SUMMERS

LOST IN GRIEF

Helping you find direction through your grief journey

Hello again,

For those of you who have read my previous posts, you will know that I combine my travel stories with managing grief.

This post is a little different as it is a personal reflection. A few days ago my Aunt Joan passed away, peacefully with her family around her. She was my mum’s only sibling and they were both very close. Aunt Joan has five sons and daughter-in-laws as well as many grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Many years ago (around 60), my uncle built a caravan and it was placed on a caravan site in a small village called Millisle in County Down. When I say caravan site, it was nothing like todays sites with full on facilities, it was very basic, with water tap posts where the children were sent with containers to fill up and bring back to the caravan. Washing and toilet facilities were based in a small building in the middle of ‘the field’. There were a small group of caravans on site, mostly homemade. As a child, I spent my summers there, with my brother Mark and my five cousins.

We played in the field with a football or cricket ball. We built obstacle courses with whatever we found and held mimi olympics. However, what I remember most, was the freedom. To run about freely and safely with my brother and cousins. We stayed for the two months of the school break and it felt like a different world. There wasn’t much room in the caravan for all of us but we managed.

On rainy days (of which there were many!) we would sit in the caravan wrapped in blankets reading comics or playing games listening to the rain attack the tin roof. Waiting patiently for the rain to pass so that we could go out and play.

As the years moved on, my Aunt Joan upgraded her caravan several times. My grandparents bought a caravan as well and it was next to Aunt Joan’s. When we had our children, we still spent time at the caravan allowing our children to experience the freedom.

A few years ago when my Aunt’s health deteriorated, the caravan was sold and the trips to Millisle came to an end. As all things do. Aunt Joan had dementia. Sometimes she recognised me and sometimes she didn’t. To me it didn’t really matter, because I always remembered her. I sat with her the day before she died and held her hand. I talked to her about the memories of all our summers together and how much I loved her. They say that the last senses to go are sound and touch. I hope that’s true.

THE LAST WORD

Her funeral will be on Wednesday and my mum has been staying with us this week. We have been sharing memories, which has been lovely. I will listen carefully on Wednesday at the service but my mind will be playing football in the field, making obstacle courses and running along the beach. Wonderful memories.

Remember.

Grief is individual

Grief has no timeline.

Until next time,

Lorraine