On Lost Things
In December...
Socks, the hoover, meals, post, sleep, my kindle, time at school, hope, Ray.
I turned my voice mail off on Monday when it clocked 19 (un-listened-to) messages.
I’ve never ever had more than 3 before.
It felt like something else I was failing at or at least trying NOT to fail at!
They are all from my father in law. He died 6 days later.
I’ve not listened to any of them but I can’t delete them. I don’t know what I’ll do with them…
But for now, no one can leave voice messages.
In all honesty, I can’t remember the last time someone else left me an “answer phone message”.
Friends would send a voice note or text if I didn’t answer. Colleagues would send an email. Very few people call me. I’d like it if more people did.
Even the recent life admin including a dodgy roof fix, an oven fixed six times in as many years, a broken washing machine - all text message confirmations.
One of six or seven portals to check daily. Endless places to look for connection.
I wonder if the culture of voice mail shifted whilst we didn’t pay much attention to it? Well my father in law always left voice mails - they appeared daily if I missed the call. Mostly I appreciated them - grateful for a father figure not having one of my own.
Today - Wednesday we got the call in the middle of our week-long holiday to say Ray’s health has deteriorated significantly. He’s been in a wonderful hospice for cancer patients for a couple of months.
He has fluid around his heart and is confused and sleeping a lot. His grand daughter asked him if we should come back from holiday to see him. He said through struggled breaths on a whatsapp voice note for us to enjoy our time and he’d focus on his recovery.
I felt heavy at the loss of hope for his life. Half way through our first holiday since Summer 2021 and stuck with one foot there and topping up our wellbeing and one desperately wanting to be with him.
Walking back to our lodge, my daughter closed her tiny hand over my thumb for reassurance in dark cool air of the night I embodied the beauty of that moment and tears fell down my cheeks.
My eyes blurred as I tried to focus on tree hung fairy lights and leave decision making for another day.
I remembered things can be heartbreakingly beautiful and desperately sad all at once.
I took a deep breath and watched the Christmas lights in the ancient holiday forest change colour from bright white to ruby red through green and white again.
Nothing stays the same. A cycle in everything. Time passes whether you like it or not. We’d been here with him a few years before - we told each other stories of those times.
We put our Christmas tree up on Saturday morning. My mum brought advent calendars for the kids - excitement filled the room as they got to open three doors at once.
As the intensity grew I popped out. I bought a real tree in a gold plastic pot along with the groceries. The sheer amount of decorations and choices and mess completely overwhelmed me amongst post holiday laundry and the sugar rollercoaster I’d put myself on since earlier in the week.
I wanted to leave the tree just lit up with lights but I cherished the choices my son made hanging home made decorations and felt forrest animals on branches.
On Saturday afternoon after a whole night by his father’s bedside, my husband took our eldest down to be with his dad for his passing.
As we lost the sun light here at home, I replaced it with all the candles I could find in a gold welcome light as our great oak fell in the forest sheltered by the weeping willow and cherished by angels of kin and new friends by his bedside.
A grandad, a dad, a great grandad, a man who lost his beloved wife and a son and stepped up to walk me down the aisle all within 10 years of knowing him.
I dedicated my journal to him and he proudly showed it off to staff at the hospice. Four of them bought copies and tens more wrote messages in his copy.
A uniquely dependable character no longer with us.
Lives left less steady in the wake of everything crumbling.
Of course he would have stayed longer if his body would have let him. He didn’t like to miss out.
Saturday 3rd December - Ray’s Day - the day we’ll put our Christmas Tree up every year from here on in.
As we put order back into the chaos of grief, I am contemplating lost things, decisions made and the weight of supporting our beautiful children who have lost the opportunity to grow up with a grandad like I did, feeling alone and home all at the same time.
We are grateful for all the well wishes and photos and videos we took in preparation of our epic loss.
As we navigate next steps to say a farewell please hold us all in your thoughts and prayers.
Claire xx
PS - I know grief can lift the lid on past griefs and processing is a life long commitment. I found these words full of comfort and synchronicity…
A song to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who hath ruled in the greenwood long;
Here ’s health and renown to his broad green crown,
And his fifty arms so strong.
There ’s fear in his frown when the sun goes down,
And the fire in the west fades out;
And he showeth his might on a wild midnight,
When the storm through his branches shout.
Then here’s to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who stands in his pride alone;
And still flourish he, a hale green tree,
When a hundred years are gone!
In the days of old, when the spring with cold
Had brightened his branches gray,
Through the grass at his feet crept maidens sweet,
To gather the dew of May.
And on that day to the rebeck gay
They frolicked with lovesome swains;
They are gone, they are dead, in the churchyard laid,
But the tree it still remains.
Then here’s to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who stands in his pride alone;
And still flourish he, a hale green tree,
When a hundred years are gone!
He saw the rare times when the Christmas chimes
Were a merry sound to hear,
When the squire’s wide hall and the cottage small
Were filled with good English cheer.
Now gold hath the sway we all obey,
And a ruthless king is he;
But he never shall send our ancient friend
To be tossed on the stormy sea.
Then here’s to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who stands in his pride alone;
And still flourish he, a hale green tree,
When a hundred years are gone!
This is so beautifully written Claire, you really connected with the complicated emotions that this time of year can bring
So much of this resonates. I got the call on December 2, 2022 that it was the end for my dad. I was at my annual Christmas gingerbread house making party that I've hosted for over twenty years. I spent most of that time out in the hall, crying, working out logistics of travel, talking to my siblings. And I very much had that feeling you describe: "I remembered things can be heartbreakingly beautiful and desperately sad all at once." Candy and laughter continued happening all around me and it was beautiful and enjoyable and made me feel warm and loved because these are my people. And also ...
It was a rough month. I flew down there (trekking with a fractured ankle that would take most of 2023 to finally heal.) We thought he was getting better. I left. I got another call. I flew back down, on delayed flights, on December 23, not knowing if I'd get there in time. I got there in time. Us siblings spent the night with him. He passed on the morning of December 24th. I am grateful we could all be there with him. I'm grateful he is out of pain. I am sad that he isn't here. It's all true.