Author: Anna findlay (Page 1 of 2)

The reason why I needed to go to India was illustrated perfectly the evening I arrived in Tirumalannamali and walked round the holy mountain. The walk is known as Girulvia, and is a 15km route.

I was starting Panchakarma the next day so that first evening was my only chance do it. I went to the Ashram in Tiru to listen to the chanting which was haunting and beautiful then at 7pm after it got dark I started the walk. I was hoping a friend I’d met in Auroville would join me but she was doing a big walk early the next morning so I was on my own. It’s a well trodden, well signed route and lots of people walk alone or in groups at times of day and night. So off I went. In my glittery crocs with a bottle of water.

I was on a time limit and had a taxi booked for 10pm- no worries I thought. I was wrong!

The streets were lined with people living on the streets. Most of them were wearing orange which is the colour Sadhu’s wear. They are people on a spiritual quest who have given up all their worldly goods and dedicate themselves to a path of selflessness service. They don’t beg note ask for money- relying on the temples to feed them which is all they need.

I wasn’t prepared for the suffering and sadness I was to encounter. As well as the Sadhus there many beggars and people with diseases, sleeping in the streets asking for money. Eventually I had to avert my eyes and just keep walking- wishing the walk away, speeding up and counting the Km down.

At one point I saw a blind man with no arms or legs being fed rice. He looked happy and was enjoying it. That image will stay with me; if he could smile then so can I.

Suddenly I was lost. The paths were narrow and dark. I felt alone and trapped and couldn’t find my way back to the path. It was frightening. The more I tried to get back on track the darker it got.

Despite being nearly 9.30pm it was hot and humid. I’d been lost for a good chunk of time. My phone didn’t work and I felt totally on my own and unable to work out a way forward.

Then there was a smiling face summoning me into the light. ‘This way’ this way he said with a heavy accent. ‘Walk with me’ I thanked him for getting me back onto the path and told him I was in a rush so had to walk on quickly ahead. He was wearing bare feet and traditional pilgrimage clothing and was walking very slowly.

Then I got lost again down even narrower, darker streets. I was very frightened and could hear my heart beating loudly. When I eventually found the path again I saw the same smiley, slow walking chap again. He smiled. ‘Walk with me’ he said.
This time I accepted his invitation. It was 10.30pm. I’d missed my taxi so I might as well stop rushing.

He asked me if I’d enjoyed the Girulvia. No I replied- there was such sadness I found it heart breaking. He paused every now and then bowing and blessing the beggars who then smiled back at him. He taught me a mantra to say as I walked along to help my meditation. I copied him by sharing blessings with the people on the streets. They smiled at me now too.

Then the penny dropped. This wasn’t a walk. It was a pilgrimage. I’d been rushing, wishing it away and was overwhelmed by the sadness I encountered. And I was lost.

By allowing myself to be guided and slowing down I was able to see things in a very different way. The circumstances remained the same but by including a spiritual aspect and some grace it was a totally different experience.

We walked the last 2km together, smiling. I kept checking we were going in the right direction. ‘Yes’ he reassured me ‘I’ll be with you until the end and make sure you are safe’. Eventually at 11.30 we arrived back at the Ashram, the taxi was waiting for me. We hugged and I took a photo to mark the end of the pilgrimage- his 21st and my 1st.

Just before Christmas 2023 I was lost and sad and wishing my life away. Grief was all consuming and I couldn’t find a way to cope. I’d lost hope. I felt pressure from friends and family to be happy and festive when it was the last thing I wanted to do.

Fed up of trying to explain my feelings, one evening without planning I cut off all my hair as short as possible with some random scissors. It looked awful. I walked back into the sitting room, John looked up and went pale. ‘You can’t go out looking like that here said’. ‘Exactly’ I replied. ‘I can’t go out feeling like this’. Now do you get it?

We realised something had to change. John said you are being driven mad by grief. I was. I just couldn’t cope. I’d lost connection with myself. I could hold it together for long enough to work but that took all the energy I had. I was worn out and broken. I was eating badly, not sleeping, not exercising and in an effort to cope I’d developed an unhealthy relationship with alcohol. I didn’t drink during the week but fridays and Saturday evenings I looked forward to the numbness of too much alcohol. But because I didn’t drink in the week or in the day I convinced myself this was ok. Until it became clear it wasn’t.

I needed some time to find myself again, start healing and find a new way to live with grief.

