Categories: random
Tags: friends, bereavement, All Saints, in memoriam
Date: 01 November 2005 13:01:02
Yesterday evening Glasgow city centre was full of people in their Halloween fancy dress - they seem to make much more of a thing of Halloween up here than I recall down south. Anyway, it got me thinking of this being the traditional time to remember those we've loved but are no longer with us, and of three people in particular. I love the Orthodox prayer "May their memory be eternal!", maybe this is my little way of sharing their memory a little wider.
Dorothy was in my church housegroup. She had tons of severe mental health problems, and also was an alcoholic, but more often than not would be at the group, always sitting in the same place, always looking slightly bemused at what was going on. I often wondered why she kept coming, although it was great that she did and we always were really aware when she wasn't there. She was legendary for clockwatching - on the dot of 9.30 each week she'd look at her watch and ask if the meeting was nearly over and look really cheesed off if it went on another 10 minutes or so. She lived on her own and didn't get out much, she liked listening to the radio and apart from church and a social group which I think was run by the community mental health service she didn't have much in the way of social interaction. She had this Eeyore-ish way about her, it didn't matter how upbeat things were generally, she would just say it like it was (and it was usually a bit gloomy). I think that's what I really liked about her - Eeyore's definitely my favourite Winnie the Pooh character. One evening four of us from housegroup blitz-cleaned her flat (whilst she was round at another group member's house, we got back and found they'd cooked cakes for us), as one of the problems with her very severe depression was that she was never motivated enough or had enough energy to do the cleaning. I still remember hoovering and then S shrieking at me that the hoover was on fire - the way he told it afterwards you'd think I was walking round pulling along Towering Inferno through the flat, it was actually just a little blue flame after something "popped" inside the hoover - it's one of those things that I'll always remember, it was just so ridiculous and hilarious at the time.
One Sunday morning our housegroup was supposed to be at church early so that we could set up the hall and chairs and whatnot, and S had gone round to Dorothy's flat to give her a lift. When he got no answer (having not had a response to phone calls over the past couple of days) he broke the door down, and found her hanging out of bed, cold. We were just stunned. She only had one living relative, a cousin she'd not seen for 30 years, so S had to identify the body. The inquest recorded an open verdict - Dorothy had often talked about death, including suicide (she had been hospitalised a few times when the depression and schizophrenia got really bad), but although there was a lot of alcohol in her blood as well as her pills, it seemed she may have had an asthma attack, and her CPN had said that, largely because of the (to us very strange) delusions she had, she did have an ongoing sense of hope which meant that she thought it unlikely that Dorothy would ever have actually killed herself.
This is possibly really irreverent - but one way in which Dorothy's memory is being kept is that, even now, I know many of the members of the group from that time including me sit in housegroup meetings and we start getting a bit twitchy around 9.30 - in my most recent housegroup (which always finished about 10) I *always* kept wanting to say "Dorothy would be tapping her watch now" but of course no-one there knew her so I kept quiet and just had a little chuckle to myself. It's several years now since she died, but she's still talked about regularly - one of the things I loved about that housegroup (and it's the one thing I really missed when I left that church) was the assortment of waifs and strays that ended up there, but they were all loved and cared for - I think really that's why she kept coming back. Her ashes were scattered in some gardens near the local crematorium, and I used to drive past it each week on the way to my new church, and I'd always without fail remember her when I drove past.
Jan (the Man) also went to that same church, though not the same housegroup. He died a couple of years back on the August bank holiday weekend, and to be honest I think there's still a huge gap in the church and the community. He was the most generous, big-hearted, funny, lovely guy, and although he had lots of dark moments (I remember once thinking that if he didn't see God behind every cornflake he saw the Devil behind every cornflake) one of the most Christ-like people I've ever met. I remember he used to get really cheesed off with the church (I could so relate to that!), and he would usually sit right by the door so he could make his escape if it bugged him, but that meant a. that he was often the first person who I saw when I walked in, and so I always associated him with welcome, and b. that he was always sitting at the back with other people who tended to be on the fringe. For several years the church supported a recovery house for recovering addicts (drink, drugs and gambling mainly), and try as we might to integrate there was *always* a "them-and-us" feeling about the set-up. Jan I think was one of the few who ever managed to bridge the gap.
He worked as a schoolkeeper at one of the local schools, having been unemployed for years, and they all adored him there. Even when he was moaning he was generous and giving and hard-working, I don't know how he managed it. He really was part of the furniture in the community as well as the church. After his funeral the funeral car stopped by the playground and all the kids had done a huge sign to hang up to say goodbye to him.
