Peaceful Breeze

by Carrington, Mark;

  EULOGY – VERBATIM

  I want to tell the world about my Mum.

  Mum was an amazing and beautiful woman. Her needs were simple. Simple things in life made her happy. She never once thought of herself first. She was strong, resilient, and stoic.

  Mum’s heart was full of pure love. I was Mum’s pride and joy. I was her world.

  Caring for Mum over the past year was second nature. It was as natural as breathing. I was deeply honoured to walk beside you in your hour of darkness. I was privileged to see her beautiful soul and her beautiful spirit.

  To me, her soul and spirit are as real as I see you. I can touch it. I can feel it. It is inside me now.

  I wish to thank you for being my Mum. I could not ask for a better Mum. Your gentleness, your support, but most of all, I wish to thank you for always loving me.

  I wished I had a few more years with you on Earth, but God decided to take you into his Kingdom now. Don’t worry Mum, I have prayed to him, and he has told me that Heaven holds a special place for you.

  I want you to know, you were born in love. You lived 80 years in love. And you have passed away in my love.

  My grieving will never stop. More importantly, my love for you will never stop.

  Whilst I am living, I will make you proud. I will make all of your sacrifices worth it. For everything, I thank you. You have given me an amazing life.

  And your love, Mum, will always be inside me until the day I join you. END OF EULOGY.

  I waited three months after the funeral before I interned Mum’s ashes. I remember the day vividly; it was a nice and sunny day. I needed time to think on my own. My heart was crying out for solitude, silence, and peace. On that particular afternoon, I suddenly found myself, walking through a beautiful country lane. The air smelt of herbs. I was alone with no one in sight for miles. As I walked, I passed a row of trees. There were five trees on each side of me.

  Then suddenly out of nowhere, an idyllic breeze blew up. I stopped and looked ahead.

  Out of the five trees on my right-hand side, only one tree had its leaves blowing in the breeze. I stood there and simply took a deep breath. I could not believe what I was seeing.

  I knew instinctively that was Mum. I knew she was with me and watching over me.

  Hence the title of this book, Peaceful Breeze.

  12

  Grief is the price we pay for love

  I believe grief of a loved one is one of the most painful experiences you will endure. For me, it pierced right through my heart. Love and grief go hand in hand, like night and day. You can’t have one without the other.

  You only need to turn on the television and watch the news where we see death thrust in our faces. But it does not dramatically affect us. That is because essentially grief is about either an emotional or physical connection that has been lost. In short, we do not grieve for people we do not know. Grief is therefore a response to what we have loved and cherished.

  Many years ago, I remember a distinguished psychologist once commented on measuring grief. He highlighted a ‘Grief Intensity Scale’. The scale started from zero to five (zero representing no emotion and five representing complete despair). I found this tool useful. For the first few weeks after Mum passed away, I wanted to understand my own approach to grief. Using this scale, I scored myself around four out of the possible five points. Now however, as the months have passed, I fluctuate around the score of two or three on the scale. I believe it will remain around that level for the rest of my life.

  I am no expert on grief. Like everyone else, I continue to this day to stumble and flounder around like someone in a pitch-dark room, having no clue as to where to find the light switch.

  But I soon gathered that there is no one size to grieving. Or a right way or wrong way to grieve. Experiencing grief is different for everyone and, therefore, people cope with the loss of a loved one in their unique way. In my opinion, grief is an individual thing. No one can feel my pain, nor should they. No one can take the pain away from me. You can’t simply switch off the pain of losing a loved one like a tap. At least, my grief didn’t work like that.

  Grief is usually complex. Well it was for me. I found it an isolating and lonely experience. The vast ocean of grief was ready and waiting to drown me. I consciously decided, however, not to sink to its depths in despair but to surf its waves. In short, I consciously embraced my grief rather than running away from it or denying it. This meant taking a risk. It meant allowing myself to lose control of all of my emotions and not to be scared, apologetic, embarrassed of breaking down. I accepted that I would be blown back and forward by all of my feelings. And so there I was, with a force greater than a storm in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, looking grief straight in the eye.

  At random moments during the day, I would just burst into tears. The pain in my heart would be, at times, crippling, like a knife had been stabbed not only through my heart but also through my soul. There are still occasions when I think, even today, she is still here. I am going to hear her voice again. She hasn’t really died—no, not Mum. She is immortal. But of course, once again, reality hits me right through the eyes.

  Personally, it would be the little and trivial things I would deeply and profoundly miss and find upsetting. It is at these times I would feel the pain and hurt more acutely. Making Mum a bacon sandwich on a Sunday morning. Making her a cup of tea. Boiling her an egg. They would all trigger profound and painful emotions inside of me. Never to hear her sweet and tender voice is heartbreaking. But by losing control and allowing myself to feel the rawness of my pain, day by day, I somehow got through the trauma.

  The hobbies and pastimes I used to dearly love felt insignificant. “What’s the point of that?” I repeatedly asked myself.

