Random Musings: Death in the Time of Covid

Two years ago today I received the news that my father had died. Although a shock at the time it was not entirely unexpected. My parents were in their nineties and suffered many health issues including dementia. Despite their noticeable and ongoing deterioration, they were still lucid enough to understand what was happening to them and had made their wishes clear. They did not desire interventions to prolong suffering they knew was only likely to get worse.

My father’s death happened quickly. He developed severe difficulty breathing and was rushed to hospital. He passed away before tests could be conducted but his symptoms were clearly Covid-19. The paramedics who attended him also voiced concern about my mother. She too was taken to hospital where she tested positive for the virus and was admitted.

Several years previously my parents had taken out prepaid funeral plans. They could not have foreseen that memorial gatherings would be outlawed. Lockdown rules meant neither my brother nor I could travel to Belfast to join our sister in mourning. My father’s body was driven direct to the crematorium in a single vehicle with only the funeral director in attendance. There was no church service, no music, no wake. At home in Wiltshire I and my family raised a glass of Dad’s favourite tipple, Black Bush whiskey, to his memory. That morning I learned my mother had died.

I left the family home, which my parents bought off plan and lived for six decades until their deaths, in my early twenties. From then, I returned to visit irregularly. My relationship with both my parents was somewhat distant, emotionally as well as physically. Growing up I was always supported by them in my various endeavours, and knew I was loved, but railed against their criticisms. I was not the daughter they brought me up to be.

My mother was of her time. It mattered to her how I was regarded, particularly by the wider family. It was made clear to me that certain aspects of our lives should never be revealed to them. It mattered to her that I be slim and dress modestly. Of all my achievements throughout my life it was any loss of weight that she most admired.

My father was a quiet and somewhat distant parent. He adored my mother, putting her needs first. Towards the end of their lives my mother told me it had been a good life, that they had been happy together, the overseas package holidays they took once their children were old enough to be left behind offered as particular highlights. That neither had to live on without the other is a strange sort of comfort now.

Grief is a complex beast. Although I was happier once I left Belfast, and my parents appeared to enjoy their times as a couple more than when with other family members, their deaths have still left a void that cannot be filled. Their quality of life was already compromised when they contracted Covid-19 so in some ways such a quick death could be regarded as a blessing. For those of us left, it still requires processing.

I have not felt the overwhelming sorrow I know some feel when a parent dies. My grief has been more a quiet, shadowed reflection on how our relationship developed over the years. I was told that I spent the first few months of my life in hospital, my mother visiting daily to cry over my crib. She blamed this for my later distance even though I cannot remember the time. It seems I caused her, and therefore my father, trouble from the very start.

None of this can diminish that they were always there for me. And now that they are not I can focus on the positives they provided. They both came from inner city, working class backgrounds, taking jobs and saving money – the pennies that eventually grew to pounds – to give themselves and their children a more stable life. They were proud that the three of us, and then their six grandchildren, all attended university. My father missed out on his chance to train as a teacher due to the war prioritising returning soldiers. He gave up his deferred place to enable him to marry.

They were the best parents they could be given the people they were, and for that I remain grateful. I am glad I got to tell them this before they died.

Winnie and Norman at home, RIP

Book Review: Will This House Last Forever?

“The only gift anybody really gives you – a version of the world, a version of yourself. A particular experience of life that is only possible between you.”

Will This House Last Forever, by Xanthi Barker, is a memoir of the relationship the author had with her late father, Sebastian Barker. He was a published poet, ‘not famous, but known to some people’. He bought a plot of land in Greece containing the rubble of a derelict house and rebuilt it. He married three times, fathering four children, although he wasn’t much of a father, at least to the younger two. He left the family he made with Xanthi’s mother when the author was just a few months old citing his need to have space to write.

Sebastian, the son of artistic bohemians, was the victim of a boarding school education. He was intense, overbearing and often drunk, disliking the demands of everyday family life. He was also entertaining with his many stories and anecdotes. He shared his interest in history and science with Xanthi, his youngest daughter. Despite her anger at his many casual cruelties, his neglect, she idolised him.

“you were magical to me. I couldn’t see your limitations.”

The memoir is raw in its honesty but also beautiful in the love it conveys. The author can now see the flaws and facades of the man with his grandiose delusions, striving for achievements that were never quite enough to become what mattered. She recognises that she too acted a part when with him.

“I spent my life trying to be someone else to make a man love me, I don’t know how to do it any other way.”

The book opens three years after Sebastian’s death. The author is trying to process how she feels, her grief and inability to accept that he has really gone forever. She then goes back to recall the tale of when her parents first met and how they got together. It is a love story that couldn’t survive Sebastian’s inability to cope with the presence of young children in his day to day plans. After he left, he would spend time with his son and daughter only when it suited him.

