The Saddest Thing

When the theme for this blog was decided many weeks ago there was no way any of us could have imagined the weird times we’re currently experiencing, and unfortunately, the theme is turning out to be rather apt. 

As I write, my family is safe, and the lockdown isn’t having too much of a detrimental effect on my sense of well being. I miss the friends and family members I can’t see, of course, and I’m desperate to cuddle my grandchildren, but in the grand scale of things I’m OK. However, needless to say, there is a lot of sadness within this unprecedented situation for many families. I know of three friends who have lost parents and been unable to gain comfort from their loved ones in the natural way, by gathering together, talking, crying, laughing, hugging. This must cause dreadful sadness, and I imagine will have repercussions in the coming weeks and months, if not years. I’ve never known a time when we’ve all felt so helpless and unable to predict what might come next. My 91 year old mum, who lived through the blitz as a child and young teen, tells me that the effects of this pandemic are on a different scale. 

I’m nearer to seventy than sixty now and consider myself to have had an extremely happy life. My 1950s childhood was free and exciting, my 1960s teens came at a time when the whole world was changing and becoming more liberal, and my adulthood has continued to be blessed by the best family and friends anyone could ask for.  However, constant happiness would be impossible for anyone to maintain for any length of time, and as if the powers that be saw me enjoying myself a little too much I was delivered the biggest dollop of depression which continues to this day, albeit now controlled by medication. Anybody who has suffered from a depressive illness knows that the feelings that accompany it are nothing like normal sadness, which is why I’m not dwelling on mental health problems, but instead thinking about the normal sadnesses that affect us in our lives. 

I’m such an emotional person that I cry at the drop of a hat. I realise that this isn’t always due to sadness, sometimes it’s empathy with another person, or reacting to something that’s particularly poignant.  Naturally, the saddest event in most people’s lives is the death of a loved one, and I’m no exception. Apart from grandparents there have been two deaths in my life that affected me greatly. One was a good friend who died far too young. I carried a sadness after his death which caused me to question a lot, and to grieve, not only for him, but for his family, with whom we’d shared years of friendship. 

Eighteen months ago my dad died. He was 92 but had been well. His death was caused by a burst aneurism and was very sudden.  Sadness overwhelmed me, not just for myself but for my mum, who was now on her own. Grief takes its own time. It can’t be hurried, it will come at you just when you think you’re doing ok, and leave you sobbing, weak and sad beyond compare.  One day, about a year after my dad’s death, I was driving to meet a friend. I was happy and excited about my plans for the day when a hearse drew out in front of me. I started to think about my dad’s funeral. I thought about his coffin, and his two sons and four grandsons carrying it into the crematorium. I thought how proud dad would have been to see them standing, straight backed, in their suits, squeezing each other’s shoulders in support, before resting him gently on the plinth at the front. Before I knew it tears were streaming down my cheeks and I could hardly see to drive. I recovered in time to meet my friend, but had to admit that I could react like that at any time with little or no warning. 

Years ago, there was an incident that probably sounds trivial in comparison.  When our daughter was about six or seven she was a really fast runner, and always did well on school Sports Day. Every year the teachers were each allocated one child to watch as the race finished.  This particular year, Laurey sprinted to the end and burst through the ribbon ahead of anybody else.  It was obvious she had won and we cheered along with other parents.  I'm not sure how it happened but I'm guessing she somehow slipped through the net and wasn't marked as either first, second or third.  If so many people hadn't come up to us to ask what had happened I would have thought we'd imagined it. All I remember is Laurey's little face, full of confusion and disappointment as the winners were announced and appeared on the podium. A huge sadness swept over me. It was nothing to do with whether Laurey had won, or come second or third, it was her first lesson in life not always being fair, and in what disappointment felt like, and that was so hard to witness.  I'm sure Laurey would laugh at me remembering this and feeling sad for her, but it's an indication of the depth of my feelings that it still upsets me now.  We got home and her dad gave her one of his football medals, which wasn't quite the same, but was some consolation in the half-hour before it was lost down the toilet.

These Things, Yes, All These Things  by Jill Reidy

It’s not always just the big things

That overwhelm us 

The illnesses and deaths

The family rifts

The emptiness

When children fly the nest

Those losses

They cause that heavy cloak  

Of sadness to descend

And yet, and yet.....

The snippet of a long forgotten tune

Carried on the breeze

The scent of woodsmoke 

That recalls an earlier time

The scrap of velvet

From the dress your mother made

A tiny faded photo

Your children, babies, 

A parma violet that dissolves 

upon your tongue

These things, yes, all these things, will tear your heart in two.