goodbyes

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.

losses

Last February a friend of mine, Songbird, had a massive coronary and lapsed into a coma.  She was on the high dependancy unit of a London hospital for months, and I would go and visit her a couple of times a week.  It's tough when you can't converse with someone, but sitting and silently holding her hand doesn't seem to be enough either.  I ended up reading bits of her favourite newspaper out to her, looking for the lighter stories and also segments about London 2012.
Last Saturday, she died.  It's so sad that I'll never see her again but in truth - for me anyway - she died 14 months ago; it was the outside shell of Songbird I was reading to.  The essence of her, her laugh, her melodic voice, her expressive eyes, the sheer force of her personality, was gone.  But it's still sad.
Also, 28th April 2008 - I lost Starchild.

gulp

A very good friend of mine is pregnant.  While she is a good friend, she lives a very busy life out of London and we only see each other a few times a year, conducting our friendship mostly by email and phone.  So when I heard that she was pregnant, once I ran through the usual infertile woman's gamut of emotions, I was left with the overwhelming feeling of relief that the chances are I won't see her until after the baby was born.
She's coming to London on Wednesday for a meeting at the university and wants to have lunch afterwards.  I love my friend very much and I wish nothing but good things for her, her husband and her baby.  And of course I said "yes" to lunch with every appearance of delight.
But she is now 5 months pregnant.  And baby bumps still kick me in my stomach and push my insides up into my throat.

girly day

On Saturday I spent a soul-healing day with some female, single, child-free friends.
We had lunch (complete with wine), had our nails done, pottered around the shops and then went here for tea.
It was just lovely!

waving and drowning

I'm still here.  And mostly doing okay, although of course I have my melting-into-a-puddle-of-pathetic moments.

I went back to work on Thursday, after two-and-a-half weeks off.  It wasn't easy but I got through it and yesterday was much better.

Waving:  I've lost half a stone (7lbs) without even trying.
Drowning:  I have next to no appetite still and each mouthful I force myself to take results in waves of nausea.
Waving:  I've stopped having panic attacks every time I step outside so have been going shopping, to the gym, to work and out with friends as normal.
Drowning:  Coming back to a silent flat hurts anew each time.
Waving:  I have more space in the wardrobe and drawers for my stuff.
Drowning:  I have been packing up what A left behind which, well, sucks.

Really big, frantically excited waving:  Dr Beardie and I learnt yesterday that our submission for a set of talks at an international meeting was accepted.  The USA in December, baby!  I'm thrilled to bits - but please remind me of this feeling in 7 months time when I am sick to my stomach with nerves :-)

Hugely grateful, touched and heartfelt waving:  My friends both IRL and here in this online community (and also Lovely Therapist) have been so awesome and supportive and such all-round good eggs that I will never be able to properly thank you.