There was a time when they were just so many weddings. It felt like the whole world had conspired to get married simultaneously. Especially to a 23-year-old me who had never even had a boyfriend! My fridge door was covered in invites and large periods of time was spent buying wedding presents and working out what to wear. There were so many that they seem to blur into each other.
Then they stopped. Suddenly it was baby showers that popped up interspersed with children’s birthday parties. Children’s presents, balloons and games dominated everything.
Unexpectedly the weddings stopped and as children grew into teenagers, who sneered at the very thought of a birthday party organised by parents, those parties frizzled out too.
There followed a long period of expectancy with no weddings and no birthday parties. In the gap that followed, we examined all the 20 and 30-year-olds around us wondering if marriage was even on their radar at all.
The sense of expectancy was broken by a funeral of a loved grandparent, then an aunt and uncle. Suddenly it seemed that the wonderful forest in whose shelter you have long stood is being felled. These major oak trees that have remained consistent for eight decades begin to topple. The void they leave is huge. There are people and things we take for granted until they are taken from us. Then the space they leave seems unsustainable, unbearable. With each new loss, the landscape seems to change and not for the better.
I mourn my uncle with his smiling good humour teaching me about beekeeping. My aunt whose laughter was only exceeded by her golfing expertise. The list goes on I cannot name them all, there are simply too many.
Yesterday another dear friend passed away. I remember her living room, chairs all drawn close, warm and cosy, full of love and anecdotes. Rocking with laughter we shared tales of woe and triumph. These immense oak trees are falling around us. I mourn their loss, their integrity, their faithfulness and their love. I want to speak of these great souls and all those who are heartbroken at their loss. But what do words matter?
At one recent funeral my cousin was asked that traditional question, “what charity should contributions be sent?” He explained the family had decided that in lieu of giving money each person was asked to do a good deed in memory of their mother instead. What a lovely way to be remembered. As I see the voids left behind my thoughts turned to searching for actions in their name that will contribute to the betterment of others. In among the fallen oaks seeds of goodness need to be planted. It seems a befitting fruit of lives well lived.
