lavender

The lavender I planted on Doris Hardy's grave is flourishing. I visited for frequent waterings during dry April and hardly at all in wet May. Today, in glorious sunshine, I went to admire the lavender's abundant flower-heads and watched ants doing their communal thing on the warmed concrete of Doris's, her aunt Mary's and grandmother Sarah's grave.

Have yet to sit and spin using a spindle by the grave, a nod to the word 'spinster' etched into the stone - I plan to do this on Friday.

doris hardy - spinster

This grave in Wirksworth Cemetery, Derbyshire fascinates me. Doris Hardy was added to the side of this grand gravestone and the first thing we know after her name is that she was a SPINSTER (in text that's on a right leaning wonk). Who buried her here? Who didn't take enough care over the text? Why is her marital (lack of) status so important?

Delving on Ancestry I discovered that Doris was born in 1894, the first child of Henry and Alice. She had four sisters and one brother and two siblings who died. Her family had deep connections to Derbyshire and the local area. She is buried with her grandmother Sarah who died in 1905, and aunt Mary (also a spinster) who died in 1934.

The grave was covered in overgrowth so one Sunday in April I spent an afternoon clearing weeds and intended to scatter bee friendly seeds and plant native plants. I soon discovered concrete under my trowel and was disappointed but wondered if I'd find any further clues about Doris and her family in it's surface. I did not.

Taking the seeds away I returned the following week and planted lavender in a soil filled circular hole within the concrete. Disappointed again as this hole was a tube as far as I could reach and felt sorry for the lavender knowing it's roots will be restricted. It's been a dry April so I've returned often to water the plant and help it settle into it's unpromising spot.

Ideas are forming and I plan to research Doris further to understand more about her life. 

Spinster, late of Starkholmes.

Was the concrete poured onto the burial plot in 1967?

Symmetrical pattern scored into concrete

Lavender planted in tube within the concrete

life and loss

For some, birth and death entwine, for some no three score and ten.

I was drawn towards a well tended grave at the edge of the cemetery. A son born and died on the same day. His parents had left cards on what would have been his 38th birthday a couple of weeks before I crouched at the foot of his grave.

Walking away, vaguely uncomfortable having read his parents loving words I felt bowed with sadness. Gazing around the cemetery the weight in my chest immediately transformed into a thought: loss is life. My shoulders unfurled recognising the love and longing made physical in stone, wreath and engraved text surrounding me. 

The pain of loss is witnessed in a graveyard. Loss lives here. It is important that losses live. They walk with us anyhow, matching our stride in patient silence.

The years are counted in a loved ones absence. I imagine these parents recognised their son in boys, and now men the age he would be. A particular shade of hair, a gait, the angle of a cheek - gut knowing, a catch in the heart. Would our boy have been like that? Is this him? A weary searching for... something...     

Loss has a life, it grows with us. It's facets revealed as we age and carry the weight of further losses. Recognising something of an-other when it's too late to say, 'oh, I get it now, I understand.' 

Grieving and living while the sun shines on our faces and the birds sing and it's beautiful and our hearts break all the same.   

birthday

It was mum's birthday on the 13th October, she would have been 83. I took a trip to London with a packet of Snakes-head fritillary bulbs from my sister and bought a cyclamen on East Finchley high road to plant on her grave. Our previous plantings seem happy enough, the grave was bright with Bellis daisies and primrose.  

It was a beautiful morning and I could have spent the day in the cemetery. Its a fascinating place. Happy birthday Mum. 

resting place

Furmage Family Plot

This Sunday, my sister and I went to our Mum's grave. We added another bag of compost to the heavy clay soil, planted spring bulbs and perennials and edged the grave with white stones. It was a beautiful, cool, bright autumn day. Before this work I cleansed the space using burning sage, ridding the grave of any residual bad energies. We had a dreadful experience with a member of the cemetery staff before burying Mum's ashes, and sadly, this tainted our goodbye, so cleansing the site was very important.

With soil under our nails we traveled to St Paul's Cathedral, for the Bart's Health NHS Trust & St Joseph's Hospice Annual Service of Remembrance. This service is held in memory of all who have died in Bart's hospitals in the previous year. People of all faiths are welcome to attend and the service included readings, music and poems from a variety of religions. We were invited to write the name of our loved one on a card and this was taken to the altar in a symbolic gesture. It was moving to see the baskets of cards and consider our collective grief.

Attendees were given a beautiful long stemmed white rose to take home, it was heartwarming to see these roses carried tenderly down the cathedral steps, onto the streets, the buses and tubes. It was an unforgettable experience, shared with strangers who walk a brave path with their grief. 

Mum would have been thrilled by the idea of a service in her honour at St Paul's.