Tag Archives: memories

On Loss

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Today is the funeral of a girl I know who tragically passed away in a car accident three weeks ago. She was just 32. Although I haven’t seen her for several years, I remember her as being beautiful, funny, kind and talented – she was an actress and, I recently learned, an aspiring playwright. I can’t imagine the pain her husband of two years is going through as he struggles to come to terms with the bottomless chasm of his grief – they were together since before I knew them, so he must feel he’s lost a part of himself. I just hope that one day he (and her family and friends) will be able to look back at the many happy memories they shared with fondness rather than pain, though I imagine that will take a very long time.

Being slightly removed from the situation by virtue of the time that’s passed since I last saw them, it feels somehow self-indulgent for me to wallow in grief. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since I found out. It just seems so unfair that someone with such a zest for life, who showed so much promise in her career and was such an incredibly lovely person, should be so cruelly snatched away and cut down in her prime. I know the same could be said about everyone who dies young, I suppose this is just the first time it’s been someone who I really knew, and it’s come as a terrible shock because this is normally the sort of thing that happens to other people.

When I first found out I wrote a post about trying to take what little positives there are from such a tragedy, so I’m reminding myself now to make every day count, to tell everyone how much I love them and to be the best person I can be. But somehow all those promises feel like little more than hollow reassurances today, as I think about the fact a bright star isn’t with us anymore, and the sky will be a darker place without her in it.

I’m going to close with the poem I read at my grandma’s funeral years ago, by Mary Elizabeth Frye. It makes me cry every time but I think it’s beautiful:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep,
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle Autumn rain

When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quite birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, I did not die

Rest in peace, Katy. You may be gone, but you will never be forgotten x

I chose this picture for today because it was taken in one of the most peaceful places I’ve been, Taliwas in Borneo.

The warped perceptions of time

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In a moment of distraction from the task at hand (aka job searching) I watched this video from my expedition in Borneo at the start of 2011, all the while scarcely able to believe that it was two years ago, and all the while wishing (with every fibre of my being) I was back there.

In times of uncertainty and stress it’s only natural to look back at past experiences and wish we could re-live what we remember as being a joyful and uncomplicated existence. Back then, we tell ourselves, we are able to be fully present in the moment. We had no concerns about what lay ahead of us. Why can’t life be like that now?

But it’s all too easy to look back with rose-tinted glasses at times your brain perceives as ‘happier’ than the time you are currently experiencing. If you take a moment to fully re-live the past experience in question – rather than just skimming your memory for the highlights – you will often take a more ‘warts and all’ approach, acknowledging that there were difficulties then in just the same way as there are difficulties now.

The positive take out from this is that you overcame those previous difficulties and now reflect on them as minor – almost completely insignificant – blips in your life path. Surely this would, therefore, suggest that the difficulties you are facing now will be viewed by your future self in much the same way?

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I love this picture from Borneo, taken during my ten days in the Taliwas region with a group of venturers. We had to get two of these barrels up an enormous hill on physical strength (or lack thereof!) alone. A challenge to say the least! It was such a beautiful place and we lived in a camp beside the river, cooking over fires and sitting out at night under the stars. It was a really magical experience and one I’ll never forget.

Resting place

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As the creeping fingers of dawn reached up through the morning mist to stroke the tops of the pines, a solitary figure made its way with stoic determination toward s the highest point. Swaddled in layer upon layer of thick woollen clothing to keep the biting cold at bay, it would not have been immediately obvious to a bystander whether the form was male or female, though it was evidently human. On its feet were green wellington boots, in its arms a large earthenware pot. As it walked the ground crackled beneath its feet. The sound of twigs snapping echoed around the forest, sending the animals who resided there – unused as they were to human presence – scurrying for cover. From all around the sound of birdsong rang out as if heralding the new arrival.

At length the figure reached the brow of the hill and stopped. It pulled down the hood of its coat to reveal the face of an elderly woman, deep lines carved like tributaries through her pale, leathery skin. Her blue eyes, though sunken now, were nonetheless still bright with the memory of a bygone youth. And now they blazed with memories of another.

The woman removed the lid of the urn with the greatest of care and, turning away from the wind, emptied its contents into the air. The ashes danced in the breeze as they floated away, over the tops of the pines and out of sight. In life her husband had loved this forest, it seemed only fitting that in death he should become a part of it.

“Good bye, my darling.” The woman exhaled, allowing herself the smallest of smiles as she wiped away a solitary tear.

Then, her work done, she began her slow descent to journey home.

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I took this photo at the top of a hill in Shimla, northern India, after an arduous 30 minute trek to see the enormous statue of a monkey god that resided there. Seeing this view made it all the more worthwhile.