Grace

Words On Loss And Grieving

Saturday 16 May 2020 This morning we managed to get through to the nursing home on a zoom call so we could see and speak with Grace. The home is short staffed and she has been ill with a chest infection so contact has been difficult, fleeting. Mercy the always-cheerful nurse took the ipad in and spent awhile angling so we could see, but Grace’s eyes were glazed with sleep. We called Hello, wanting to tell her about last night’s family online meet up (Mr and I, in full glitter make-up, won the alphabet scavenger hunt; Grandchildren 3 and 4 both are missing a front tooth; Grandchild 4’s tooth fairy trap didn’t work - Grandchild 1 is booked to play guitar for the next one; Grandchild 5 ran off being shy, 2 was eating late, 7 was a-bed, 6 all grin and tongue; all the grown ups so refreshed by connection, all the detail she would love) but that was too much. Hello was too much.

‘Do you want to talk to me today Mum?’ Mr says, making light of it. She mouths the word ‘No.’ A twitch of humour we see, but still she means no, she is too tired even for pretty lies. We are watching her when we should be sat by her bed, holding her hand, no words needed. I want to say to her, by touch, don’t wait, find your peace.

Monday 18th May 2020 The climbing rose is blooming - I picked the first flower yesterday. The rest would have been plucked in today. A whim to let them open in the sun interrupted; to have fullness before harvest. I pressed nose to petal, went to ready myself for work. Polytunnel open, flower pots watered, washing on line. Sunglasses on, windows down, drive over open moors, take view of the glittering sea. Content. At 3pm my mobile rang. I knew. With her daughter at her bedside, the breaths of our Grace ceased today. I am at work on a sunny day, the door is open, we have the radio playing, our care-charge has cast off one sock in a deliberate act of glee. I wish to be at home with Mr, but here is not a bad place to be. There’s a lightness. Grace does not call for our tears (they will come anyway) - this soft yes to the world, to the kind small details: this is her gift. If a cake is baked, a needle threaded; these are her bequeathments. Tonight I am opening the champagne (although Grace was more of a merry-on-sherry girl.) If you would care to join us, Grace would be delighted. We will toast - To Grace, to kindness. Right now I’m typing these words, I’m thinking she is here in the breeze, in the uplift of sun, looking over my shoulder, smiling. All welcome, my darlings, she says.