Sebastian died of cancer. Following his terminal diagnosis, Xanthi spent as much time as she could with him. She was hoping for an apology for his past behaviour towards her and her family, an acknowledgement that he was glad she existed despite things previously said. She struggled to imagine her life if he was not available to talk to about their shared interests.

“Even though he wasn’t there when I was little, he was a huge presence. He formed so many of my ideas about the world, my values.”

Chapters jump around in time describing: meetings with Sebastian, holidays spent together, the progression of his illness. After her father’s death it takes Xanthi years to fully accept what has happened. She finds herself talking constantly about him, something a steady stream of boyfriends were expected to accept. She came to realise she was pushing them away for fear of getting hurt again.

“How do you find a person who will really see you?
How can you tell if you are really seen?
How can you tell if you are really seeing them?”

Even with other family members the author could not freely be herself. They did not appear to grieve as she did, to value the detritus her father had left behind which she held on to as if still a part of him. Despite having seen his body after he died, she kept expecting him to reappear.

“How quickly
A CV
Turns into
An obituary”

The story being told is of the author and the effect her father had on her life. It is more a memoir of her feelings and reactions – how his behaviour shaped her – than of him. What is being shared so viscerally is how she coped with losing a father who had for many years shunned the role and, in dying, took from her any chance of his becoming what she had for so long needed him to be. She adored her idea of him, what he was to her when together and apart.

A poignant and powerful reminder that every relationship is unique, a construct created that is rarely understood by others, even those involved. The author writes with compassion and insight while recognising both her and her father’s failings. A tale of the myriad forms of loss and grief, in life as well as death, that holds the reader in its spell.

My copy of this book was provided gratis by the publisher, Tinder Press.

Book Review: Every Seventh Wave

“To live on the edge of things, he thought. To meeting of two worlds, a liminal frontier, from known to unknown”

Every Seventh Wave, by Tom Vowler, tells the story of Hallam, a middle-aged man recently released from prison. He is living in the crumbling remains of his old family home on a sea-facing cliff in the far south-west of England. The tale opens with him watching a woman enter the water at dusk and disappear below the surface. He rushes to her aid, thereby setting off a series of events that will change the trajectory of his reclusive existence.

The woman, Anca, is a teenager from Romania. She claims to have no family or friends for Hallam to contact and appears in no hurry to leave the shelter he reluctantly offers her. Hallam’s life has been shadowed by loss, everyone he ever cared for leaving him. As the days pass he finds it hard not to daydream of a future that includes Anca as his willing companion.

Hallam’s backstory is revealed slowly, in snippets and then detail. His family moved to the house on the cliff when he was an adolescent, running it as a guest house. Hallam and his older brother, Blue, struggled to fit in with the local teenagers. Blue was always seeking adventure, unafraid to take risks and encouraging Hallam to follow him. Their parents’ marriage was not a happy one and the boys sought escape from the atmosphere this generated.

Another thread in the story is the horror of human trafficking. The reader will learn of the trade in people and how victims are coerced and kept compliant. The gangs running such operations understand how to remain beyond the powers of law enforcement. Amongst themselves disputes are resolved with pitiless violence.

The starkness and venerable power of the setting are evoked with skill and depth. Complexities of character are recognised, with the reader trusted to see beyond what is narrated. The writing is spare yet lyrical despite the harrowing subjects dealt with. The tension built into the denouement had me gasping for air.

It was this that made me appreciate more deeply the scenes where Anca faces the prospect of drowning. Each of the characters is, in a way, caught in the riptide of the life they have ended up with. The author is uncompromising in his portrayal of the consequences of choices made; the waves keep coming whatever breakers are built.

A disturbing yet satisfying tale that both appals with its harsh truths and engages the reader. An impressive and affecting story that I recommend.

My copy of this book was provided gratis by the publisher, Salt.

Book Review: One Thing

“If she’d been his wife, he’d be a widower. But if your ex-wife dies, you’re left with nothing at all.”

One Thing, by Xanthi Barker, is a piercing exploration of grief. Its protagonist, Len, is fifty-eight years old when he receives a phone call informing him his ex-wife, Violet, is dead. Violet walked out on their marriage and daughter twenty years ago to set up home with her accountant, Ivan. Len has never stopped loving her, and also hating her for what she did to him. Instead of phoning his daughter, or driving straight home on hearing the news, he tries to finish the big job he has been working on for months that is almost complete. This does not go well. When he eventually leaves, in time for the funeral despite being told he would not be welcome there, he is facing the prospect of bankruptcy.

