It is exactly one year since my brother Simon died in Dove House Hospice, Hull. July 19th 2022 was the hottest day of the year in England but Simon was cool in the windowless Princess Diana Suite. He had been taken there by ambulance the previous Friday and whether or not it was caused naturally or by the administration of end-of-life medication, he very soon entered a nether state of apparent unconsciousness.
Shirley and I saw him the following day and he was more or less unresponsive but when I tried to ply him with water, his lips moved and he bared his teeth. He seemed to want it. Before we left I stroked his hair as I softly sang, "Are you going to Scarborough Fair?"
The following Tuesday, having never regained consciousness, he had gone off to Scarborough Fair. A lovely nurse phoned me and explained the minute details of his passing. It was so kind and her compassion and dedication came a-humming right down the telephone line. He had died in good hands.
At death, Simon was more or less a skeleton. He hadn't eaten properly in months. He just couldn't do it and the nutritional drinks he was prescribed made little difference. He had cancer in both his trachea and his oesophagus. It is unlikely that he will ever be recorded as yet another tragic victim of tobacco smoking but when all is said and done - that is what severely shortened his life. Fifty years of smoking.
In the days that followed, Shirley and I worked like Trojans to clear his humble rented cottage. We tried to be ruthless but in the end we brought some of his stuff home and as I sit in this study typing, I still look down to my left at two boxes of rescued remnants.
I have tried several times to deal with it but most of it ends up back in the boxes. I just can't bring myself to cast it out. It's not all about Simon - it's about the rest of my birth family too. Old Bibles that belonged to my father and to my maternal great grandfather. Fading photographs - some of them in frames. Sports badges, certificates, birthday cards, Paul's rowing cap, newspaper clippings, a baton, a brass crab and so on. It's like the flotsam that washed up on the shore after my family's boat had been wrecked in a storm. Only Robin - my brother in France - and I managed to swim to the the beach.
Amongst those rescued things, I found six untitled pages of Simon's handwriting - jotted down in the summer of 1979 - the year that our father died. There were periods of Simon's life that were very difficult and that was one of them. I am not in the mood for relating the contents of that writing just now. Maybe tomorrow or maybe another day.
I put in an order for his gravestone weeks ago - following his instructions. It will be very simple - a Norman shaped slab of Yorkshire sandstone with only his name and 1956-2022 carved upon it. It will be a hundred yards from where he was born and a hundred yards from his rented cottage. I am not expecting the stone to be in place until October.
Photograph and discard.
ReplyDeleteA sandstone slab with Simon's name.
ReplyDeleteOne hundred yards from where he was born and where he lived ...
How many of us live and die in such a close community ?
Singing Scarborough Fair to Simon was beautiful.
Hearing is the last of the senses to go so Simon heard your sung ballad.
Julie Felix sang it.
*Remember me to one who lives there ...
She once was a true love of mine.*
It's hard to throw out things that have been left behind as loved ones pass; it feels somehow disrespectful. Hard choices.
ReplyDeleteIt is difficult to get rid of items that our ancestors and siblings saved. I have scads of old family photographs and no one to give them to so I guess they'll go in a dumpster when I'm gone. Unless I can do what I have started many times by culling them. Some times it's difficult to be the survivor.
ReplyDeleteAnd regarding Simon's smoking, I am so glad that Judy and I quit the foul habit when we returned from Mexico to the high price of American cigarettes over 30 years ago.
Throwing out memories is a hard step to take. I still have some (too much) of my late husband's stuff although I've gotten rid of LOTS of it. I still hold on to a few of his special shirts and tee shirts that his daughters bought for him or thought were funny. From the California Redwoods: If a man talks in the forest and there is no one there to hear him, is he still wrong? :) Simon was my age, gulp. But I've never smoked, thankfully.
ReplyDeleteI remember your blog posts from that time. You did all you could and I was sad but glad when he passed and was no longer suffering. Such serious but sweet boys in that photo!
ReplyDeleteWe remember people on various anniversaries like their deaths. For some reason people find it difficult to part with mementos like you list. Sometimes it takes a long time to settle the issues of a persons loss.
ReplyDeleteTasker's idea is a good one, with the addition of course of backing up at least twice and letting younger family know that the copies are there for them.
ReplyDeleteI noticed in England that people seem to smoke very strong cigarettes and even in their forties they had very bad coughs, especially first thing in the morning when coughing would sound its post dawn chorus in the neighbourhoods.
Coming to terms with loss is difficult. Two days ago one of my daughter's aunts was rushed into hospital in Switzerland with a severe case of pneumonia, she survived and is demanding her phone to talk to everyone now.
ReplyDeleteSimon lived his life in his own way there should be no judgment. He was born within a short distance of where he had lived his final years. That is one good note. As for possessions you must either pass them on or get rid of them I think.
A year already! Like Ellen, I remember your posts from that time and your struggle with the bureaucratic hurdles in handling Simon's estate. I am glad you sung to him last time you saw him (more or less) alive.
ReplyDeleteYour comparison of the contents of the two boxes to flotsam after a shipwreck is very apt, and touches me on quite a deep level. In fact, I am on the brink of tears as I am typing this; one of those moments when the accumulated grief of last year joins the one from 13 years ago and feels a bit overwhelming.
Never mind - it's part of the process.
In the photo, you look a little sceptical at the photographer. You were such a beautiful group of boys, you and your brothers.
It is probably still too soon to deal with all that just now.
ReplyDeleteI know that I now regret disposing of much of my dad's stuff straight away and wish that I had kept some of it. It took a few years before the grief receded enough to think properly about it all.
A full year already! I still remember reading about the end weeks and your visits to him, I remember the tears, how can so much time have passed so quickly?
ReplyDeleteTake care of yourself. Try to get your kids or grandkids interested in the family history, someone to remember all who came before.
ReplyDeleteMy father died six years ago this morning, at about the same time I was reading this.
It is hard to part with sentimental things and ,if you are not ready, why should you? It seems only a few months ago since your brother died. That year has gone so quickly.
ReplyDeleteHow quickly the year has flown YP, it doesn't seem that long. You were a good brother - he was lucky to have you.
ReplyDeleteThat's a beautiful photograph of four lovely little boys. Your grandchildren will be happy to look at that in years to come.
Well, if it's only two boxes, perhaps there's no need to do any more with it. Keep it for your kids, in case they want that family history. My brother has boxes and boxes of stuff belonging to my mom and when the time comes we'll have to figure all that out.
ReplyDeleteNot that "stuff" is really the point, of course. It's just the way we focus our energies at times like these.
A beautiful anniversary memorial. I know that your relationship with Simon was fraught and was complicated but you did right by him and I hope you know that.
ReplyDeleteI have my mom’s things condensed to one box now. It won’t be me who condenses it further.
ReplyDelete