I’m writing this from my sofa at home; looking out to sea. John has made me a morning cuppa. After 24 years together he’s got it down to a fine art! It’s a good morning for a swim so my hot water bottle is ready and my flask is packed all ready for a dip. I’m very pleased to be home. I’m in a much better place, physically and mentally. Spiritually I’m feeling more connected. I’m not ‘fixed’ but I’m back on the right path.

I’m hoping my grief will be easier to live with now I feel as stronger. The gut wrenching sadness is never going to go but I need to find a better way to cope. I’ve met some incredible people, had some very profound experiences and lots of laughter and fun. But I’ve missed my life and I want to be able to enjoy it again. I’m blessed in so many ways.

I’m back on my path one step at a time with some incredible people along side me.

Summary of my trip in the style of Eat/Pray/Love:

Sun ☀️ Fun 😆 Soulfood 🍰✨ Farming 🌳 Yoga 🧘🏻‍♀️ Body 🫀 Mind 🧠

18 Jan- 4 Feb
Sun & Fun in Goa ☀️😃

4-21 Feb
Soulfood & Farming in Auroville 🍰 ✨ 🌳

21 Feb- 7 March
Yoga & Body & Mind in Yogiville 🧘🏻‍♀️ 🫀 🧠

There is much, much more to write about and for me to process about my trip. I’ll do that in time and share it.

Each of the three destinations were essential and yet totally different. I needed to learn to live alongside grief. There was a big shift over the 7 weeks and I’ll try and sum this up. My belief system is still in the process of changing.

‘I believe there is more to life than simply being born and dying. It is in this ‘more than’ that things make sense… and that is where Ben is’.

A read the quote above afterwards- that sums it up too. My mind feels less burdened.

Shortly after I’d written my last post something completely unexpected happened to me. I totally lost my faith/spiritual-side/connection with the bigger picture. Not one to do things by half it happened in the middle of a Quaker meeting. My brain was exhausted from trying to make sense of Ben’s life and death. So it simply stopped trying. All my life I’ve a belief system of some sort- that there’s more to life than being born and dying. Suddenly I gave that all up. At Quaker meetings we sit in silence waiting for connection with something bigger than ourselves-God/Good/the Universe/spirit call it what you will. If moved to share we ‘minister’. I stood up to minister and shared that I’d lost my belief system and was no longer sitting down waiting for connection but that I was now ‘just a person sitting on a chair’. The relief was immediate. It was like giving myself permission to stop.

However a couple of months later this absence of belief had contributed to a desperate state of mind. I was so so sad. Not depressed but swamped with sadness for the way Ben’s life had turned out. How my hopes for him as his Mum had been destroyed. All I’d EVER wanted for him was to be happy and contented in whatever form that took. I looked back at the early photos and I was so young, hopeful and in love with Ben. I knew I’d do anything for him; love him unconditionally and forever. I still do. I didn’t have much support from family or from Ben’s Dad during Ben’s childhood so I did my very best to be all roles to Ben. It didn’t work- how could it?

I was broken and exhausted yet the Christmas party invitations kept coming. Socialising was the last thing I felt like doing and I went more and more inwards. Just wanting to be at home on my own. Doing my work, reading books and being with the 2 or 3 people I felt were gentle and kind enough to be around.

A turning point was on its way- life had to change. I couldn’t keep going like this. Everything I could do externally influence my life was as good as it could possibly be; I love my husband, my life, my friends, my work- I was even a mermaid ffs!!!

But it wasn’t enough- the deepest sadness I could imagine overshadowed it all. A change had to come from within me. I’d reached my limit. Things had to change.

The turning point took me to India! Eighteen months previously John and I had booked a holiday to Goa in January 2024. Realising I had to dig deep and change my perspective I started to contemplate staying on in India on my own after Goa and going on some sort of spiritual/healing quest. John and I had never been apart for more than a week and he was my rock but this was something I had to do on my own. John knew this too and fully supported me.

I thought really, really carefully about the wording of the previous post. I felt a responsibility to Ben to get it ‘right’. It took hours to write.

In contrast this a much more free flow post so expect interesting grammar and spelling as I’m not going to edit as I write nor correct it afterwards.

On the 4th anniversary of Ben dying, a fabulous new project was born. After months of delay we  finally completed on the purchase of 22.5 acres of land with a  group of other friends.  The group is called Kesoberi CIC which means co-operate/collaborate in Cornish. 

We are lucky enough to have been invited to be a part of This rewilding project just outside Mousehole/Prnzance. The aim is have a place where community and nature can flourish and thrive. What that looks like over time will evolve. The project is spirit lead, all descisions made by the ten people involved as well as asking the land what it needs from us. It’s very exciting. 

