Journal entry by Mark Primavesi —
Dearest All,
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When I last jounaled in February, I was visiting Jean in the Royal Berks Hospital every day. It wasn’t till the beginning of March that she could be taken off oxygen. She longed to get back home. This took some organising, someone to stay overnight, four carers to come in during the day. Then suddenly everything fell into place and the hospital rang to ask would I fetch her. She got out just in time. The next day, the first person in the UK died of covid-19 in the Royal Berks.
Though glad to be home, it was 10 days before she could read the paper or find the energy to take interest in things. She depended on my evening visits during that time. Eventually I began reading with her, Thurber’s “Thirteen Clocks” and Hemmingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea”.
On my way home, I would drop into the West Berks Community Hospital to see Father Bernard of Douai Abbey, a very old friend, who was waiting for a place in a nursing home. We talked about Jean and read the piece from Isaiah 43, both of us convinced that the love of God is so great that when finally the time comes, everyone, no matter how evil, will be welcomed. All talk of purgatory, unworthiness, we agreed, arises from a limited human perspective. Then one evening I arrived to find him gone. That afternoon he had been taken to a care home in Whitchurch. I never did see him again, for he died a few weeks later just after lockdown started.
And with that I could visit Jean no more which made us both very sad. We were to read “Three Men in a Boat” which she remembered laughing over with her father when she was a girl.
So many times have I sat before this screen since I last wrote in February. And as many times I could not bring myself to write anything.
How could I tell you how grim it was when St Patrick’s day came (March 17), the day that Anne fell?
How could I tell you how lonely Easter was? Never in my life had I spent that day alone. Always we would feast with friends, and for many years delighted in the Easter vigil.
How could I say how dreadful it was that all expeditions with Jean and Jennifer were stopped by the covid lockdown. “Where shall we go today?” we would ask one another whenever there was a sunny day. Mind you, the week before lockdown, after Jean’s return home, we did have lunch in the Rowbarge three days in a row!
And all the weekly meetings have ceased. No Pilates on a Monday. Our Friday group cannot meet, though we are doing so on Zoom. One advantage is that Anthea who now lives in Scotland can join us again. The Quakers also meet on Zoom. Isn’t that bizarre! An hour-long silent worship meeting in front of a computer screen!
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You too must feel the loss of visiting, helping, meeting, socialising. No longer can I escape the grief and loss that lie in wait for me. I am so aware that my situation might seriously disturb those of my age who are happily married. Such in-your-face impermanence is so unsettling.
But on the positive side, Nuns in Ireland, old friends of Anne and myself - they used to ask her to lecture and lead seminars - have started to meet weekly on Zoom. Just sorry we never thought of doing it while Anne was still with us...
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A couple of days before May 4th, that day of days when Anne joined the ancestors, by chance I listened to Tami Simon, the founder of SoundsTrue interviewing Michael Singer about his book, “The Untethered Soul”. This has opened up an unexpected path that will enable me gradually to deal with thoughts and feelings that overwhelm. He invites us to pause. To stand back from whatever noisy thoughts and emotions are going on. To realise that we are not our thoughts and feelings. It is we who are having them, but it is not they who define who we are. His mantra is “relax and release”. There will be things that need to be sorted out, but it is we who do that and not in ways dictated by what we think or feel. This is the beginning of a fundamental shift in my heart. And it is so positive that I suddenly felt I could write again with a hope and an assurance that all really is well. This has only just started, will mean a lot of persistent work, but there is a way ahead if I can wake up to it.
So two days after Anne’s anniversary, I did write to you - all of 15 days ago. But when I pressed “Send”, everything I had written disappeared without trace. Now I am attending (on line) a creative course run by the Open Heart Project where 33 of us have come together to meditate and spend time doing something creative. This is what I am doing now. (A few more days delay though because there are photos of the garden to take and upload for you. Anne so loved our garden at this time of year…)
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While not missing Anne any the less, nor grieving any the less, I can now say that a definite corner has been turned. On the day itself, I walked the long stretch in Savernake forest through the beeches in their wonderful pale green leafage. Yes it was lonely, no Anne of course, but also no Jean or Jennifer. Then, at the Marlborough entrance to the forest, the lady smock Anne looked forward to each Spring was just beginning to flower in the grass. My heart was sad but not as heavy. Michael Singer’s words are helping my soul to heal itself, leading me to a practice of releasing, letting go, not identifying with my thoughts or feelings, walking in the presence of God and all the ancestors - Anne and so many other friends and teachers. For all of these I am filled with thankfulness.
Every blessing on each of you. Thank you for carrying me in your hearts over this long period. May you thrive, may you be kept safe, may you be well.
Bug big hugs,
Your brother, Mark
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Laburnam, humming with bumble bees
This clematis surprised us every year
Jean always called wisteria "Wisconsin"!
Diana's Australian totem beside by mother's favourite pieris
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