Feeling alive and saying goodbye

The last month or so has really been quite something. I’ve enjoyed keeping myself going with my daily ‘random acts of wildness’ and my weekly blogs but I wanted to say a bit more and share some new pieces. This might be a little harder going than some of my other blogs but I hope you’ll bear with me. Sometimes it’s just easier to get it out of your head and ‘down on paper’, plus I’d really like to share some artwork with you and they each have an important story.

As many of you who’ve read other posts will have seen, my grandad sadly passed away last month. He was very unwell and my family and I knew that when he was taken to hospital towards the end of last year, there was a real possibility that he could pass away at any time. Parkinson’s disease really did take away his quality of life – not to mention cancer, Covid and sepsis too – and, more than anything else, I didn’t want him to be in any more pain.

So, when I received the phone call in early March that no one ever wants, I was relieved to know that the pain had ended. But there were tears, of course. Though some of these were for things that I’d never prepared myself for. A lot of the sadness and grief came from the cold, difficult truth that my grandad had passed away alone and that my family hadn’t been able to see him since around Christmas. The cruel irony was that my family was in the process of filling in the paperwork in order to visit him the following week. He passed away on Thursday night. On the Monday, care home residents were allowed to have a visitor again.

And I think this is one of the things I’ve struggled with the most. Such a horrible reality in such a helpless situation. There was literally nothing anyone could have done to change it and yet, the overwhelming thought I couldn’t stop thinking about was: no one deserves to die like this. 

Those first days of grief were a bit of a blur. Filled with a mixture of thoughts and feelings. I read a useful article about grief that I shared with my sister. It mentioned many of these feelings – like denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance and anger – and I was also aware that my anxiety levels were climbing. Only a couple of days after the news, for example, I was convinced that my cat Claude was gravely ill and that Jolene (my other cat) was snuggling up next to him because she knew he was unwell and was saying goodbye. It didn’t take me too long to realise that I’d projected a lot of grief onto that situation. In reality, the worst Claude had was a furball and all I got out of it was the pleasure of an expensive vet bill…!

Now, the build up to the funeral. That was a big challenge. I live about a 3 hour drive from where I grew up so there were some key things, in addition to the event itself, that felt like huge obstacles: 1) The drive itself – I’d hardly driven in the last 12 months and 2) Wondering where on earth I was going to stay overnight. Then there was the concern about my family. Not being able to hug or comfort them, sitting alone at the service, having to leave straight away once it was over, no time to talk, reflect or cry together. 

Luckily I found a lovely place to stay overnight in Skipton, Yorkshire. The landlady took good care of me and I’m so relieved I didn’t try to drive there and back in a day. Despite the comfort of the hotel, I didn’t sleep very well that night so I got up for a dawn walk along the canal. I’ve missed canal walks and I decided it was a moment of escape that I needed before the day ahead. 

The swans were my first sighting on the canal. They moved elegantly alongside me for a little while. I also saw and heard other birds (goldfinches, ducks, buzzards, robins, wrens) and spotted lots of rabbits, sheep and lambs in the fields. Then, out of nowhere, I heard a high pitched call above me and some oystercatchers flew over and landed in the grass. I looked up, grinned and made a little squeaking sound – the sound I make when I spot something unexpected. It was a moment of pure, childish delight. A glimmer of sunshine in an otherwise dark and gloomy day. Such a small thing and yet it lifted a weight off my shoulders and gave me a break from the worry, anxiety and sadness of what was to come.

It was important for me to paint this moment and it inspired a piece that I worked on during the days following the funeral. I wanted to show how the oystercatcher emerged, out of nowhere, as a bit of light between the clouds.

I didn’t really want to turn around and walk back to Skipton but I knew I had to. Despite my worries, the next part of the day followed quite quickly and the funeral itself was lovely, especially given the circumstances. It was surreal in lots of ways too and I vividly remember that I accidentally snorted as I tried to stifle my sobs behind a mask – I really hoped that it hadn’t ruined the livestream… I was reassured later that it hadn’t.

We all had to disperse quite quickly once the service was over. I’ve learnt that time is important when you’re grieving so I’d already picked out a ‘safe place’ for me to go to, alone, before the drive home. Elslack Moor. It isn’t far from Skipton. The road climbs up to the top of the moor for about 5 minutes and then you’re there.

When I got there, I parked up at the side of the road, had a little moment to myself in the car and then put my walking boots on so I could go up the short track to the top of the moor. It gave me the time I needed to clear my head a little. While there, I saw red grouse, a kestrel and lapwings. It’s the lapwings that really stood out. I’d seen some of them by the canal in the morning but, up here, they were flying around, making their squeaking noise and having a whale of a time in the wind. I smiled at them on my way up and they were still there on my way down after I’d said goodbye to grandad.

This inspired another watercolour painting. A friend told me the other day that this one looks more peaceful. I think he’s right.

I would just end with this. When you’re suddenly confronted by loss, I’ve realised that it can start to make you question what it means to be alive. You can become more aware of your own mortality and wonder what on earth we’re all here for. These thoughts and questions took me a little by surprise and I’m still working through them. But, something I learnt on the canal and the moor is that the little moment of joy when I spotted the oystercatchers and stopped to watch the lapwings soar up and down made me feel alive on that day.