The timing was totally unexpected- very many previous completion dates had come and gone. Fi had bought an Apple tree to plant to mark the occasion months ago. She Checked the name tag – it’s called Ben’s Red! 

We like to think that Ben helped to push the purchase over the line. Certainly it would have been a project he would have been interested in. In a different world he would have happily ‘helped’ out bumbling around ‘fixing’ things and adding a bit of Ben magic.

What is really,really lovely is that from now on 19th October will be a date for celebration/community and for looking forward. New rituals, traditions and memories will be made. Ben will be part of that too. Of course. 

• This post might be considered a bit offbeat and unusual. A bit like Ben was! Please read it with a curious, open mind. 

It was the 4th anniversary of Ben’s death on 19.10.23. This year has been the hardest so far and to be honest I’m fed up of explaining to people why  time passing doesn’t make things easier. So I won’t.

Ben died on the morning of Saturday 19th October but I didn’t find out until the afternoon of Monday 21st October 2019. So today 21st October 2023  is also a very tough day. My body remembers. This afternoon I felt cramps in my gut like labour as the physical pain  of loosing Ben was remembered. Four years ago I was about to go to visit Ben in Brighton for as long as it took to help Ben settle into his new flat. I was packed and had booked an Airbnb. 

Ben been reported missing on Sunday morning  (20th)  but that wasn’t unusual for Ben as he wandered off regularly. The warden of the flat that he had moved into a couple of weeks previously had contacted me on the Sunday morning to say Ben hadn’t been seen since Friday evening. It didn’t cross my mind that this time was any different to the previous times. I gave a description of Ben, explained that I was concerned that Ben was struggling but that his team knew and had never told me he was suicidal. I sent them a photo for circulation. I was worried but no more than usual- worrying about Ben was my norm. 

We’d spoken every night over the last week. He told me how much he liked his flat mates who were also in the mental health system, what he had cooked himself for dinner- always jacket potato and beans. He also confided in me that sometimes  he was struggling with the voices in his head. Sometimes REALLY struggling. I encouraged him to speak to his psychiatrist and he did. On 18th of October, a Friday evening, his lovely psychiatrist visited him in his flat and Ben reassured him things had settled down. They made an appointment to meet again on Monday 21st. 

However just as I was about to set off there was  a ring on the doorbell and John called to me to come downstairs.

It wasn’t Ben at the door. It was the police. They told me Ben’s body had been found at the bottom of some cliffs outside Brighton in a place called Peacehaven. I literally pissed myself. I’ll leave it there. 

This year I’ve learnt how to do shamanic journeys (maybe I’ll explain in more detail what that is another time) but it’s basically a way of connecting with universal knowledge. I was taught by the wonder-full Benjamin Buckle and for the curious there is more info on his website www.thespirallingsun.co.uk

I increasingly find that seeing the bigger, more spiritual,  picture makes more sense than the ‘real’ world. It helps me cope so bring it on! I did a shamanic journey today and, amongst other things,  I was guided to share the message below which I received the day before Ben’s funeral.It helped me immensely. In my shamanic journey I was also guided to send Ben’s sister Ruth and her partner Cat a book I used to read to Ben when he was little. They are expecting a baby anytime now! …. Uncle Ben… can you imagine the fun and chaos?! 

When Ben was poorly I tried everything to help his mind, body and spirit; The conventional medical way/ nutrition to support his body and healing for his spiritual side. Nathan Ticehurst a friend from Rutland is a gifted healer and Ben agreed to see him weekly for a time. After Ben died Nathan was visiting his Dad (Ralph Ticehurst a retired engineer who is also a healer). Ralph connected in with Ben and Nathan wrote it down and sent it via email. 

I really want this blog to be uplifting and honest but sometimes these things conflict. Grief is messy. It’s been hard to know what to write so I haven’t written a while.

I’m constantly composing posts for this blog in my head. It’s a way to express myself, capture memories and share my thoughts. Wonderful things are happening eg exploring Shamanic Journeying and a new found passion for long distance sea swimming but under this there is deep, dark sadness which is my new norm.

A few things occurred before and after Christmas 2022. A potent mix of having to pretend Ben was still alive to protect a friend with dementia, a couple of ‘family don’ts’ eg family dos which I just couldn’t face and finally confronting the reality of life never being the same again. Me never being the same again yet people expecting me to have moved on from the intense early years of grief. To be back to ‘normal’. It was my fourth Christmas without Ben…. How could it have been the worst? In Ben’s words ‘I wasn’t inspecting that’!

