sudden_serenity

I've been thinking a lot about those no longer with us recently, and those whose days here are short. I'm pretty sure that the coverage of the Queen's death in Scotland last week has reached all corners by now and the grief in the country is palpable. Everything is a little bit reserved and quieter in deference to her loss and the grief of her family - not many people can command the mourning of an entire nation, but it seems to be genuine and freely given. It brings some perspective and a sense of scale to the grief of my own family though recent days.

My life seems to have been touched by the death or illness of several key people recently. I wrote last year of the loss of my sister-in-law and since then I have dreamed of other deceased family members several times. My grandfather, a funny, king, family-loving man in particular has been a presence in my dreams a couple of times. I find such meetings unsettling but rewarding and calming too, on reflection. I guess it is just a time in my life that my older family members are beginning to reach an age where some of them will sicken and die naturally.

My mother in law was born in the same year as the Queen. Her life is winding down; she is tired and introspective, trapped in a world where she is a part of life and yet not. She is very deaf and her memory is short yet she loves to see us all, on Skype or in person. She has lived a long and amazing life, with a wealth of stories and memories and a big family. She speaks openly of having lived too long now and we smile and chide her for her dramatics but there is a genuine feeling behind her words. Her friends are mostly gone and her beloved husband left us a decade ago  - she still misses him, I think.

Now she has to face the fact that she might outlive her son, who retired age sixty at the beginning of the year to focus on his fight against a cancer that he has been battling for a decade or more. My brother in law moved to the other side of the world to start a new life thirty years ago, and now he is there and we are still here, waiting for news on his condition, how he is that day, what he is feeling and how much pain he is in. It's brutal and upsetting for them and for us. His wife, despite the support of all the visitors and their neighbours and friends, is facing a life alone in a place filled with memories of her soul mate. He loves fast cars, beer, cycling,  sailing, the environment and the Stranglers. He is not old. He worked all his life for nine months of illness instead of retirement.

So what is my point? I'm not sure, to be honest. Other than my grandparents when I was quite young, I haven't had to face a lot of deaths, and only once, devastatingly,  of a young person. My feelings are the classic mix of anger, confusion, despair, guilt and a hollowness that no amount of words will fill. I tell myself it is part of life - I know it is - it is the surest part of the human condition - it happens to all of us and we all experience it when it touches those who we know and love.

None of these things help right now.

But in a few months, I will be listening to the radio, or be walking by the sea, or working in the garden and some aspect of their lives will flicker across my mind - a rose, a song, a recipe, a sailboat, a phrase or an old joke,  a moment that has made it into family lore. A word. A dream.

A memory.

And I will smile as I realise that they have not travelled so far away after all.