  I also yearned for Mum to come back to be with me. Every time I went out shopping, I would see Mum ahead of me, either in the street or down a supermarket aisle. I would run up to her with joy and relief. Even calling out her name. As I would move closer to her, she would turn round. Then time and time again, reality would hit me. Because, of course, it would always be a total stranger who I thought resembled Mum. They might have had the same type of overcoat on as Mum, the same style of grey hair as Mum, or simply had the same walking style as Mum. On every occasion, my heart would sink as the harsh reality dawned. I will never see Mum again in this life.

  The well-publicised stages of grief introduced by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in 1969 set out the emotional stages of grieving that are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, which were originally an observation of dying patients.

  I am not going to criticise this grieving model as clearly it helps and comforts many thousands of people. The fact is, it simply did not help me in my personal grieving journey.

  I naturally thought that grief was a linear step-by-step process and I would simply snap out of it. I could not be more wrong. My grief was at times chaotic and turbulent as I crawled in and out of my emotional abyss. Day after day, a whole raft of emotions, ranging from guilt, shame, sadness, anger, and emptiness would overlap in my mind. Sometimes, I would sway from one emotion to another in an hour, or even in a course of one minute.

  The most dominant emotion that pervaded my mind, however, was one of guilt. Guilt, I believe, is one of the most difficult emotions to cope with because it follows you around. It pervades your mind. And so it was for me. Ruminating over and over again in my mind, was one key question. Could I have done more for Mum?

  After a long, hard and painful journey, I found that it was through forgiveness, I finally found peace within myself. Stillness of my heart was what pulled me through the grieving process.

  Through my serenity, I acknowledged the concept of permanence, that is to say, everything in life is temporary, and that even includes, heartbreakingly, the people I love.

  I, therefore, had two stark choices in front of me in life. Did I simply curl up in a ball and shut the world out and just survive day by day and wait until my t
ime is up so I could meet Mum again? Or did I use the love in my heart that Mum has left me and live the best life I could?

  And as strange as it may seem, I not only considered the former option, I genuinely felt at times I wanted just to give up on life, as part of me died when Mum passed away.

  A good friend sent me a quote by a text message. It said: “When our actions are based on good intentions, our soul has no regrets.” Therefore as much I tried, I could not deny the love within my heart. So no matter how much pain or grief pervaded my heart, it was love that has pulled me through. I realised at that very moment, what makes us truly human, when you strip everything away and become your authentic self, is love.

  By allowing myself to feel my grief, the rawness of the pain within my heart, was softened. In time, memories of Mum have turned into beautiful roses brightening up the garden of my mind. That is not to say my heart is not broken. It is. It will never be the same. I miss Mum every single day. The best I can hope for is to learn to live with it. As Mum allowed me the privilege to see the purity of her soul, I honestly believe grief has taught me to be more humble than ever before, to be more compassionate than ever before, to be more grateful for what I have in life and to be kinder than ever before. In many ways, I’m a more joyful, soulful and humble person.

  As mentioned, I am not an expert on grief. Whilst I am conscious not to provide you with advice, I would, however, like to highlight four things that worked for me. They may not work for everyone.

  First, I understood that I had to let go. It was Mum’s journey when she was passing away. I had a different journey to take, one of grieving and then living the best life possible. Talking was good, but ultimately, in the middle of the night, I was alone. Therefore, acknowledging and accepting was key in not allowing my life to be ripped apart by Mum’s death.

  Second, maintaining a sense of connection with Mum. By writing this book, for instance, I have started to integrate Mum into my present and future life. Mum is with me more than she has ever been. I also continue to follow my personal rituals that comfort me. These could be seen as silly and inconsequential to anyone looking in from the outside, but for me, they were and continue to be deeply meaningful. For example, I light a candle for Mum whenever I can. I talk to Mum on a daily basis. I know she can hear me.

  Third, I was determined to be kind to myself. I believe self-compassion is key in dealing with my grief. In practical terms, this meant not being too hard on myself, not beating myself up about being sad and trying to understand my feelings more. I also allocated ‘personal grief time’ for myself each day. Putting aside time each day so I consciously remember Mum and the wonderful times we had together.

  Finally, I never gave up on life. I continued to keep myself both mentally and physically active. Not only did I eventually continue with my hobbies, I proactively sought new things to do with my life that stretched my personal capability as well as giving me a sense of achievement and purpose.

  Shakespeare once said about death that it was the undiscovered country from which no traveller returns. But is that really true?

  No doubt social psychologists such as Freud, who had little regard for religion or spirituality, would fully endorse this sentiment by Shakespeare.

  Since Mum passed away, I have now begun to see manifestations. These could be seeing white feathers intermittently around the house, which is unusual, as I never noticed them before Mum passed away.

  Or a butterfly found in my bedroom. Or a gentle breeze on my face on a quiet, sunny day.

  Is Mum trying to tell me she is okay? Are the feathers being left by an angel to reassure me that she is fine? Or am I, as Freud would argue, unconsciously looking for coincidences to comfort myself? Or even imagining the manifestations? The truth is – I simply do not know. You would, however, not be human if you did not yearn for someone you loved who passed away. It is a basic, fundamental human condition.

