My Sister Sue
"...Life is life and love is love and we cannot be part of either
without risking also the pain of loss...".
without risking also the pain of loss...".
I wrote this on my blog entry a couple of weeks ago, when I shared with you the joy of our discovery at being pregnant, expecting our baby at Christmas. These words have become painfully relevant in my life and it leaves me confused and splintered. On 19th October 2007, my eldest sister Sue died, suddenly and shockingly in an accident. She was 47.
All my life, Sue has been there - sometimes at the forefront and sometimes in the background, but always present. When I was a little girl, she seemed magical to me - always making things, creating things, singing, playing music, dancing - a real free spirit. As a young girl of 9, I visited her in London and she took my midnight swimming, for a moonlight picnic and to an all night party! She introduced me to feminism and showed me how not to be afraid of breaking the rules. Wacky, wonderful and a total original, she could be hopelessly annoying at times, but still, the love never ran out.
Over the last few years we had struggled to find time in our lives for each other, each of us busy with our passions. Sue was always turning up late and saying "I've been meaning to call - I'll get in touch soon"...now she never will.
Sue was part of me, part of who I am. She helped form the way I see the world. So much of the woman I am now, the woman I am proud to be, has grown from the seeds Sue planted and nourished in me. Her spirit is in the very breath and bone of who I am – so much so that I never imagined her not being in my physical world.
I still can’t comprehend her absence - the hugeness of the space she has left is filled with such a bright light that at the moment, it hurts to see it, but in time, I trust that it will soften and glow like the autumn sunlight, adding beauty to all our lives, reminding us of the magic and wonder and precious gift of life and love, as Sue constantly reminded us to see. She made the world we live in a more beautiful place to be, and now she becomes part of that beauty.
As for me, and for all those who loved Sue and were loved by her, our days continue. Most days it seems the world moves much too fast as we try to come to terms with the loss. The part of me that is grieving wants to curl up and hide and not come out until I feel whole again.
But the part of me that is a mother, that is expecting a child, has to continue. This baby is here, within me and is coming. Initially, the shock brought on contractions and complications, and I found myself being rushed to the delivery suite at Lancaster. Luckily, modern magic has its place and labour was diverted with drugs. As I lay in the maternity ward, babies being born all around, my breasts producing milk and my tears streaming down in grief and shock for the loss of my sister, I acknowledged the brutal and beautiful reality of life, death and birth, of our mortality and transience, and of what is truly important in life - the love and the moments we have on this earth. Even if I cannot feel it now, I know there is a gift in this life moment.
I am back home now. I am on bed rest and awaiting an appointment with the consultant to see if they feel it is necessary to induce an early delivery, as there are some complications with my kidneys. I am also disabled by chronic Symphasis Pubis Dysfunction, which causes constant physical pain and means I am very dependent on the help of those close. I am reminded daily of the importance of good friends and loving family. I watch as those I love try to pick up and paste together the pieces of their hearts and make sense of life. We all grieve for Sue, for the loss and try to recover from the shock of the randomness. The only word to describe the feeling is SAD, which seems too small but is the right word ( I have noticed recently that so many of our biggest emotional experiences come packaged in the smallest words). Not sad as in how you feel when you don't get your own way, but a heartfelt, deep sadness that seems endless. Within this, every moment brings with it a different emotion to ride.
Grief and birth strip away the many illusions of life, and I am left looking at my life with new and often painful eyes, but as I sit in the late Autumn sunshine, feeling the baby kick, I know that there is a certain peacefulness that comes with grief, when the monkey mind stops and we are placed in the moment of our sadness, and in this moment, though the heart is broken, it is also opened to a deeper, wider, stronger love.
I wish I still had my sister on this earth with me. But I don't and the world is less for that loss. But if I had never known her, I would not mourn her leaving now, and so I know in the heart of it, the gift is the joy of love, and that is really the only thing we need to remember in life.
My baby will come when he or she is ready and when they do, I am ready to receive them in love, and to share with them the love Sue had within her.
My sister was a beautiful woman and I will always love her.
Love’s Wild Angels
These angels are not for staying.
They will never gather dust
Or watch their hair grow thin
In spider-webs of grey and gold.
One day, long before we see
The shadow approaching,
They will know, begin
To scribble long into
The ink-well night,
Leave us messages
On static-crackle
Answer-phones,
Spend hours
Watching
Aware, at last, of a sudden memory –
A place they were meant to be leaving.
Let them go.
