Off and On

Ben

Ben (view larger image)
Originally uploaded to Flickr by dms246

Patient, as placid as they come, and incredibly soppy, Ben likes to hang out wherever everyone else is.

Lynn

Lynn (view larger image)
Originally uploaded to Flickr by dms246

When we were children, our parents would set a treasure hunt on our birthdays, hiding our birthday presents around the house and writing cryptic rhyming clues to each location, which we had to solve in order to track down each present. Lynn does the same with her children.

Chris

Chris (view larger image)
Originally uploaded to Flickr by dms246

Late night preparations for the birthday. I bought a string of little paper lantern lights which I thought would look pretty draped around the presents on the table, but which turned out to be incredibly difficult to put together! But Chris figured out a way to do it and so ended up with the task of setting up all 20 of the little lanterns, in between making origami boxes for some of the little presents.

How do you convince someone they're OK when they've convinced themselves they're crap?

I so know this script, it's frightening. A good friend of mine got drunk this evening. I've seen her drink a lot more than she did tonight, and walk home steadily, if merrily. What I didn't know tonight, until it was too late to do anything about it, was that she has just split with her boyfriend. And one's emotions can have such a powerful influence on the effect alcohol has on one. Tonight, the result was that after just 3 glasses of wine, my friend was royally sick, much to her embarrassment and self-disgust. Problem is, the self-disgust was already there, looking for something to hook itself up to.
I so hope she will accept that simply misjudging how much to drink doesn't mean her friends will suddenly decide she's a waste of space and someone they wish they didn't know. That is so far from the truth it would be laughable if it wasn't exactly what she was saying to us tonight. She is someone I admire a lot, and misjudging how much alcohol her system can cope with doesn't change that one bit.
I hope she reads this - maybe them she'll believe what I was saying to her tonight.

The funeral

I didn't know how I would feel once the actual funeral came round.

With my sisters, I cried a lot in the days immediately following my mother's death last week. But after breaking down in a big way last Wednesday evening and pouring out a load of fears and feelings of guilt (did I make the right decisions in the hours before my mother died? Were there things I could or should have done for her that I didn't?), and being reassured and comforted in a big way by both of my sisters, I have felt very calm, and have only occasionally found myself in tears, and even these have only lasted a few seconds at a time.

My partner Chris has been immensely supportive throughout my mother's final illness and since her death, and that has also given me more strength to cope with all of this than I thought I would have, given the depressive illness with which I've struggled for some years.

But as the time of the funeral approached, I really didn't know how I would react when the hearse turned up at the house, and even more, during the actual service.

The calmness continued, however, for which I was very grateful. It meant I could help my sisters and my mother's cousin Claire, and that I was one less thing for them to be concerned about.

When we arrived at the crematorium, I paused in the doorway to greet the guests who had been waiting in an anti-room for us to arrive.  Along with my aunts and uncles and cousins, and members of my brother-in-law David's family who had come to know my mother well over the past 11 years as a result of her living with Beth and David, it was also lovely to see my friends and colleagues Ann McMeekin and Kath Phipps.  I was very touched that they had come. Particularly Ann, as I knew how difficult that decision must have been for her, given the similarities in timing with the death of her father a few years ago (see Ann's own blog post about this).  The fact that she chose to come to my mother's funeral meant a lot to me.  And the fact that both Ann and Kath came is entirely in keeping with the level of support, practical and emotional, that the team at work have given me.  I will always be immensely grateful for that.

Something that had come to feel very important to me was that I should be able to stand up and read the two short poems which we had found, by Robert Burns and Joyce Grenfell.  The first conveyed quite beautifully how Claire, my sisters and I felt about Joyce, my mother.  And the second conveyed what she might have said herself if she were able to be there with us in person.  I will always be glad that, at that point in the service, the calmness returned, and I was able to stand up and read out those two poems.

Another good memory of the service that will always remain with me is the fact that, as the minister recounted details of Joyce's life, and the person she was, people were able to laugh gently at the anecdote about her fixing the chimney and hauling up the vacuum cleaner onto the roof to clear up the debris.