Len is struggling to cope with his memories of all the things he has lost: his wife, their daughter’s smile when she was a baby, his beloved green van, the life he once thought he would live. At the centre of it all is Violet, how she was when they first got together.

“Len didn’t know, had never imagined the sun would come out in his life like that. He had settled on overcast drizzle for the most part, women who thought he couldn’t think because he didn’t think to say every thought he had”

“She said she couldn’t live without him. She couldn’t sleep without him in her bed”

“She was the first person in his life that made him want to say things”

Violet left Len for Ivan when their daughter, Lila, was still just a toddler. Len has never stopped wanting the shared life she took from him. Now he has a plan, one he knows carries risk. He will reclaim from Ivan one thing that Violet left. To do so he must enter their home, which he does when everyone else is at the funeral. Being in the place she chose over him proves overwhelming.

This story is told in the form of a novelette – just over sixty pages – yet is powerful and complete. The reader is taken through Len’s life, understanding why Violet meant so much to him. The writing is taut and direct yet breathtakingly tender. The lens through which grief is viewed – with its impuissance and jealousies – is masterfully rendered.

A short yet evocative tale from a writer whose work I will now look out for. A rare find that I recommend you read.

One Thing is published by Open Pen.

Book Review: The Plankton Collector

“That picture […] will be amongst the snaps which she keeps all her life in the old chocolate box, the captured iconic moments of seaside holidays, made happy by a trick of memory”

The Plankton Collector, by Cath Barton, tells the story of a family struggling to cope in the wake of a death. Rose and David live in comfortable surroundings with their three children but their marriage is not a happy one. Each believes that, over the years, they have given the other what was expected and required, yet neither feels fulfilled. When their elder son, Edgar, dies following an illness they and the boy’s siblings each retreat into individual, dark shells.

Ten year old Mary seeks solace in books, escaping from her home when she can, now that Mother is always crying. On a day like any other she meets a stranger who, despite warnings to the contrary, she knows she can trust. He takes her to the seaside where she plays with a new companion. The episode is surreal, inexplicable, yet remains as a comforting memory.

Rose’s memories from her younger days bring her little comfort. She believes she was happy once, before she lost her best friend. Now she has lost a child and fears her husband is increasing the distance between them. A stranger she meets as she tends her son’s grave takes her on a journey that reminds her she must work on the small things so as not to be defeated by the bigger picture.

Twelve year old Bunny meets the stranger in a den he used to spend time in with Edgar. Bunny finds he can talk almost freely about many issues that have been bothering him, although not about his father. The man understands and knows to bide his time.

David is troubled by his recent behaviour yet unsure how to extricate himself. To help him the stranger, in the form of a rich uncle, offers to take the children away for a week’s holiday. Left to themselves Rose and David can talk about their growing rift.

The stranger is the Plankton Collector, although to each he goes by a different name. He appears when most needed. The journeys he takes with each family member are as real as they need them to be.

In haunting, exquisite prose the author explores the disconnects that exist within families as each deals with the internal difficulties inherent in life as it progresses. Moments of happiness can be overshadowed by loss, yet it is the former that should be granted attention and treasured.

In this short novella a world has been conjured that recognises the depths of unhappiness yet offers hope. It reminds that reactions when grieving are neither uniform nor prescriptive, but that individuals, once known, are never entirely lost.

‘You will remember this place,’ he continued, ‘and you will always be able to come back to it in your minds. No-one can take your happy memories away from you.’

 

My copy of this book was provided gratis by the publisher, New Welsh Rarebyte.

Book Review: Layover

“people’s identities are constructed like birds’ nests. That frantic and fragile. So what? Most of the time, they manage to hold together.”

Layover, by Lisa Zeidner, is the story of a woman going through a breakdown. Claire Newbold is a competent and successful salesperson travelling throughout America to meet with customers who buy medical equipment. She is married to Ken, a cardiathoracic surgeon in Ohio. Their much wanted and tried for young son died following a car accident. Claire is struggling to come to terms with this loss and the impact subsequent events have had on her marriage.

Claire is well used to moving from hotel to hotel via flights and rental cars. She likes to swim in hotel pools when they are quiet. On a business trip she swims for too long and misses her connection. With nothing urgent to return home for, such as collecting a child from daycare, she simply lies down to rest.

Thus begins a period when Claire steps outside of her routine. Something in her has shifted granting her permission to exist groundless and answerable only to herself. She sleeps, she swims, she eats from room service. Not wishing to be traceable by her concerned husband she starts to stay in hotels she has regularly frequented without paying, gaining illicit entry to unused rooms. She continues to keep appointments until this is thwarted by others’ apparent concern for her behaviour.

