When was the last time you received a letter? If not a letter, an email telling you the details of an event you missed, a way of life you cannot be part of though wish to be, or how someone is feeling and why?
I expect it’s been a while, which is a bit of a shame.
An article I wrote about Dad for my hometown’s local paper, The Bournemouth Echo.
Two weeks ago, my dad died. It was expected, since he was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer last December and given 3-6 months to live. In February, I was lucky enough to be able to fly home to England to see him, and he passed away in comfort at home, knowing he was loved. Born in 1925, he lived a long and complex life, and for that I am grateful. Still, grief is an interesting experience, full of ups and downs, conflict and peace, coming in waves at unexpected times. So I have been sharing what it’s like to float on that strange sea with friends far and wide, and those friends have offered me words of support that comfort and carry me even now.
Yet when it came to organising Dad’s funeral, I really struggled. I was here in Australia, unable to return home, and felt left out. The big decisions had already been made when I was home in February, but changes needed to be made to those plans, and I simply felt… away.
Distant.
After all, I do live on the other side of the world! I felt disconnected. Isolated. Remote. Things were going on without me. I had an overwhelming need to simply know, to be communicated with, to be talked to – anything that helped me imagine myself actually there.
Attending Dad’s funeral from my lounge room via Skype.
Skype helped. I got to be in meetings with the minister for the funeral, and talked things through with Mum for hours. We’ve never talked as much as we have over the last two weeks! Thanks to my brother, I even got to attend the funeral via Skype. I was there from beginning to end.
Still, the feeling of absence stayed with me until I got a detailed email from my BFF telling me more about the funeral and its wake. The wake was held in a hotel where Dad once worked as a chef (me too when I was a teenager, serving teas, coffees and deserts in its restaurant!), so I could picture its typical English pub decor. But my BFF brought it all to life – telling me who gave whom the cold shoulder, who went to the wake and who didn’t, that my mum had a brandy and coke, and that everyone hugged her. The food served was party-food that Dad used to love – hot dogs topped with onion, sausage rolls, quiche, sandwiches… People talked about the dire state of food labelling laws, why mashed potatoes are worse for diabetics than roasts or chips, the best types of mouse traps, and that the shoes Mum wore used to be mine. Finally, I could imagine myself there!
The relief was incredible and instantaneous. I was somehow closer to it all – the event now more imaginable. I felt connected. It got me thinking too…
My BFF is not a writer.
Still, she was able to write something to me – a recount – that would change my experience completely.
Just put one word after another, like my daughter Ophelia!
Don’t get me wrong, without modern technology (hurray for Skype!) I wouldn’t have been able to ‘attend’ Dad’s funeral at all, and that would have been even harder to handle. But the icing was in the detail – it smoothed over the cracks distance had made and everything was that little bit sweeter. So thank you, BFF.
Words can be powerful in ways you might not realise at first. Technology makes it easy for us to share photos and video with each other… but words can bring those images to life. So whether you’re a writer or not, consider giving recount writing a try – with just one email or letter, you could change a person’s life, or at least make their day. Plus, it’s as simple as putting one word after another…
