Endings and beginnings

First

First on my walk, I met a huge dog and his tiny owner, and then a tiny dog and her very tall owner. The Dog and I talk to everyone. Next, I said hello (out loud) to the River, this beautiful river which I think of as the life blood of the village. We walked beside it until we came to the felled beech. Two days ago, two men would not allow me to pass along the path. A branch had fallen from a tree and I had imagined they were cutting up that fallen branch. But no, with their brutal and unforgiving chain saw, they were felling this wise old being of the woods in her entirety. I suppose they saw a thing, a hazard, a job to do, not a living being. I discovered her demise later the same day. I stroked the still damp centre of her exposed trunk, and the soft moss covering her bark. I told her I was sorry, that I loved her and I thanked her. As I stood there, my hand resting on her sawn body, I saw that although this was an ending, it was also a beginning. If Dartmoor National Park let nature take its course, how many little beings will set up home in her rotting remains? How many fungi will break her down into the building blocks for new life?

5 years ago

This morning, Facebook sent me a picture from 5 years ago: a collage of photographs which my daughter had posted, of the opening day of her cafe in Berlin. When her brother had died 2 years earlier, instead of pursuing her PhD, she had gone to India and trained as a yoga teacher. She set herself up running classes from a yoga and community centre in her neighbourhood and a year later, in the midst of Covid, in between lock downs and with social distancing still in place, she saw the need for a place for community to gather. She set up her cafe in the same place that she worked and it was, against all the odds, a success. The same year, she married her partner and found a house in the country, they bought it the following year and she became pregnant. Today she has a child, a home and land from which they run a community project for weary Berliners, families and others to gather and recharge. So much life, all of it subsequent to, I would like to say in consequence of, my son’s death.

In consequence

My daughter wrote me a note the other day, thanking me for my “irrepressible spirit of life…for throwing myself into life”, especially since my husband died. Have I? It has felt frequently arduous and sometimes gutty but I thought about her words. The year after he died I travelled to Morocco to sing. A few months later I took a job managing a retreat centre and also initiated and ran retreats there myself. On leaving, I began writing this blog and set up a community interest company. I work with those who are dying and grieving and I’ve written a book. I’ve travelled back to Morocco walking and writing and I plan more books, more travel and more group projects. Had my husband lived, would I have created this life, a life that I can be proud of, that I can say, whole heartedly, is mine and not lived through or for anyone else? I doubt it. What I have is definitely in consequence of his death. That is both sobering and something to celebrate.

On the floor

All this I was thinking in the woods. Towards the end of my walk, a mother and her little daughter were standing with their golden lab.

“Can I say hello to your dog?” the little girl asked.

“Of course you can,” I replied and took a step towards her, as Dougal the Golden took a step between my legs, destabilising me. I fell. It hurt. I don’t bounce any more. And yet, there was only kindness, concern and good will, neither blame nor defensiveness from all of us. In fact, there was a sweetness in the interaction as the mother gently removed leaf litter from my hair.

I do now have a good life, a loving one full of friendships, precious family, beauty and creativity, a life with meaning and gratitude. And, I can be floored at any moment. We all can. I’m guessing nobody came to the old beech and warned her the chain saw was on its way. And nobody comes to us to pre warn us of an accident, an illness or a loss. Death, other people’s and our own, seems often to take us by surprise, despite its inevitability.

Attitude

The attitude I’d like to foster is one where, in the face of unexpected and difficult events in my life, I don’t see unadulterated catastrophe.  It makes me think of Sleeping Beauty. The Thirteenth Fairy, having been excluded from the party (unwisely I would say), gave the baby princess the ‘gift’ of death, which gift was attenuated by the remaining fairy, as a sleep for 100 years.  Death isn’t the end of the story.

I would not have chosen a life without my boy and I ache for my daughter for having lost her one and much beloved sibling. I would not have chosen a life without my dearest man alongside me. But having been given that life, I will live it and live it in continuing love of those I can no longer touch or walk beside, sharing it with those I meet along my path – child, River or fallen tree.

With my love

Nickie

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