They were never meant for staying
And the weight of earth-clod love
Binds them back to the soil below.
So, hush your heart and listen:
That sound you hear between the sounds
Is the whisper of one departing.
Let them go.
Copyright. Victoria Bennett
All my life, Sue has been there - sometimes at the forefront and sometimes in the background, but always present. When I was a little girl, she seemed magical to me - always making things, creating things, singing, playing music, dancing - a real free spirit. As a young girl of 9, I visited her in London and she took my midnight swimming, for a moonlight picnic and to an all night party! She introduced me to feminism and showed me how not to be afraid of breaking the rules. Wacky, wonderful and a total original, she could be hopelessly annoying at times, but still, the love never ran out.
Over the last few years we had struggled to find time in our lives for each other, each of us busy with our passions. Sue was always turning up late and saying "I've been meaning to call - I'll get in touch soon"...now she never will.
Sue was part of me, part of who I am. She helped form the way I see the world. So much of the woman I am now, the woman I am proud to be, has grown from the seeds Sue planted and nourished in me. Her spirit is in the very breath and bone of who I am – so much so that I never imagined her not being in my physical world.
I still can’t comprehend her absence - the hugeness of the space she has left is filled with such a bright light that at the moment, it hurts to see it, but in time, I trust that it will soften and glow like the autumn sunlight, adding beauty to all our lives, reminding us of the magic and wonder and precious gift of life and love, as Sue constantly reminded us to see. She made the world we live in a more beautiful place to be, and now she becomes part of that beauty.
As for me, and for all those who loved Sue and were loved by her, our days continue. Most days it seems the world moves much too fast as we try to come to terms with the loss. The part of me that is grieving wants to curl up and hide and not come out until I feel whole again.
But the part of me that is a mother, that is expecting a child, has to continue. This baby is here, within me and is coming. Initially, the shock brought on contractions and complications, and I found myself being rushed to the delivery suite at Lancaster. Luckily, modern magic has its place and labour was diverted with drugs. As I lay in the maternity ward, babies being born all around, my breasts producing milk and my tears streaming down in grief and shock for the loss of my sister, I acknowledged the brutal and beautiful reality of life, death and birth, of our mortality and transience, and of what is truly important in life - the love and the moments we have on this earth. Even if I cannot feel it now, I know there is a gift in this life moment.
I am back home now. I am on bed rest and awaiting an appointment with the consultant to see if they feel it is necessary to induce an early delivery, as there are some complications with my kidneys. I am also disabled by chronic Symphasis Pubis Dysfunction, which causes constant physical pain and means I am very dependent on the help of those close. I am reminded daily of the importance of good friends and loving family. I watch as those I love try to pick up and paste together the pieces of their hearts and make sense of life. We all grieve for Sue, for the loss and try to recover from the shock of the randomness. The only word to describe the feeling is SAD, which seems too small but is the right word ( I have noticed recently that so many of our biggest emotional experiences come packaged in the smallest words). Not sad as in how you feel when you don't get your own way, but a heartfelt, deep sadness that seems endless. Within this, every moment brings with it a different emotion to ride.
Grief and birth strip away the many illusions of life, and I am left looking at my life with new and often painful eyes, but as I sit in the late Autumn sunshine, feeling the baby kick, I know that there is a certain peacefulness that comes with grief, when the monkey mind stops and we are placed in the moment of our sadness, and in this moment, though the heart is broken, it is also opened to a deeper, wider, stronger love.
I wish I still had my sister on this earth with me. But I don't and the world is less for that loss. But if I had never known her, I would not mourn her leaving now, and so I know in the heart of it, the gift is the joy of love, and that is really the only thing we need to remember in life.
My baby will come when he or she is ready and when they do, I am ready to receive them in love, and to share with them the love Sue had within her.
My sister was a beautiful woman and I will always love her.
Love’s Wild Angels
These angels are not for staying.
They will never gather dust
Or watch their hair grow thin
In spider-webs of grey and gold.
One day, long before we see
The shadow approaching,
They will know, begin
To scribble long into
The ink-well night,
Leave us messages
On static-crackle
Answer-phones,
Spend hours
Watching
Aware, at last, of a sudden memory –
A place they were meant to be leaving.
Let them go.
They were never meant for staying
And the weight of earth-clod love
Binds them back to the soil below.
So, hush your heart and listen:
That sound you hear between the sounds
Is the whisper of one departing.
Let them go.
Copyright. Victoria Bennett