Joyce was a remarkable woman - highly intelligent, practical, undemonstrative but deeply caring - with a streak of mild eccentricity and determined independence, and would, I think, have enjoyed the fact that we could smile as we remembered her.

• In loving memory of my mother, Joyce Smillie (1927-2006)
• A few photographs of my mother

A few photographs of my mother

Joyce and her mother in the front garden, c.1930

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Joyce, on holiday in Bute, c.1931

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Joyce as bridesmaid, c.1932

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Joyce and her father with the family's first car, c.1933

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Joyce and her father at an Electrical Society function, c.1950

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Joyce and Sam on their wedding day, 1955

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Joyce at home in Law, January 2006

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• In loving memory of my mother, Joyce Smillie (1927-2006)
• The funeral

In loving memory of my mother, Joyce Smillie (1927-2006)

Joyce Isobel Leslie Smillie (née Smith)

• Father: James Robert Leslie Smith (born in Dunoon; Scottish Sales Manager for Crompton Parkinson; died 1962)
• Mother: Dolly (Dolina or Donaldina) McLeod (born in Aberdeen; died 1980)
• Husband: Sam (Samuel Cannaway Green) Smillie (fireman, Clydebank, died 1984)
• Daughters: Donna (Donaldina Mary), Beth (Elizabeth Claire), Lynn (Lynn Joyce)

• Born: October 1927, Glasgow
• Married: March 1955, Clydebank
• Died: April 2006, Law

Joyce's father's family are the (Leslie) Smith family from Dunoon on the north west bank of the Firth of Clyde in Scotland. We know that they are descended from two families, the Leslies and the Smiths, from Fife. Much useful information about these family links came from two wills which survived intact and which she found in amongst a box full of papers and photographs - the wills of Robert Leslie (1815) and of his son-in-law, James Smith (1862). The later will shows that it was one of James Smith's sons who moved to Dunoon - Robert Leslie Smith, Joyce's great grandfather, who became the third Provost of Dunoon.

She was an only child, and her father's job meant that they never stayed in one place for very long, so she moved from school to school, always having to start over again making new friends - these things enhanced the practical, self-reliant side of her character.  When she set her mind to something, she tackled it with determination.  She would rarely ask for help - not from pride, but it simply didn't occur to her that she shouldn't just do what needed doing herself.

Her father, an electrical engineer, to some extent treated her as the son he never had, and showed her how to wire plugs, fix cars, and all sorts of other unladylike things, which she relished, however hard her mother tutted with disapproval.

"For Xmas 1932 I asked Santa Claus to bring me a train set. On Xmas morning under the Xmas tree, I spied a large package with my name on it which when unwrapped revealed - A TRAIN SET. I was absolutely ecstatic! I remember bumping round the sitting room on my knees with my train set, totally incoherent. Goodness knows how long it was before I was actually able to sit down and play with it sensibly!"
-- Joyce's own words

"In September 1945 I applied for and got a job in the Royal (Dick) Veterinary college, working in the Equine Pregnancy Diagnosis Lab in The Department of Animal Husbandry. This was interesting work, and many of the horses tested belonged to famous owners. A year later I got the opportunity of working in toxicology. This also was very interesting and involved working with samples from birds and animals found dead in suspicious circumstances. I also assisted in a number of post mortems of horses, which although interesting was very messy!"
-- Joyce's own words

As well as being practical and pragmatic, she was caring and compassionate.

In the mid/late 70s, she held down a full time job, cared for her growing family, and nursed an increasingly frail mother and a husband whose health was failing.  Of course she had moments of despair - she wasn't a superwoman. But as ever, she simply shouldered what she saw as her responsibilities, and got on with it.  And managed to do it with love and few if any complaints.

She lived in Clydebank from 1955 until 1993, when she moved to Law to live with her daughter Beth and Beth's husband, David Doughty.

This was the 14th home she had lived in, as a result of moving around so much when she was a child.