  What I do know, however, is that whenever I find a white feather lying around the house, or a gentle breeze on my face, I feel contented, warm, and full of love.

  I, therefore, have chosen to believe in something higher and greater than myself. There is in my opinion, something that continues after death. I believe Mum is communicating to me in different manifestations that now occur in my life. I know Mum is with me in the air, the wind, and is now part of Mother Nature. For me, her soul is not extinguished.

  Final chapter

  There are 330,000 patients diagnosed with cancer each year in the UK, which one in four present to doctors when it is too late. My Mum was one of those patients. While I was in the centre of the storm and my world was falling apart, I just could not understand or comprehend her thought processes of not going to see the doctor. Looking back, I can now appreciate Mum’s rationale for refusing to see the doctor until, sadly it was too late.

  Her logic was not linear or straightforward, but was multi-layered and full of emotion and was consistent with how she lived her life and who she was. I believe there were a number of reasons why she acted in this way: inertia, denial, being scared and, upon reflection, her immense embarrassment of being ill. Throughout her entire life, she did not want to trouble or be a burden to anyone and her illness was going to be no exception.

  Through the act of acceptance and loving, I believe Mum had a good, calm, and peaceful death. As strange as it may sound, her passing was dignified and beautiful. She passed away naturally in God’s time and was pain free.

  I feel deeply honoured that I was able to be with Mum during her final moments.

  I was witness to something I could never have imagined. I saw beyond the human body.

  I felt a pure and transcended love, which was far beyond my comprehension and understanding and impossible to articulate in words.

  She gave me the gift of showing me the purity and integrity of her eternal soul. This truly humbling experience has led me to believe that the human body and soul are separate.

  The day Mum passed away, I realised that something had profoundly changed within me. It renewed my belief that death only occurs to the body. Death is the process of life. I believe Mum’s body may have died, but her soul has simply moved on. I don’t need physical proof, I know she is here with me.

  Whenever I see the trees blowing in the wind or a soft breeze hits my face, I know she is saying something to me. I feel her guidance. She is still looking after me. And, as silly as it may seem, I talk back to the trees. I will continue to talk to the trees until my last breath.

  I now know that Mum is in a better place. She is with her mum and her brothers.

  The true testament to Mum is that she never, ever wanted to give up. She so much wanted to live. Even during the last few days of her life, she was still fighting.

  I wondered how my faith would withstand the emotional turmoil and heartache of accepting Mum’s terminal illness and then accepting her passing away. To my amazement, I discovered, it was precisely when I was facing the worst period of my life, to such an extent, that I doubted my faith, my faith grew and strengthened. Faith turned my darkness into light, my fear into love and my sadness into joy.

  Faith is now integral to the way I live. It helps me to navigate the cruel seas of life. And believe me, nothing can be more cruel in life than seeing someone you love die in front of your very eyes and you are rendered completely powerless. It was my faith that steered me into a calm harbour where I returned to still waters of peace and tranquility.

  Even though I cherished Mum when she was alive, it was not until her death, I realised what a truly remarkable woman she was. The old adage, you don’t know what you have until its gone is so very true.

  Throughout her life, there was one lesson above all else that Mum taught me, namely of inner contentment and peace. I have now found comfort in the simple and mundane things in life. In short, I have found comfort in simply being me. It is an inner contentment that no one can take from me.

  I am now less afraid of life than I was befo
re. I am conscious of the fact of living life with abundance. The direction of my life has dramatically changed. I am following my passions like never before. I am determined to reinvest all my energies into the present and future. Mum would want to see me get out there and achieve what she believed I could do. Mum would have wanted one thing above all else for me, that is to be happy.

  I believe, if you condense it down and strip everything away, life is really about love. We are put on this world to love and to be loved. The most important relationship we will ever have, however, is with ourselves.

  As hard it is for me to say, Mum’s physical body is now just dust. As life goes on, who is going to remember her in years to come? The simple answer – no one. She is now one of the anonymous dead. I know however, she graced her time on earth with kindness and love. For me, that is what being alive is about. Mum is not unique. Despite, today’s harsh world, the majority of people on this earth, and certainly the people I meet in my life, are kind, loving and wonderful.

  Death is not the end. I believe there is a connection beyond the physical form. My relationship with Mum is still alive within a deep inner space within my heart. Her strength lives in me. And will remain so until we reunite.

  I have found one cliché or platitude that I have realised has been true for me. Life is about the journey and not about the destination. Both as a son and as a carer, I have been on an incredible journey. Every moment of the day, I have lived that journey. I am no different to the millions of carers in the world who have their own remarkable and inspirational stories to tell.

  For my final words, I wish to leave you to contemplate the comforting lyrics of the life-affirming song by Rogers and Hammerstein from the film Carousel, You Never Walk Alone. The lyrics gave me comfort when looking after Mum as they do now – living my life with confidence and with a purpose.