At one hotel she meets a young man at the small swimming pool and considers why she has remained faithful to Ken.

The reader sees the world through Claire’s eyes as she moves through her days. She has detached herself from expectations, become an unknown travelling through who will not be met again. Thus she can claim to be whatever she chooses at that moment and can say what she thinks. Her honesty appears shocking at times demonstrating how censored everyday actions and conversation can be.

Claire wishes to better understand relationships, to find out more about the husbands of women she encounters, the lovers of the men. There is a voyeuristic element to her stepping inside the lives of almost strangers. However disconnected she feels there is a need to be perceived.

Whilst relishing the anonymity and freedom it grants her, Claire recognises that this period is a coda from which she must eventually extricate herself. When the time comes to return to her life she encounters more difficulties than she had foreseen, not least because Ken has become frustrated by his errant wife’s avoidance and left it to her to contact him. Claire is worrying about potential health issues she has self-diagnosed and believes could be serious.

There is an honest fragility to the sometimes sharp but always authentic prose with its undercurrent of grief and subtle need. Through each of the characters the reader observes how precarious even the most outwardly comfortable of lives can be, each individual’s need for validation. This is a well structured and engaging read.

My copy of this book was provided gratis by the publisher, One, and imprint of Pushkin Press. 

Book Review: Bella Mia

Bella Mia, by Donatella Di Pietrantonio (translated by Franca Scurti Simpson), is set in L’Aquila, Italy, four years after the devastating earthquake of 6th April 2009 in which 300 people died, over 1500 were injured and around 65,000 had to leave their homes. The main characters in the story are still living in temporary buildings known as C.A.S.E (Complessi Antismici Sostenibili ed Ecocompatibili – sustainable and eco-compatible earthquake-proof housing complexes). They occupy a three room flat and hear neighbours through the too thin walls. It will likely be at least another two years before their damaged homes are reconstructed and they may return.

The story is told from the point of view of Caterina whose twin sister, Olivia, was killed in the earthquake. Caterina now shares accommodation with her mother and her dead sister’s teenage son, Marcus. All three are grieving for the loss of their beloved sister, daughter, mother. Marcus’s father, Roberto, is blamed for his wife’s death as he had left her for another women causing Olivia to leave the marital home in Rome and return to L’Aquila with their son. The boy had been taken in by his father following the earthquake but he could not settle so chose to reside with his aunt and grandmother. They too struggle to live with his moods.

The story is about coping with grief, loss and survivor’s guilt. Caterina had always regarded her twin as prettier, more accomplished and more popular. She ponders if the wrong sister died. Her mother takes fresh flowers to the cemetery each day – she has befriended a neighbour who also lost her daughter. Their housing complex is filled with people damaged by bereavement and forced displacement.

Caterina paints ceramics and has found a new workshop having lost the majority of her possessions on the night of the earthquake. Like many others she struggles to eat and to sleep, suffering recurring nightmares. She tries to be strong for her mother and nephew, to make some sense of the life they must now lead. She stays in touch with Roberto for the sake of his son, recognising that bridges must be built for the boy’s future. She resents that she must deal with the fallout each time Marcus misbehaves but values the comfort the presence of her only grandchild gives her mother.

The writing evokes the pain of loss and the pull of survival. The language and imagery should be savoured. A deep melancholy pervades each page yet somehow time passes and desires are rekindled. There are moments of colour – a new pair of shoes and the hope for an occasion to wear them, the creation of something that brings pleasure to others. There is much looking back as memories are mined, and a recognition that even before the disaster there were imperfections.

This is a tale to be reflected upon. It is too easy to become inured when each day’s news brings reports of extraordinary suffering from around the world. Stories such as this bring to life the humanity of the individuals involved. Empathy for the effects of such devastation matters. Ultimately there is hope – life goes on.

My copy of this book was provided gratis by the publisher, Calisi Press.

Book Review: The Last Act of Love

The Last Act of Love, by Cathy Rentzenbrink, is a raw and heartfelt account of sibling love and loss. In the summer of 1990 the author’s brother, Matty, was knocked down by a car on his way home from a night out. Eight years later she and her parents went to court for permission to withdraw all life-sustaining treatment, including nutrition and hydration, to allow him to die. This is the story of how they got to that point, and the effect those eight years and their aftermath have had on Cathy’s life.

At sixteen years old Matty was already over six feet tall. He was a popular, handsome, intelligent young man. He and his sister helped out at their parents’ pub, located in a small Yorkshire town where they were well known and liked. The family was incredibly close.

