July 21, 2009

• Ill at home

  I did manage to go to work: but I came home after a couple of hours.  Too many people, too  much  need to talk, not enough voice.  I am highly frustrated that I cannot, as yet, work from home, but hope that this shall be forthcoming soon.  My brain is fine, but my lungs are annoying.

  I need to throw this chest infection – or arrange for someone else to take over the First Aid duties at Pack Holiday.  Or both.  We’ll see. 

  I spent half an hour on the phone with Mum.  Quite why she needed to rake up matters from family deaths from, I think, before I was born, I know not – but she is still rather upset about it.  So I listened, and pushed her towards the nice thoughts about her Aunt, and asked to see some photos of the various Aunts and Uncles involved, and suggested that we might put them up in the house, because, you know, they’re important people to her.  Then I phoned one of her cousins, as it seems, in the process of cleaning out Great Uncle Dick’s house, they found a lot of photos from Great Aunt Mary’s side of the family and “no one knows where in Ireland she’s from”.  “Yes we do,” I pipe, “Ballyemena”.  I have her convent medal, you see, it’s one of my favourite pieces of jewellery.

  Em’s funeral was a lovely service, with about a dozen Guiders, and lots of her other friends.  We all sat together, which meant we had moral support for each other – and also that we cried like a silent greek chorus.  And shared our tissues amongst ourselves.  It was terribly sad.  We should have been there for her wedding.  We said goodbye, and we will miss her.  And, it feels like I’ve reached the end of this particular chapter.  Not necessarily the book, but certainly this chapter.  The next chapter begins when her Dear Other phones, and I continue as liasion for Guiding Matters and help sort out what to do with all the books, and her uniform, and her files of games.  Her Dad loves to talk about matters Guiding, and it’s nice to listen.

  Life Goes On
  If I should go before the rest of you
  Break not a flower
  Nor inscribe a stone
  Nor when I am gone
  Speak in a Sunday voice
  But be the usual selves
  That I have known

  Weep if you must
  Parting is hell
  But life goes on
  So …. sing as well
  Joyce Grenfell
  1910-1979

  • 8:56 am
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