Harry's Day A Reason To Remember

15 05 2013

Harry’s Day

A Reason to Remember

Has anyone ever told you that things happen for a reason and you could just slap them in the face? It may have been after being rejected for that dream job or realizing that the person you love doesn't feel the same. It may be that you didn't get the grades in that test or forgot to enter the lottery in the week your numbers came up.

These are what my mum described as   “character building experiences.”

She allowed me to feel sorry for myself for a couple of days and then reminded me of the starving children in Africa and how I really didn't have any reason to complain.

She was a woman who had gone through some tough times. Widowed at twenty-six with 3 children under 5yrs old. I often wonder what she would say to those people who may have told her that things happen for a reason. She was always very reflective never stopped reminding us to be thankful for small mercies!

I miss mum every day but especially when I need some of her words of wisdom.

I wonder what mum would say to my daughter as I hug her when she sobs for the loss of her son who was born still and asleep almost 2 years ago

I remember mum telling me that there are those who never recover from the blows that life throws at them and there are those who turn to their faith but for the rest of us we reflect and wonder and eventually reconcile.

I wonder how mum would explain the death of a child. A child that never got the chance to look at you or take a single breathe. What reason is there for this? Mum would have known what to say and I am currently trying to find the right words to say to my daughter in what was always going to be a tough week.

Two years ago today is when my grandson Harry, stopped breathing. He would be born a few days later still and asleep.

A lot has happened in the last 2 years and most of it has been good. Life has indeed carried on and I have so much to be thankful for. Why then do I feel so sad today? So I am reflecting and wondering and trying to reconcile.

Harry was still born on 15^th May 2013 and today my daughter was struggling to think about celebrating his birthday. She used the word “dead “today for the first time in two years. She said that to celebrate a birthday you have to be born alive and Harry wasn’t (born alive) She asked why we should celebrate someone’s death.

I hugged her as she cried and I waited for Mum’s words of wisdom.

I explained to her that I always celebrate mum’s birthday and I always remember the day she died. Both occasions, to me, are special that's why we need to raise a glass to Harry on the 15^th May, this is indeed the day he was born and the day he died.

 Now I’m not sure she’s ready to raise a glass this year or even wants to remember that day. I was there on that day and much as I remember the trauma and I also remember the joy. I try to remind my daughter of the joy of meeting her son for the first time and not to dwell on the hours before or the hours after.

I reminded her of how we remembered Harry last year and although a lot has happened in the last 12 months, 15^th May is still a family occasion that should be remembered in some way.

This year is different she says. I listen  as she tries to explain her emotions. This year my daughter and her partner have adopted a beautiful baby girl. She is 15 months old and would not be part of our family if Harry were here. She is so happy that her family is complete but feels so guilty for being happy when she has lost a son?

I ask her what she thinks to the idea that things happen for a reason and I know she wants to slap my face.

I tell her that life is not fair. There are no explanations. There are no reasons. There is no reason why Harry died and why other children survive.

What I do know is that Harry brought joy into her life if only for a few hours, and her adopted daughter brings us joy every day. I feel lucky to be a part of their lives.

Harry will always be a part of our family and this year will be the first year that his little sister will be able to remember him. In years to come she will talk fondly of him just as his big sister does now. She will visit his garden and lay flowers and maybe release a balloon. It will be what the family does on Harry’s Day. We will not call it his birthday as that is something that may be difficult to explain. We will not be able to give reasons as to why he is in heaven but we will be able to say that he brought us joy and he brought us his little sister,

Now maybe one day my daughter will accept that some things happen for a reason but for now I will avoid the slap on my face and I will simply reflect and reconcile.

God bless little man!

Remembering St George

D

REMEMBERING ST GEORGE

APRIL 23rd 2015

Dad George circa 1960

As I write this piece it is 51 years since my dad’s funeral and almost 2 years since the funeral of our little grandson Harry who was born still and asleep.

I sometimes wonder why I write and whom I think will read my pieces and if it really matters if anyone reads them.

I write because it makes me feel better.I also write because I want those close to me to have something that shows a bit about me.

Mum always kept a journal but like me she never finished one. She died nearly 5 years ago and I read her journals nearly every day. They are full of events and memories that it would be easy to forget and they show mums life through her eyes. They tell mum’s story. They are one of the things that I would rescue from a “Burning House”

So I suppose keeping a journal or blogging is my way of telling my story and maybe my children will enjoy reading my account of my life as much as I enjoy reading mum’s story. So today I wanted to write about St George’s Day. As I write I think about Mum and hopefully it will become clear why St Georges Day is such a special day for me.

We always remembered St George’s Day as children because it was the day of my dad’s funeral. Mum made it a special day every year. We had special cakes for tea or went to visit a special park. To my knowledge there has always been sunshine on St Georges Day.

Since mum died I have visited her grave on St George’s Day and always take roses. She is buried with my dad in an overgrown churchyard in Brampton Bierlow.

The churchyard has always been overgrown and it is a place I remember visiting as a young child. Dad didn’t have a headstone so we had to find the head stone with Jesus walking through a door. That was my marker. Once I found the headstone I used to sit and play with the green marble stones that were scattered in front of the picture of Jesus whilst my mum tended my dad’s grave. For me it was a happy peaceful place. I often wondered how it was for mum.

After she died we found her journals and that question was answered.  

Through her writing I know how she felt and I can almost hear her voice as she recalls visiting my dad 40 years after his funeral. I am reassured that she too found visiting the grave a comforting thing to do and as an adult I can empathize with her feeling.

Reading mums journals inspires me to keep writing and explains a little bit as to why I gain so much from keeping a journal.