The children smoked and drank, worked hard and played hard. The were lively and confident, relishing the life opening up to them. Matty had already renovated an old motorbike, learned to drive a car on private land. Although younger than her by a year, he looked out for his sister and she felt proud that he did.

When Matty was taken to hospital after the accident the doctors recognised the seriousness of his injuries but the family retained the belief that he could one day recover. They modified their lives and then their home to accommodate his many needs. Each time he suffered a life threatening setback they asked that he be treated. It was many years before they accepted that this may not be in his best interests, that death is not the worst thing that can happen to a person.

Getting to that point changed Cathy forever. Living with having chosen to let her beloved brother die proved devastating. She hid much of what she was feeling from the world. The excesses she turned to in an attempt to distract herself from her grief enabled survival but created their own regrets. That she made it out the other side is an achievement.

I found this quite a difficult book to read, not because of the writing, which is fluid and gripping, but because the pain Cathy conveyed felt so real. I was hurting for her loss, empathising with her guilt and understanding that the hole Matty left could never be filled.

Cathy found some solace when she learned more about Matty’s condition after his death and realised that others who had been through similar experiences felt as she did. She began to learn how to move forward, damaged but no longer feeling the need to hide her scars.

Her story has the potential to help others who have loved and lost as well as those who wish to support them. It is a powerful read.

Book Review: The Many

The Many, by Wyl Menmuir, is an unsettling tale exploring the impact of loss and the process by which individuals cope, or not, when the foundations they rely on in life are swept away.

Timothy Buchanan buys a house, sight unseen, in an isolated coastal village where he and his girlfriend, Lauren, once stayed. He is aware that the property has lain empty for ten years and is in need of renovation. On arrival he questions the wisdom of taking on such a daunting project but sets about the required refurbishment that Lauren may join him.

The villagers see the smoke rising from the chimney in Perran’s old place. They watch the incomer as he walks by, pausing their conversations until he is out of earshot. Gossip is rife, memories are dredged.

Ethan is one of just a handful of fishermen still working the polluted coastline. Their designated waters are hemmed in by a line of rusting container ships, anchored by the Department of Agriculture and Fisheries. The contaminated catches they occasionally land are bought in full, with papers signed to ensure none of the damaged fish are retained.

Ethan is perturbed by Timothy’s arrival. He retains a guilt over Perran’s death. When he accedes to Timothy’s request to take him out to sea his peers accept this presence on Ethan’s boat and Timothy becomes a kind of talisman. There remains a code of silence when he starts to ask questions about the previous resident of his cottage. He is aware of the animosity generated but forges on with devastating results.

The sparse prose is dark and intense, strikingly written with a haunting quality that sends shivers through the soul. As the story progresses the reader comes to understand why Timothy is there.

There are cracks in the surface of everything, viscerally present. This tale whispers its warnings. The anguish of grief is palpable.

My copy of this book was provided gratis by the publisher, Salt.

Book Review: What a Way to Go

What a Way to Go, by Julia Forster, starts off as a bittersweet, humorous tale of life as a child of divorced parents. Set in 1988 it softens the harsh reality of loneliness and judgemental neighbours with insight and nostalgia. It is perceptive yet gentle in its representations of the prejudices of the time.

As the story progresses the layers are peeled away to reveal the secrets that have shaped each of the adults’ lives. In amongst the bad hair and worse dress sense are stories of poor decisions, wasted potential and private grief. Situations are rarely as straightforward as they first appear.

The protagonist is twelve year old Harper Richardson. First impressions are of childish naivete but she is precocious in her thoughts. Harper accepts that her mother is trying to find a new husband, helping out when she can to drive unsuitable candidates away. Every other weekend she visits her father in the small village where she was born. The only friend she has here is an elderly neighbour who her mother deplores.

Harper has a best friend, Cassie, whose family are the antithesis to Harper’s. Their clean and tidy lives could be held up as the standard to which others should aspire. Where Harper faces chaos, Cassie encounters order. Both represent problems that the girls must overcome.

The story is lightly told with a few gaping plot holes and questionable realities that are filled in and explained as the layers of the parents’ lives are revealed. There is much there to frown upon, and many have done just that. Harper must deal with revelations and loss at a time when she is seeking out her own direction. The structure of her day to day life may be shoddily constructed but the foundations are shown to be firm.

A nicely written tale that makes good use of plot development to highlight what is important in life. Harper is a fabulous character coping with the hand she has been dealt as best she can. The supporting cast enable the author to raise the many issues with grace and discernment. There is nothing heavy in the writing but what is explored will linger, as all good stories should.

My copy of this book was provided gratis by the Curtis Brown Book Group.