One week ago today we said a final goodbye to my Mum at her funeral in a local church. The church had been an important community during my late teens but I had walked away and no looked back for many years. Mum had always shared with us her ideas for her funeral. That may seem morose but infact it was a great comfort to me that, as I put the plans in place I could be guided by her wishes. There are so many decisions to make when dealing with the loss of a loved one as I’m sure many of you are sadly aware. Mum was 91 y.o. when she passed away after a rapid deterioration as a result of vascular dementia. She spent her last few months in a local care home where she enjoyed 24 hour care and the sort of community interactions which had been lacking thanks to lock downs, so many blessings to count.

Friends and family have been very supportive as we face coming to terms with the loss of my last remaining parent. Of course there’s a mum shaped hole in my life but I am grateful that I had the opportunity to spend time over recent years with my mum and grateful for the priviledge of saying goodbye. We didn’t always have an easy relationship. I was a headstrong teen, determined to assert my autonomy as I grew up. Aging brought a greater appreciation of her early life, greater tolerance of her mannerisms and the opportunity to care for her as her mobility deteriorated. In short I as able to make my peace with my mother. These changes were even more important after I retired as I would visit regularly: taking her to see friends, picking up her shopping, making meals and organising appointments etc. Time I can now look back on with a smile.

Recent (and not so recent) events in the wider world have also bought a new light to my feelings about saying goodbye. The dreadful slaughter of families in Gaza, the continued waging of war on civilians on both sides of the Israeli/Arab conflict cast a sharp contrast between my recent experiences and those of the families of victims. The terror of last moments, the failure of protection from violence, the dreadful wrongs of visiting inhumanity on each other – I cannot fully comprehend how families could ever come to terms with the reality of war. I read with huge respect accounts which call for forgiveness and peace. I cannot see that such injustice is solved by perpetuating further injustice. What seems even more incomprehensible is that those choosing to bring violence and destruction into the lives of others do so in the name of religion. How do the perpetrators – be they badged as terrorists or elected leaders – live with their choices? Why do they think it is their right to take away the healing that comes from time to say goodbye to loved ones? How can they assume the right to decide when death should come to another family? Surely tolerance and mutual respect are the only ways forward for civilisation.