Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Thoughts on life and death as we go to a funeral.
Today is the funeral of an old friend.
It is a time for the living to reflect on matters of life and death.
I have been pushed to do that many times.
At the beginning of November, 19 years ago, I was lying on what might have been my death bed.
I didn't know that - it seemed like my time of knowing things was over. For weeks I had watched myself become iller and iller. During those weeks my life and death became nothing - all that mattered was each crystal of the present as I lived.
I look back on that as a lesson learned.
I also learned later that dying would not have been a problem for me.
But how joyful I am that Bill and my Dad pushed to have me undergo more intrusive treatment and testing - no letting me go gentle into that good night.
I am glad that these two men in my life had each other.
And so began my new life.
It was hard at first. The body was not ready for life and still the experts expected it not to survive and the local hospice got involved with me.
They gave me a lot - as did the other sick people I met there. They are all long gone.
I made this collage at the hospice day care centre.
I was determined by then to make the best of each day.
Bill took me to sit and write on Ditchling Beacon.
Dad had come to wish me a happy 49th birthday.
I was in a wheel chair - but car boot sales were still part of my life.
Bill and Jamie and Ashley were selling things at a sale held at TB school.
We were joined by Bill's sister, Ros and our nieces Emma and Jo.
In November 1993, exactly a year after the near death experience, I was back in my hospital bed.
This time it was for tests. Why didn't my body get better?
Then it was discovered that for all the dreadful time of cancer treatments I had also suffered pancreatitis.
My pancreas was no longer producing the enzymes for digestion.
From that time I have been taking those enzymes in tablet form and weight and some strength slowly returned to my body.
And so life continued - a new and joyful life.
The past had gone.
Teaching had gone.
Most of my fears about not being a good enough person had gone.
Having been involved with book and toy collectors' fairs for years I took the plunge and took a space in an antiques centre.
We began to take holidays abroad in lovely places.
Our sons travelled or explored religion and moved on into marriages and parenthood.
And then at the beginning of November, 4 years ago, I returned to a hospital bed.
I had cancer again.
I was not afraid - in fact very ready to accept the drastic treatment, after a long spell of pain.
My bladder was taken away and I was given a stoma.
What a brilliant gift!
Yet again, I was given a chance for new life.
I have valued all of the last 20 years and it seems to get better and better.
I think very little of the future. If I do pause and think about the years ahead, it does feel quite scary.
We don't go on for ever do we?
I hope that Bill and I have learned enough now to be able to adjust to whatever the future throws at us.
And that is what I hope for Marion, my good friend. She is having to adjust now. I wish her and her family contentment and peace.
This is what his daughter in law wrote on facebook........
Goodbye Robin, my bestest father-in-law: one legged tandem rider, terrible joke teller, bear hug giver. Thank you for everything. It was a privilege to know you, but mainly a jolly good laugh. Love you old man. xx xx 18-10-11
And yes - Robin did only have one leg.
I think this touching message sums up all that I feel his funeral might be.
Now, I can add a little something.
It was a beautiful day - the sun shone, the golden trees glowed.
Robin was truly celebrated, remembered and mourned for.
People were joyful together afterwards - perhaps put in the mood by Robin's choice of final music.
Sing along, if you know it, as you read the lyrics.
These lyrics were sung with gusto by Jamie to us all just a short time ago.
Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...
And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.
And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.
So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath
Life's a piece of shit
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.
And always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the right side of life...
It is a time for the living to reflect on matters of life and death.
I have been pushed to do that many times.
At the beginning of November, 19 years ago, I was lying on what might have been my death bed.
I didn't know that - it seemed like my time of knowing things was over. For weeks I had watched myself become iller and iller. During those weeks my life and death became nothing - all that mattered was each crystal of the present as I lived.
I look back on that as a lesson learned.
I also learned later that dying would not have been a problem for me.
But how joyful I am that Bill and my Dad pushed to have me undergo more intrusive treatment and testing - no letting me go gentle into that good night.
I am glad that these two men in my life had each other.
And so began my new life.
It was hard at first. The body was not ready for life and still the experts expected it not to survive and the local hospice got involved with me.
They gave me a lot - as did the other sick people I met there. They are all long gone.
I was determined by then to make the best of each day.
Bill and Jamie and Ashley were selling things at a sale held at TB school.
We were joined by Bill's sister, Ros and our nieces Emma and Jo.
In November 1993, exactly a year after the near death experience, I was back in my hospital bed.
This time it was for tests. Why didn't my body get better?
Then it was discovered that for all the dreadful time of cancer treatments I had also suffered pancreatitis.
My pancreas was no longer producing the enzymes for digestion.
From that time I have been taking those enzymes in tablet form and weight and some strength slowly returned to my body.
And so life continued - a new and joyful life.
The past had gone.
Teaching had gone.
Most of my fears about not being a good enough person had gone.
Having been involved with book and toy collectors' fairs for years I took the plunge and took a space in an antiques centre.
We began to take holidays abroad in lovely places.
Our sons travelled or explored religion and moved on into marriages and parenthood.
And then at the beginning of November, 4 years ago, I returned to a hospital bed.
I had cancer again.
I was not afraid - in fact very ready to accept the drastic treatment, after a long spell of pain.
My bladder was taken away and I was given a stoma.
What a brilliant gift!
Yet again, I was given a chance for new life.
I have valued all of the last 20 years and it seems to get better and better.
I think very little of the future. If I do pause and think about the years ahead, it does feel quite scary.
We don't go on for ever do we?
I hope that Bill and I have learned enough now to be able to adjust to whatever the future throws at us.
And that is what I hope for Marion, my good friend. She is having to adjust now. I wish her and her family contentment and peace.
Goodbye Robin, my bestest father-in-law: one legged tandem rider, terrible joke teller, bear hug giver. Thank you for everything. It was a privilege to know you, but mainly a jolly good laugh. Love you old man. xx xx 18-10-11
And yes - Robin did only have one leg.
I think this touching message sums up all that I feel his funeral might be.
Now, I can add a little something.
It was a beautiful day - the sun shone, the golden trees glowed.
Robin was truly celebrated, remembered and mourned for.
People were joyful together afterwards - perhaps put in the mood by Robin's choice of final music.
Sing along, if you know it, as you read the lyrics.
These lyrics were sung with gusto by Jamie to us all just a short time ago.
Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...
And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.
And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.
So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath
Life's a piece of shit
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.
And always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the right side of life...
Labels: rambling thoughts