She was strong and healthy for most of her life, but in 1998, at the age of 70, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  She was lucky - the cancer was discovered very early, so it was possible to operate, and she had the best surgeon in this field - Professor Imrie, at Glasgow Royal Infirmary.  Because pancreatic cancer isn't usually discovered until it is in an advanced stage, the odds aren't too wonderful - in only 20% of cases diagnosed with this cancer is surgery an option, and only 20% of those cases survive more than 2 years after surgery - pancreatic cancer has a high likelihood of returning within a few years, and when it does it tends to be pretty aggressive.

But she beat the odds and the cancer, until last year (2005), when it returned and eventually spread to her liver.

In the years between 1998 and 2005, however, she made the most of the time she'd been granted, and amongst other things went on a 3 week trip to China - a place she'd always wanted to visit - with her cousin and close friend, Claire.

Two particular memories we have of Joyce give you a sense of the sort of person she was.

When a repair was needed to the chimney of the house she lived in in Clydebank after her husband died and her children left home, she dug out the DIY book, bought the materials she needed, got the ladder out, and went up onto the (flat) roof to fix it herself.  The repair was successful.  She then hauled the vacuum cleaner up onto the roof and vacuumed up the debris.  Amazed that that sight didn't cause a traffic accident as drivers slowed down to stare in disbelief. They must have thought she was taking housepride and cleanliness to extreme levels.  That was at the age of 60.

Even at the age of 76, when she was concerned about the proximity of some of the trees to the house, she donned some paper overalls, descended into the house foundations, and crawled over pipes and through wiring and cobwebs to check that no tree roots had, or were threatening to, break through.

She was determined to die at home if at all possible, and dreaded a long, drawn out death.  If it's possible to be lucky in the manner of one's death, she was.  The final decline was rapid, and involved minimal discomfort and pain.  The care she received from her GP and the team of nurses and care assistants provided via the local health centre was unstinting and compassionate.  My sisters and I spent as much time with her as we could over the last few weeks.

She kept racing ahead of us all, though.  When we were thinking in terms of months, it was already down to weeks, and when we thought it was weeks, it was actually down to days.  Last Sunday, the doctor indicated that we were probably looking at 2 weeks, possibly less.  By Monday afternoon, though, it became clear that we were looking at hours, not even days.

Apart from a few fuzzy moments - the result of the medication she was on to control any pain - she was clear and lucid and very much herself up to a few hours before she died.  On Monday morning, the house was particularly busy with care assistants calling in at 10am and 1pm, the district nurses at 10.30am, and the GP due to look in around 12.  When the nurses were chatting to her, and the constant stream of visitors came into the conversation, despite having very little energy to speak, she looked at them, and slowly said, in a very quiet, breathless voice "I think... I'm going... to have... a migraine...", but as we all started to ask if she wanted anything to help control it, she continue "... around 12 o'clock ...", and we realised that she was making a typically dry, Joyce style joke. :)

As the afternoon wore on, however, we began to suspect that she was going.  We phoned Lynn, who had planned to come back up at the end of the week, and said it might be a good idea to put the "drop everything and run" plan into operation.  Luckily Lynn's mother-in-law was immediately contactable to look after Lynn's two children, and Lynn was able to set off almost immediately.  She arrived at 10.30pm.

Joyce died, very calmly and peacefully, at home, with her three daughters and her son-in-law David, just before midnight on Monday night.

An honest woman here lies at rest.
The friend of man, the friend of truth,
The friend of age and guide of youth.
Few hearts like hers with virtue warmed,
Few heads with knowledge so informed.
If there's another world, she lives in bliss;
If there's none, she made the best of this.
-- Robert Burns

If I should die before the rest of you,
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone.
Nor, when I'm gone, speak in a Sunday voice,
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must,
Parting is hell.
But life goes on,
So... sing as well.
-- Joyce Grenfell

• A few photographs of my mother
• The funeral

A patient sister awaits

'A patient sister awaits': view this photo in Flickr.

And met up with Lynn at last too!