Magpie

For Pauline

We had arranged to have tea and chips on the beach at Milford on Sea. It was going to be a low key day out, nothing too long or taxing.

Pauline loved the sea and always wanted to move to the coast. None of us ever thought it would be her dying wish. None of us ever thought she would actually die, we were so sure she’d pull through; that the chemo, surgery and clinical trials would work. That one of them would work.

In one of the last conversations we had, Pauline told me she loved me. I panicked because I thought she was saying goodbye. She insisted she wasn’t. But shortly afterwards she went into hospice care. Shortly after that, she died.

Things get foggy with grief. I don’t remember much about the days or weeks following Pauline’s death, even for a while after her funeral. Strangely though, there is one particular thing that does stick in my mind: well-meaning cliches. I had to remove myself from the company of anyone who said “At least….” at the beginning of a sentence in which they went on to detail something positive. I know the intention was to offer some sort of comfort, but it rankled. I wasn’t ready to think of positives or find peace or transforming my sad feelings.

Today is the first anniversary of Pauline’s death. The sad feelings haven’t gone away. It has been a quiet day of happy/heartbreaking conversations with friends and a rosemary remembrance cake. And whisky. She was a close friend who has left a gap that can’t and shouldn’t be filled. I’m okay with the gap. It’s her gap. I’ve been saying her name out loud. Bringing her into my memory as often as I can and keeping the memory of her alive.

Grief can feel incredibly lonely. I don’t really know what to do with the feelings most of the time, but I have found that writing helps me. Soon after Pauline died, I started getting all of my emotions out on paper. No-one was going to see what I was writing so there were no limits. If I re-read what I had written then, I would probably feel re-traumatised; but at the time the act of getting something out of me provided some temporary relief.

What has any of this got to do with music? After a few weeks the jumble of angry, desperate words morphed into something less convulsed. The beginnings of a new song took shape. I went on to write the music arrangement and then record the song, which is called Magpie. But that’s a post for another time. At the moment, I still find myself asking, how can she not be here? Emotions seem slow at keeping up with intellectual knowing.

From re-reading my offline journal, I have noticed that focusing on the small things, the every day rituals and mundane activities of life have all helped me through. Small, slow steps. Routine and no rash decisions. And bottomless cups of tea.

Grief plants itself inside you and never leaves. I think you just have to find a way of making room for it, like an unwanted guest at the table. Acknowledging it’s there, tolerating its presence and giving it some attention when it starts jostling to be seen and heard. I know it will come again. Part of me is writing this so I have some sort of reminder or blueprint about what to do, when it next shows up.

Pauline and I never made it to Milford on Sea beach together. She was too ill. Just after her funeral, I made the trip down there on my own. I had tea and chips.

To my vibrant, loving, funny, beautiful, talented, lovely, creative, kind, number-one-gig-and-festival buddy and all-round BFF, Pauline. You are missed every day.