I guess it still is the ‘early years’ but I’m learning time isn’t linear, explainable or relevant to grief. Ben should be 27- a young man. I only knew him as a boy. I don’t know what type of man he would be. Imagine having a grown up son? Watching them carve their route through life, their hopes their fears.

Of course Ben danced to his own tune and may have chosen not to engage or share things with me. To a large extent I’d lost Ben 3 years before he died when we couldn’t access mental health support for him in the UK. But there was always hope. Even though Ben was a very different person to the one that went to Uni- he was still physically present and I could hug him occasionally- if he let me.

Some people get it and for that I am so very grateful. Some people get that they don’t get it. That works too.

However I have had to defend myself whilst others impose their expectations of how to grieve on me. The truth is my family didn’t lose just one person when Ben died; they lost two. Me and Ben. That makes them want to cling to me, place expectations on me, force me to engage and be present. But I can’t. At least not yet.

Family gatherings mean I have to confront the loss of Ben publicly and in a way that protects others. Parents/ cousins /nephews and nieces all growing older sharing new stories. I love to hear them but it hurts so much. I’ve got nothing new to share. There is literally a Ben shaped hole in the room. I know they lost Ben too but it’s just NOT the same.

I’m fed up of explaining and hoping folk understand. Most try to but don’t. So I accept that. But what I didn’t expect was pressure to ‘move on’. Pressure for not being present in the family. But my family isn’t present anymore. He’s gone.

I’m sad, broken, different and it’s not convenient nor socially acceptable. I’ve been perceived as selfish l, unreliable and demanding. Kindness and understanding have been withdrawn by some. It seems there is a time limit and I’ve over stayed it. Guilt upon grief. It’s just exhausting. And never ending.

I’m sad. This is an honest post but not uplifting. I’m sorry. I feel exposed.

But I also get how hard it is to relate to the grief of loosing a child. This was brought home to me this weekend. I went to see ‘The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry’ at the cinema with a dear elderly friend. It was her birthday treat to me. I’d read the book when it came out in 2012 and enjoyed it so off we went. I left at the end of film (quietly) in pieces. My heart was sobbing. The film was about a father who had lost his only son to suicide. He was performing a walk of faith to try to prevent his friends’s death whilst, finally, processing his feelings about his son’s death and his lack of power to prevent it.

Why hadn’t I noticed this when I read the book. Why hadn’t it been obvious? The interviews I’d read about the film didn’t mention it either. From Google:

What is THE UNLIKELY PILGRIMAGE OF HAROLD FRY about?

Synopsis. THE UNLIKELY PILGRIMAGE OF HAROLD FRY is the story of an unremarkable man who sets off on a remarkable journey. Harold lives a life without purpose until he learns an old friend is dying and vows that in walking across England to see her, his journey can keep her alive.

But there it was screaming out at me at the cinema in full technicolour. Here’s the brutal answer…. It was because his son had died 25 years ago. When I read the book I couldn’t understand why it was such a big deal. Surely that wasn’t STILL hugely relevant?

Oh I wish I still had that naivety. How was I to know that when your child dies you live with it’s ghost? ‘Out of order’ deaths are different. I have the memories of 23 year old Ben AND my ghostly imaginations of what a well (and unwell) 24, 25, 26 and 27 year old Ben might be like……all in my head and walking by my side. The longer the time passes the MORE the loss is.

People often say to me I can’t imagine how you cope?

Here’s the real answer: Firstly I don’t have a choice and secondly I don’t really.

What I actually say is DON’T imagine, your brain can’t go there for a reason.

Copied from the blog of a fellow bereaved mother Ruth McDonald in her blog www.theonemoment.co.uk

‘the trauma of the death of a child actually alters the brain function. Hearts and brains and souls were simply not designed to deal with such pain’.

“The death of a child is considered the single worst stressor a person can go through,” says Deborah Carr, Ph.D., chair of the sociology department at Boston University. “Parents feel responsible for their child’s well-being. So when they lose a child, they’re not just losing a person they loved. They’re also losing the years of promise they had looked forward to.”

It’s not my role to explain how help with grief but if I could it would just be: be kind. The post below is helpful though.

July 2021

Here  I am sitting inside ‘Mr Benn’ in the rain at Treen near Pedn Vouder. I’m a few miles from home and a few miles from Land’s End. I’ve stayed overnight in my new camper van and feel very much like Ben has organized the whole thing!

