We said our final goodbyes to Songbird this week (there was a delay arranging her funeral for reasons too lengthy and distressing to explain).
Songbird was a woman of deep, but quiet, faith and the service was held in the church where she had been an active member for the past 40 years. Her fellow choir members were there, the vicar had known her for 19 years, friends from her past and present jobs were in attendance and all in all, it was a wonderful and personal service.
Afterwards we gathered in the church hall for tea and sandwiches and I sat with Too and other friends; we've all known each other upwards of 20 years. I am the youngest of the group by 7 years and even I had known Songbird half my life. We shared stories and songs and tears and smiles, then raised a glass in salute and farewell.
Songbird's "work" friends found out about her church life - flower arranging, chief launderer of linens, shopper for the elderly or sick, first port of call for anyone needing a shoulder to cry on. Her church friends learnt about her professionalism, her kindness and her calm, her insistence that nothing, but nothing, came before patient care (even, famously, a full bladder), and the gratitude of decades' worth of people whose often fraught and frightening wait for a diagnosis was slightly eased by Songbird's gentleness.
This week some of us from my current job (Songbird and I met while we worked together at a different hospital) also attended a memorial service for a former colleague who passed away last month. This man died while working abroad, having spent 30 years dedicating his life to helping those who lived in unimaginable poverty or in the middle of war zones, or indeed both. His life touched more people than anyone can count and it's not hyperbole to say that his loss is felt on an international level.
Songbird was a part of my life; I only knew my former colleague briefly and not well. But if I had even half the courage, vitality and gentleness of either, I would be lucky indeed.
And finally. Neither one had children.
"A Place of Greater Safety" by Hilary Mantel
18 hours ago
I am so sorry for your loss. My thoughts and love are always with you.
ReplyDeletexoxxo
Sounds like they were almost archetypal maternal and paternal figures - caring, nurturing and loving everyone around them. That's parenting really, I think. I was talking to a woman recently who is planning to set up workshops for women who haven't been able to have children, about how we are all mothers and fathers on some level, extending that kind of tenderness and love to the people we care about. In your line of work, more than any, nurturing care is as soothing and comforting as that of a parent. Sounds like these beautiful people made a lot of difference in the world. Thinking of you x
ReplyDeleteSongbird sounds like a wonderful woman who made a huge impact on all who crossed her path. What a privilege to know her and how incredibly sad that she died. She obviously had so many gifts. I love the image of you sitting in the church hall drinking tea and sharing memories. Sorry too about your colleague. So much good in the world and so many people to celebrate. But so sad to lose them prematurely. Hugs to you!
ReplyDeleteI send love, so sorry for the loss of such an wonderful person.
ReplyDeleteI am deeply sorry for your loss. Songbird, and your former colleague both sound like they were amazingly wonderful people, and I know their absence in the world makes it just a bit less beautiful with their passing.
ReplyDeleteI wish I had known her.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry you lost people so dear to you. I'm glad you (and so many others) have nice memories to remember them by.
ReplyDeleteSending you love as you celebrate and remember these amazing people.
ReplyDeleteno words, just love my friend
ReplyDelete~x~