Then, now, and forever
On willing ourselves to be in the precious present, after loss.
Soon after I lost my mother, a kind friend told me, “grief isn’t always linear”. And I’m so grateful, because—among others— I’ve kept coming back to her words. As another friend, Sally, puts it, at her newsletter
:Grief work is sacred and mystical because at its core it involves being able to move sorrows from our heads to our hearts where all healing takes place.
Meanwhile, day to day life at home and work goes on. Both children are currently home – one with big summer exams coming up, and another recharging and researching her next adventure. My dad is doing really well. He has settled in and is being wonderfully cared for in the nearby residential home we found for him and my mother, when they were no longer able to live alone at home.
Never have I been more aware of and thankful for those with a true vocation to caring for our elderly and most vulnerable. For anyone navigating this learning curve of love, this post has proved helpful to many, and I’ve updated it with lots of readers’ tips and advice, too.
What’s surprised me, in these few, first, months is how much I’ve missed my mum as she was before her memory struggles really kicked in. I hadn’t expected the memory of who she was, and how she mothered me then, to be so vivid—hard, but also deeply, and unexpectedly, comforting.
On Sunday, I could almost feel her delight as I pottered in the garden, arranging outdoor cushions and garden furniture. And I’m on a mission to track down the intensely fragrant, pinky-peach variety azalea that sat on the patio of my childhood home in East Sheen, south west London, in the seventies.
I wish she could see that I’m watering plants now. (She always bemoaned my green-fingered neglect, which meant I always panic-soaked the pots by our front door, moments before any visit. Yes, she finger-tested them..
As another dear friend said, it’s not only the times we expect to miss loved ones that hit hard, such as birthdays, Christmas, Easter and Mother’s Day (coming up soon for American friends, I know). It’s those, too, that sideswipe us unexpectedly, such as a change of seasons or a time of year. A kind of light, even. Her mother, like mine, loved the spring.
I’d love give my mother a tour of our little garden, and show her how its come along -including the Mary garden I was inspired to create in her memory. Suddenly, I appreciate it all so much more: the flowers, the colour, the birdsong. I’m willing myself to be fully in the precious present, even as I’m rebuilding the leaning tower of Reebok in the hallway, on repeat.
To to be here. To be home.
Welcome back, Jenni. May you feel very much at home in this space because I hope to visit it often! It meant the world to me to know that my words spoke to you as you have been going through this season of loss, and longing, and remembering, and grieving. The way you are saying your hellos to your mum by remembering the way her hand helped to nurture you and mother you really touched my heart. I know what you mean about wishing your mum could visit your garden and see all the memory of her inspired you to do. I do think that is how we keep our loved ones alive in our hearts, by creating spaces we think they would have loved to spend time in with us. Also, we have inspiration as we create because we remember them, and our actions become a way of expressing that love after they are gone. We make new memories knowing they were with us during these creative times.
Also, thank you for linking my Substack here.
As always, I loved reading your newsy letter. You bring so much of your delightful personality to all you do. Sending much love across the pond to you. Hugs.
"the leaning tower of Reebok in the hallway' : ) Loved this, Jenni! I've missed you. I'm excited to read more of your words -- especially of your adventures in Italy! xx