She wrote a piece 11 years ago. 41 years to the day of my dad’s funeral on 23^rd April 1964. In her journal she writes about how she awoke to the sound of the birds and to bright sunshine. She remembered the day in her journal clearly dated

“Friday April 23^rd 2004

St George’s Day

I awoke this morning early and as I had predicted it was a beautiful sunny morning. I lay in bed and looked at the blue sky and listen to the sound of birds singing. It seems like a lifetime away from the morning of April 23^rd 1964. “

Mum talks in her journal of trying to keep herself busy but even 40 years after his funeral she cannot stop thinking of him.

“Forty years and I still have the same feeling. Did it really happen?  YES. My life is so different but I am still the same. I think of the day forty years ago when it was the day of George’s funeral. I still think of him as a young man, a loving father and a good husband. My thoughts are with him most of the day. I try to concentrate on mundane things like dusting, washing, making the beds but I know that nothing will stop me thinking of him all day.”

George’s funeral was at 2.00pm and Mum explains in her journal how she felt that day as she went to lay some flowers at her young husbands grave. My dad (Gerald) tried to support mum but this was not a day when he could comfort her.

“At 1.30pm I’m ready. I feel very solitary. I have a small bunch of roses. Gerald is very good; he knows how I feel but says nothing. At the churchyard Gerald starts to accompany me but I know it’s not what I want. I looked at Gerald and explain its something I want to do alone. He understands and walks back to the car”

Grief is a very personal thing and reading mums journal makes me realize that there are times when you need to allow those you love time to grieve alone, even 40 years after someone has died, you still need that personal space.

As mum makes her way to the spot where George is buried she describes her journey and explains how some things have not changed but it is clear that on this day 40 years ago her world changed forever.

“I make my way down the familiar path. I think how green everything looks. There are loads of daffodils. It smells like spring. It’s a smell that I always remember. Did I really walk down this path 40 years ago? It is just as I remember: nothing has changed. The large imposing monuments, the sounds of spring, the daffodils.

Then I see the grave of Ma Parkin (George’s mum) I pause and I think of how she must have felt on this day 40 years ago.  She must have felt so much pain and anguish to bury a son at only 29 years old. I am so sorry I didn’t comprehend how she must have felt”

“At last I am here beside the grave of Mr. and Mrs. Brookes.  Their grave is my clue to George’s unmarked grave. I couldn’t afford the luxury of a headstone with 3 little ones to support, but a marker makes no difference to my feelings. As I stand and remember its as clear as if it were yesterday. I talk to him of the family he would be so proud of. I tell him about our daughters.

40 years ago they were with a neighbour. I didn’t want them to see so much grief. I wanted them to remember Daddy as he was. Was that wrong? I don’t know.”

It is nearly 5 years since my mum died and I still make the journey on St Georges Day to lay some flowers on what has now become her grave too.

Last year I went with my granddaughter to visit Nanny Angel. I told her it was St Georges Day and we needed to pick some special flowers. Ella Mae was only 3 but she picked a bunch of 10 pink roses saying that Nanny Angel would like them. (Little did she know that pink roses were the flowers that mum  laid at her husbands grave 40 years after he died.)

I smiled and agreed that pink roses were a good choice. The   graveyard is near Ella Mae’s school and she knows the way to mums grave. As ever it was overgrown but she found the grave with the green marble stones and knew that Nanny Angel’s garden is the one next to that one.

Since mum died we have put on a headstone but it made me smile when I saw Ella Mae playing with the green marble stones and talking to the picture of Jesus on the head stone.. I wondered what mum would be thinking. I remember last year  I started talking to her and telling her about Emma in Australia and Adam still holding down a full time job. I reassured her that Lauren was OK and that Dad was doing exactly as she said he would sleeping until gone 12 and drinking lots of John Smiths.

In mums journal she talked to George

“Well George I don’t think we could ever have envisaged our daughters being so successful. Pamela whose name you tricked me into giving her. Well she is in America a marketing manager and still keeps the Sanders name. Sharon, the easy going placid one who went everywhere on your shoulders, is a teacher and Wendy is a wonderful homemaker living in Belgium. I am at peace here with you and I feel you are with them all the time. Yes George, I am shedding a tear but because of our love there are three very special girls who have enriched so many people’s lives. There are grandchildren to carry on the family feeling and through the sadness there is also happiness”

“I gently lay the roses  on George’s grave – each rose I kiss as I lay them there one each from Pam Sharon and Wendy and one from me. I look around and I am glad to be alive for that means I can come again and tell George more stories about our family. Its time to go but I have one last task. I make my way back to Ma Parkin’s grave and lay one single rose on her grave. She was his mother and she must have ached with grief on this day 40 years ago.”

This just confirms to me that time may be a healer but it cannot erase the memory of the pain felt when someone dies, nor can it fill the emptiness left by someone you love.

So even though mum is no longer here her journal is advising me.

Through Mums words in her journal I am reminded that grief and love are all encompassing. The strength of the emotion ebbs and flows through your life and the older you get the more you seem to understand it.

As mum left the churchyard she wrote

“As I walk slowly back to the car my thoughts are with all those we have loved. The sun is shining I can see Gerald waiting patiently at the gate and I feel lucky. I will go home and ring the girls and wish them Happy St Georges Day!”

Tonight is the eve of St Georges Day and I visited Dad Gerald. He continues to remain in the background and although he is a constant cause of frustration I know he loved mum and misses her. I shall visit him tomorrow and take some daffodils. I hope he wishes me Happy St Georges Day!

The forecast is, of course, for sunshine and when I finish work, we will gather as a family and raise a glass to St George and I know that all my children and now their children will realize that we are really celebrating the life of our very own St George and all those who will be partying with him in Heaven!

HAPPY ST GEOPRGE’S DAY

APRIL 23^rd 2015