Ben’s dream from being very small was to have a ‘Bedford Banger’ with a bed in the back so he could travel and have somewhere to sleep. He also wanted to fix up old Saabs as he went about his travels. These dreams didn’t come true- partly because he didn’t pass his driving test. His beliefs about how to drive got in the way somewhat… he didn’t believe in looking in his mirrors, wouldn’t indicate and would only drive with one hand on the wheel.

After discovering the joys of sea swimming (did I mention that sea swimming changed my life??!!) I’ve found that there are quite a few things that seem to be overlaps in the Venn diagram of life as a sea swimmer. One is the wonderful depth and gentleness of those who are drawn to sea swim and another thing is ‘van-life’, so that you can watch the sunset by the sea, sleep-over and then have a morning swim before heading the few miles home and starting the day.

 I found myself really drawn to this option and decided to take the plunge and try somehow to get my own van.

As soon as I made this decision things just slotted into place. I started looking at Facebook Marketplace where local people sell items. As we live miles from anywhere it’s a good place to start, otherwise any purchase meant a significant drive. Penzance is also a hot spot for van life. One search and there it was – the van of my dreams and only a few miles up the road.

Now the only obstacles standing in my way were; the funds, the fact that if I got a van I’d have two vehicles as I had 6 months lease left my Honda Jazz ‘ The Bean’ until February 2022….and I needed John to get on board with my latest notion. No mean feat as he has always been VERY clear that he would never sleep in a van due to his height and increasing need for comfort. We had camped for years on summer holidays ( affectionally known as Hell-i-days) due to lack of sleep and disproportionate amount of tummy bugs which we seemed to attract! Those times had their magic and we made many memories but we were delighted when that phase of life was well and truely done.

Where there is a will there is a way though. Loosing Ben has made me realise how temporary life is and with my mantra of finding as much joy in life I took the challenge on. I phoned Logan (the man with the van) and arranged to see it that evening.

The moment I saw it I knew it was for me. It was a wombled mixture of old furniture/ bits of old boat including 3 portholes and painted in all the colours I love. It had done lots of miles but I realized that my van would probably never leave West Penwith and was going to have spend its life visiting beaches within a ten mile radius.

I had a spontaneous test drive and when it got up the notorious Bowjey Hill near our house I realized it was a bit special. We parked outside the house and as luck had it, England had just  that minute beaten Germany for the first time since 1966 in a major football competition. This was a good- if out of the blue time- to show John the van. I was not 100% sure about things especially as the timing was wrong but after seeing the van John said go for it especially as it is my 50^th birthday this year. I believe in going with the flow and the flow seemed to be van shaped!!!

When Logan and I drove back into Newlyn we spotted a chap called Ben that it turns out we both know and who is the same age as my Ben. He was having a bad day and said he felt lost so Logan said get in the van and lets go for dinner. It felt like a sign. John and I slept on it and I chatted to Ben’s friend Phil about the van and he said it looked like a good deal and that Ben would definitely approve. The next morning the transaction to buy the van was completed on Battery Rocks as both Logan and I had planned to swim there that morning. My spiritual home was the perfect place to enter into another new experience.

So what to call the van…..in the night I had a flash of inspiration. As a child I had loved the TV animation show Mr Benn about a city gent who was, rather incongruously, invited to lots of fancy dress parties. When Mr Benn went into the changing room to try on his chosen costume ‘as if by magic- which of course it was’ he entered into the world of the costume that he was dressed in eg a spaceman, lion tamer, wizard. I often called my Ben ‘Mr Benn’ and so it seemed perfect. A quick google and it transpired that Mr Benn turned 50 this year too! Mr Benn with his strap line- ‘you can be whoever you want to be’ and the book’s full title ‘The Extraordinary Adventures of Mr Benn’ was the perfect name.

So Ben here I am off on many adventures. Just me and your name sake. Who knows where we will go and what we will see. I’ve just been for a swim at Pedn Vouder near Porthcurno. Magic. I think you are here too.

September 2021. Update:

‘The Bean’ has been fixed, repaired and returned early. It is now a ‘Has Bean’!

I have a friend who is medium and he told me to look out for something to do with new curtains that would mean a lot to me. An odd message I’m sure you will agree. Especially as we only have two pairs of curtains both of which I’m very happy with. So there I was a few days later getting ready for a sleep over in Mr Benn. I’d ordered a book of Mr Benn stories to put on the bookshelf in the van to familiarise anyone who needed it with Mr Benn stories. It had a dust jacket with a picture of Mr Benn on it. I have round portholes as windows and needed something to block the light out. Curtains as it were. Just look at it!

