  Finding a disability parking space wasn’t a problem now we have the badges.  I set up your cylinder on the trolley and off we went to attempt a walk.  We stopped for coffee and cake, it was lovely although a little on the generous side.  Walking back towards the car, you were very slow, you stopped, you had nothing left in you and had to sit on a bench for a while in the graveyard.  In setting up the oxygen, I had forgotten to turn the bloody thing on.  I felt awful, putting that stress on your poor body, another reminder of how healthy I am in comparison.

On the journey home, you said you realised now how awful it was for dogs to be on leads.  You’re nothing like a dog mum, however beautiful you think they are, there are no similarities.

You used the concentrator again tonight. I hope it gets easier to live with and you can feel a little happier in yourself.   I suggested you put the tubing over your shoulder so it would trail behind you and you wouldn’t trip.  There you go down the hall with the tube singing to yourself and me ‘over my shoulder goes one care, over my shoulder go two cares’ you’re amazing.

Watching You

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I am following you down the street, the cobbles make it harder for you to push the pram any faster, so it is quite easy for me to keep up with you.  As I draw closer I look down into the pram at your child, a beautiful bonny baby shrouded in yellow.  I’m guessing you had a girl, I know yellow could be used for either sex but she looks like a girl, there is a look of her mother.

You have two children now, I wonder is your family complete.  I suppose it is too early to tell, you are still so young yourself.  Your daughter with that lovely thick curly hair just like her father’s, holds tightly onto the pram beside you.  She is chattering away at the double as you walk towards the park, a happy family unit on a beautiful summers day.

You don’t know me although we have met a few times now.  We met in the children’s library when you helped me find the book I was looking for and we met again at the summer fete when I was helping out with the face paints.  I sat behind you on the bus last week and across from you in the café the week before.  It’s not strange that you see me often, it is a small village and you get to recognise most folk around here.

I’m going to the park too, the dog could do with a run and I will stop for a sandwich in the café by the children’s play area.  It would be nice if we were there at the same time, I know that is your ritual on a warm day like this.  I have some bread to feed the ducks should your little one like to do that, but we will have to see if you go to the lake today.

I like it here, it’s a nice place to live, lovely for the children to grow with the countryside all around them.  I hope you stay, it would be lovely for the children and wonderful for me.

It took me a long time to find this village but I’m happy now after a lifetime of sadness and regret.  I never felt complete before I came here, I’m not really complete now but I’m probably as close as I will ever get.

I watch you from the café, pushing your daughter on the swing.  You both laugh as she soars high in the air, high enough to give her a thrill but safe enough for you, how clever of you.  The pram is close by and your eyes constantly move from pram to swing, what a wonderful mother you are, how lucky the children.

I never had any more children after they took you away from me at 16.  It has been the most painful thing to me and although I did eventually meet a good man I felt that if I had another child it would be unfair to you.  It would be like replacing you and that would be impossible.  Frank and I divorced and he has a family of his own now, I’m happy for him.

I would never tell you who I really am, I know the people that brought you up are your parents.  They are good people and did a wonderful job, for that I will be eternally grateful.  I have observed the love between you when you wave them off from one of their visits.  I love them too in a way, like you they have been included in all my prayers.

I look up to see you entering the garden area of the café.  There is not a table, you stop to look around for a space to sit.  Lily, your daughter points over in my direction, yes there are spare seats at my table by the swings.   Today I have been blessed I think to myself as you sit.

After the Bullies

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I watch from the window as you walk down the quiet street.  I’m tucked away in case you look around, I don’t want you to see me up here.  You walk stiffly, shoulders bent and head down, your arms straight and tight by your side.  Those arms should be swinging, you should look comfortable in your body, your head should be high and you should be at your full and beautiful size my wonderful girl.

I see you pause and I look beyond you, to see what has distracted you from your path.  I see the gang of teenage girls, younger than you are now, sitting upon the wall up ahead.  They wouldn’t appear threatening to many people, but to you I know they are a huge obstacle.  You stop for just a moment, I think you might turn around and return home but you cross the road to distance yourself from the group.  They don’t even notice you as you pass on the other side of the street, but I’m sure it doesn’t feel like that to you.  I’m sure just like me you’re holding your breath, waiting for a shout or something to be thrown.  There, my love its over, you made it and they are sure to be gone by your return in an hour, if not you can walk on the other side again, no one will notice.