Then when I was at Greenbelt 2 years ago I remember on the Saturday, sitting in a grassy area with friends from the Ship having a curry in the glorious sunshine, and switching on my phone to find a message asking me to call my friend as soon as I picked up the message. I left the group, phoned her and learnt that Jan had been found dead that morning. He was 46. He'd been staying with some wonderful friends who used to go to our church (ironically the same couple that first introduced Dorothy to the church and befriended her), he'd gone to bed saying he felt a bit rough, and they'd found him dead in the morning. The ambulance men had apparently commented that they'd never seen someone dead who had looked so peaceful and happy (even in his dark moments Jan so looked forward to heaven). Later we discovered that he had had massive cardiac failure - he apparently had undiagnosed heart disease, nobody knew including him, and one of his valves had pretty much just blown open, he'd have died instantly and nobody would have been able to do a thing about it. I remember after being told about his death having to be a steward for the evening events at Greenbelt - actually that was just what I needed, something to do whilst I felt so numb - and I remember walking back to my tent about 1am, with not a cloud in the sky and the most amazing display of stars, and knowing he was safe with the God he loved.
One of the church leaders said something I'll never forget, it's so true - we won't remember Jan's heart because it failed, but because it was so so big.
OK I'm really tearing up now - hopefully no-one in here will notice!
Justin was my age, and I knew him as he was my hairdresser. I'm not sure how the connection started, but he used to come round to a couple of friend's houses and a whole crowd of us would go round and get our hair cut. He always seemed really amused by us - he was very flamboyant and not into Christianity at all, but I think he really liked that he could say whatever he liked and we weren't so shocked or didn't tell him he was going to hell or anything like that, but that we actually seemed to like him (understatement: we all adored him, and he was easily one of the funniest people I've ever met. I still laugh when I remember the time he was round just before K had her 2nd baby - she walked into the kitchen where he was and before he could stop himself he just blurted out "Bloody hell, K, you're fucking humungous!" You probably had to be there, but take it from me, we were all on the floor crying with laughter including K). He was the one I first trusted to cut off my really long hair (it used to be down my back), I remember him being genuinely nervous on my behalf (he knew exactly what he was doing, and it was my idea not his, but he knew how anxious I get about getting my hair cut) and the look of relief on his face when he gave me the mirror and I said I liked it!
He was very much an entrepreneur, and always talked about building up his business so that he could retire at 45 and live off what he had built up and enjoy life. He used to talk about his 40th birthday (this would be when we were in our early 30s) and how he was going to buy a Ferrari and say "sod it!" to age, and I found this really quite inspirational - I'm dreading 40, but every time I think about it and how I'm going to cope with it I still always think of him and his Ferrari, and wonder what I'll do to celebrate and stick two fingers up at age. Eventually he got his own salon, and so stopped doing the home visits, but most of us kept going to his salon because we didn't want to lose contact with him.
I was in his salon having my hair done on September 11th 2001. The salon was in a gym complex (he always used to say he'd check out the talent for me, though I think he wanted first dibs on most of the guys and would just have given me his cast-offs!), and I remember the phone going, Justin answering it and then coming back to carry on with my hair saying that "there'd been a crash in New York". Him being him, I honestly thought he meant a stock market crash and didn't think anything more of it, but then one of the gym guys came into the salon (Justin was really friendly and he would always have a procession of people in and out just to have a gossip). He told us that we should watch the news, that two planes had crashed into the Twin Towers, that it looked like something from "Die Hard". So I had my haircut, said goodbye to Justin, wished him happy holidays (he was flying off to a wedding in Sydney the following week) and said I'd call in a couple of months for another appointment, then I went home to watch the terrible news unfolding.
That was the last time I saw him. A couple of weeks later my friend called, she'd phoned the salon to make an appointment and they'd told her the news. He'd gone to the wedding in Australia, got a bit pissed at the reception which was at some beachside hotel, and decided to go skinny dipping on his own at midnight. His clothes were found the next morning. His body has never been found. The police apparently said that it was really common for swimmers to get caught by riptides, but that he'd more likely have died of hypothermia rather than by shark attack.
So now, every year on September 11th when the senseless deaths of those 3,000 in America are remembered, I always remember one more senseless death too. You silly bugger Justin, that was such a stupid way to die.
Memory eternal.