Just over a week ago Jane, my youngest brother’s wife, died of breast cancer. She was only 4 years older than me and she loved life and lived it with a positive zeal. She leaves behind my brother, 2 wonderful boys, both aged under 10 and a loving family and friends. None of it makes any sense.
It was Jane’s funeral yesterday and as we approached the Church I was happy to see the road bursting with cars. The ceremony was held in the Church that she was married in and her body is now laid to rest in the grounds, in the village where she grew up.
Jane was a beautiful, kind, funny, loving and popular person. The very best of company and I loved her from the minute I met her. She very so good for my brother and they were a spirited couple who travelled around the world together. In fact I think their first child was born in Hong Kong. She grew up with horses and on her return from Hong Kong she went to see her old horse, who she sadly had to sell in order to travel. On her return she went to see her old pal and was shocked to find the horse malnourished and in poor health. I am proud to say that she smacked the new owner and gave her what for. I learnt yesterday that we shared a love of birds and that listening to bird song was one of her favourite past times. Try it people if you haven’t. I mean properly. I hadn’t realised that she was so into wild life and I also learned that when she was young and on holiday with her family, she returned to camp base with a pony in a dog lead and said “I got one of em”. Sadly, she was not allowed to keep it. I smiled as 2 butterflies were fluttering in the altar’s stained glass windows as the story was told.
On my way home from work the day before the funeral I suddenly felt uplifted and buoyed and my mood transformed from sombre to something like elation. As I felt the wind through my hair I grew convinced of an other-worldly power coursing through me. I was convinced it was Jane. On meeting Jane’s Mum I struggled with whether or not to tell her. I worried that she would think me mad or that I was belittling Jane’s memory. But as we clasped hands and talked I felt that she would understand. “Oh yes dear, that was her. She loved to sail. She’s the wind all right. That’s why I chose the poem.”
‘I am not There’
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on the snow.
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
I don’t think it was any coincidence that the wind was uncommonly strong yesterday and could actually blow you off your feet at the farm where we gathered after the funeral.
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