I hate the bullies that did this to you, took away your teenage years when you should be laughing and maybe like the other girls sitting on the wall talking about boy bands and boyfriends.  I hate the fact that many of your hours are spent in your room with the curtains closed, listening to that awful music and writing in your diary.  I wish you didn’t wear black all the time, I really think you could do with some colour in your life.

Your diary shouts at me from across your room, spews out your hurt, it screams loudly your loss.  I would never open the cover and look but I can feel the pain inside those pages, feel your loneliness and hear your anger. 

I would take away your pain in a moment, carry it for you and more on top if I thought it would give you your youth back.  I know you will overcome this one day, know that you will have a wonderful life.  You are just too lovely not to and like attracts like in the end my darling I promise.

I’m still at the window just over an hour later as you return.  I duck behind the curtain as I see you turn the corner.  It has been a long hour for both of us but you won’t know that I have been watching for you as I sit down with my feet curled under me and open my book.    

The Step

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There was that creak on the stair again, I had wanted to get to sleep before it came but like most nights, I didn’t manage it.  The step that made that awful noise was the fourth up from the bottom, just as the staircase turned the corner as it headed upwards, towards me.  There were another ten steps after this and then just across the landing to my bedroom.  I held my breath and tucked my head under the bedcovers, waiting for the handle to turn.  Nothing, silence a painful wait in the dark.

 

My little sister slept soundly across the room, I could hear the mumble of her breathing.  I didn’t want to look around the room, not now in the dark, I knew that the shadows cast by the light from the hall would make the strangest of shapes.  That my toys that gave me so much joy in the daylight hours would appear sinister and if I saw, I might never want to play with them again.

 

Mum was moving about downstairs, humming to herself as she prepared herself for bed.  Who was it that had made the stair creak again tonight, nobody else lived in our house.  I had to get to sleep before mum finally went to her room, I couldn’t bear it if I was still awake after she turned off the lights in the hall.  I squeezed my eyes tight and prayed that sleep would come before the darkness filled my room, before the door opened and I would get to see who or what was on the landing.

 

I hated the stair that creaked, I never trod on it myself.  In my dreams, if I did it would open up and swallow me whole, take me to a place where my mum would never find me.  I would hold tightly onto the banister, however much I might be carrying, however hard I wanted the toilet and straddle myself over that creaky step.

 

Nobody else took any notice of the fourth step.  My sister ran up and down the stairs without thinking or counting, it appeared to me she didn’t realise what danger might be hidden under the stairs.   If mum shouted that she should be careful, it was of falling down, directing her to go slower and look where she was going.

 

Maybe our house was haunted, maybe the stair just creaked as the house cooled at night but whatever it was that made the noise, it never got me.

Tomorrow

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Tomorrow you might not be here anymore.  Tomorrow might not be the day after today, but there will be a tomorrow when you are gone.  I can’t imagine a tomorrow without you, where you are not in my world.  But tomorrow can wait because you are here today.  Today I can talk with you and tell you all the things you need to hear, how very, very special you are.

Lets first start with yesterday, not the day before today but all our yesterdays.  How we have walked many paths of experience together, shared many smiles and laughed out loud together.  How on that first yesterday, the yesterday we met, you loved me from the moment you saw me.  I’m not sure I remember how I felt, but I’m sure it was the same because I don’t remember ever not loving you.  We have spent a lifetime together, my lifetime anyway.  I know you started yours before me and mine might go on a little longer but knowing you is as old as my bones.  You are my oldest memory, my first memory and my forever memory.  Yesterday you taught me kindness, I copied you and it was easy.  Yesterday you showed me love and empathy, and because I received it from you, it became easy for me to show it to others.  Yesterday you listened to me, you have always listened to me and I understand the importance of listening to others.  You taught me a lot and what did I give you in return.  Yesterday I taught you fear, from the moment we met I know you feared you might loose me.  You feared for my safety and feared I might be hurt, you feared that I would be sad.  I tested you a little along the way with that lesson.  You taught me a little of that fear too, I’m fearful now for you.

Today you are in my life, today I can touch you, hold you, smell you.  I can look into your lovely blue eyes, be warmed by your smile and hear your voice.  Today I can see an aura around you that glows golden with your beauty.  There are angels in your aura, they add to the shine, they bathe in the pureness of it.  Today I can care for you, be there and show you how very special you will always be.

I am going to put yesterday, today and tomorrow in a jar and shake them up.  Shake them so they mix together and become one.  Shake them until they melt into one place and time that we will always share.