I am very slowly still making my way through the book “Franciscan Spirituality” and have just read the chapter “Sister Bodily Death” at a poignant time for me.
We moved house 1 year ago this Friday to Northern Moor in Manchester. When we went to introduce ourselves to our neighbours we discovered that one of our neighbours, Rob, had Chronic Progressive MS. He was bed bound in his purpose built extension and was a heavy chain smoker, with the smell often drifting into our house.
I felt quite challenged about my response to his condition as a neighbour. I was scared that such a needy person would be very demanding of me and my time so I didn’t really want to form a relationship with Rob. But I knew I had to face this challenge and my fear / prejudice and make an effort to spend time with Rob and let him know I cared for him.
I also reflected on my past record with my friendships, how for a long time I had only contacted friends if I needed or wanted something from them (what does that say about my understanding of friendship?!). I realised that any friendship I built with Rob would be very one sided, I wouldn’t get anything back from this friendship, and this made me determined to invest in this relationship as a challenge to myself to oppose my self-centered ideas of friendships and relationships.
Of course, I cared for Rob from the beginning, feeling sympathy for him and circumstances. I knew that his family didn’t visit often and the only people he really spoke to were his carers. So I decided to try to see him one evening every 2 weeks.
Getting to know Rob was a joy. He was a huge Manchester City FC fan and a true no-nonsense Mancunian. I learned more about his condition, his history, family, interests and of course Man City. There were often times when he explained he wasn’t doing as good or the blunt horror of his condition and I didn’t know what to say. At the time, the idea of offering my prayers felt very shallow, both becuase I was struggling with my relationship with God (still am!) and because I had no faith that any prayers would change his condition. Chronic Progressive MS means that it only gets worse, there’s no medically known way to reverse the progression.
Mary-Lou, Toby, Milo and I went round to celebrate his 50th birthday and at Christmas time and he clearly loved chatting to, and winding up, Toby and Milo. He always asked after them and Mary-Lou when I went round and was concerned that we settled into our new house and area quickly.
Rob had 2 stays in St. Ann’s Hospice and I took the boys along when I went to visit. On his second visit, he didn’t return home after 2 weeks, the normal length of his stays, so a week later I called the Hospice and they said he’d been taken to Wythenshawe hospital for treatment. On Friday 22nd March, Rob’s other neighbour came round to tell us that Doctors had said Rob was likely to die in the coming hours. That night I went tot he Hospital to see Rob.
I felt very nervous and emotional going to see him. I didn’t know what to think or what I should say, or who else would be there, or if Rob would be conscious or if he may have already died. On the way there, the phrase “The Lord is my Shepherd” came to me after seeing the logo for a company called Shepherd on the side of the building. I realised that there was no way I could predict or even begin to process the multitude of possible scenarios I was about to encounter and that I would only find peace by trusting God to be my Shepherd and guide me through whatever I faced at the Hospital.
Rob’s brother and a friend were by his bedside when I arrived. Rob had an oxygen mask on and was obviously finding it hard to breathe. Whenever he breathed out, his body would almost collapse and the bed shook. Rob’s brother Stuart told Rob I was here so I said hello and Rob moved his head and opened his eyes to try to see me and murmured some noises, probably saying hello and thanks.
I stayed there for a hour or so, sporadically speaking with whoever came in and out of the room then being silent. I felt very uncomfortable about the way people were talking about Rob, as though he had already died even though he was right next to us, remembering moments and attributes of his. I thought that I would hate that on my death bed.
I had one moment of about 5 minutes on my own with Rob, so I decided to chat to him about the things we would usually speak of, about the changes we were making to our house, how the boys and Mary-Lou were doing, etc. Then I told him I had been and will be praying for him. He immediately tried to turn his head and say something which felt alot like thanks, or appreciation of some sort.
When I was going to go, I didn’t want to say “See you soon, mate” or something glib like that. I found it very hard to just say goodbye.
Rob died around midday the next day.
I was invited to go to his funeral at the Southern Cemetery which I waned to do. The funeral was lead by the chaplain of St. Ann’s Hospice who told a story which made me cry. He said that during his last stay at St. Ann’s, Rob had asked the chaplain if they could speak alone. Rob explained he had been thinking about death and was scared. After some discussion the chaplain offered to pray with Rob and on the way back to Rob’s room, he thanked the chaplain and said he felt much more peaceful as a result. It reminded me of his appreciation of my prayers and I welled up at that Rob had felt the peace of God and at the idea that he had been blessed by me too.
I have no doubt the my grief over Rob’s death has raised unprocessed grief over losing Amy. It has reminded me of other friends I have known who have died – Charlotte from the skatepark, Hio Yin who I lived with in Carlton Avenue, and bubbly Faith who I knew at University.
Francis embraced Death as a Sister, and the chapter in the “Franciscan Spirituality” book mention that John Wesley said of his Methodists “Our people die well”. I would like a good death. I don’t really know what that would look like, but I do not want to be scared at that time. Like Francis I want to rejoice in what Christ has done in and through me.
Rob’s death has caused me to ponder about what I will leave here on earth after I have gone, what my legacy will be. In thinking through the social changes I would like to be a part of, the broken and the weak whom I want to be a blessing too and all the hopes I have to “change the world”, I keep coming back to Toby and Milo. They are my legacy and what I will leave here to hopefully be a blessing to many others. I want to invest my love, energy and time into them, though as any parent knows, it is hard work!
Last week marked 7 years since Amy was Stillborn. We have a tradition of going somewhere different within an hour or so of Manchester as a family so we went to York this time.
My local Third Order has been going through the book “
I’ve always been drawn to the challenge and counter-cultural aspect of Poverty and I hope that my family and I learn to joyfully live much more simple and uncluttered lives. It is certainly a confusing idea at the moment when we are moving to a larger house and where Toby and Milo, 3 and 1, have (and need?) so many toys and books and play things. I’m also aware that Poverty challenges me, and our society, in terms of our technology, devices and gadgets. It’s not so much the cost of these things than the distractions they provide making our lives more complex rather than more simple.
A Christian Struggle 