It’s been a beautiful summer with sleepouts and fun in Mr Benn. Watching the moon rise or just having a cuppa on the roof of Mr Benn. He’s brought me so much fun and freedom. Its something I’d never have done if Ben hadn’t given me the idea. My nieces and nephews loved playing in/on him when they came down in the summer. It was like all 5 cousins were all together again- all be it Ben represented by a van! Get yourself a passport Mr Benn we are going to see Aunty Laura and Bryan in France at the end of October. Just me, Mer Benn and …..Ben x

Not a sentence I ever thought I’d write. My son has the most beautiful headstone. Nor ….. in the horse cemetery. A beautiful headstone is not usually a thing to shout about but I’m a bit short of parental brags so bear with me. Maybe I need to address the ‘Horse Cemetery’ part of the title first…..

We didn’t really know where to bury Ben. It’s not something any Mum wonders about unless she has to. However we found ourselves in that hideous situation. Ben had a beautiful memorial service in the village church in Langham, Rutland where he grew up. John and I had moved from Langham to Cornwall a year before but no one knew Ben in Cornwall so we returned to his home for the service.

As a ‘wandering man’ over the last few years of his life, Ben literally went the extra mile and continued his travels after death. Ben died in Peacehaven outside of Brighton. A town name that pops up in my life often because if I am searching for a location on my sat nav Peacehaven is the town I’m offered first if start to type in Penzance. I like to think Ben was drawn to there because he liked the name and it offered him some hope and comfort. Peace Haven. The town itself is rather neglected and run down. It was a place Ben walked to often and was the last place he walked to.

We had to arrange for Ben’s body to travel back to Langham. Ben was always a fan of a free ride so I like to think he chuckled whilst our lovely friend Jason (who was also our funeral director) collected Ben from Brighton and took him home in the hearse whilst Ben’s favourite heavy rock music blasted out.
Ben had a small very private funeral service at Glenfield Crematorium in Leicester. Just me, John, Ben’s Dad and Ben’s half-sisters Ruth and Rebecca. Geoff Angell our family friend was the vicar. It was a lovely service……Except I could only get through it by pretending my boy wasn’t in the EBay cardboard coffin in front of me. I couldn’t watch the coffin being lifted out the hearse and to this day don’t know who he carried him in. The memorial service took place the next day in Langham with over 200 people present to say goodbye to Ben and to support me in particular. I feel like I’ve already been to my own funeral so when my time comes; I’ll make a blind-side break.

Ben’s ashes came to his memorial service but then I was left having to decide what to do with them. Some went to his Dad in NZ and some to my Dad so that Ben could finally achieve his dream of re-visiting the ‘dry hills’ of Yorkshire. His happy place where he had long-boarded and cycled whilst staying with my Dad and then later living in Ripon YMCA and Mrs Merrin’s campsite in Ripon. He talked about the dry hills often and by chance (?) John and I have just returned from a trip to Yorkshire where we found ourselves stayed half a mile from where Dad had scattered his ashes in Dallowgill on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales. A very peaceful spot ‘Hills of The North Rejoice’.

But where was the final resting place for the rest (majority) of Ben?
Penwith Woodland Burial is a rather a special place. Firstly on arrival it welcomes you to the ‘Pet Crematorium’.

It’s a beautiful woodland where visitors can wander around scrumping the trees of residents who have already arrived- every plot gets a native tree. Ben has a crab apple tree which one day we will make into crab-apple jelly. He’d like that. Dogs are welcome to wander around sniffing and playing. It was originally a place where horses could be buried then it evolved so all manner of pets could be buried there. Eventually (and I think rather reluctantly), the pet owners were allowed in too when their time came.
I had no intention of burying Ben’s ashes there as he had never lived in Cornwall. However my friends very wisely realised that where Ben was buried was more about me being able to stay connected to him. Thank God they did. Going up to visit Ben gives me so much comfort. I had no idea how important it would be. The dogs run straight to his when we go there and I say ‘where’s Ben, go find Ben’ just like we did when he was alive.

Ben’s Aunty Laura is a stone-mason and she offered to carve Ben’s stone. Obviously this is a hugely emotional task so none of us wanted to rush it. Also because Laura lives in France the pandemicmade it impossible for her to travel we only got to put the stone in place in May 2021. In the mean time we have had a couple of temporary grave markers. His long board then a piece of wombled slate.

It was so difficult to work out how to sum up Ben’s life in a few words. Over the last year and a half I have downloaded some thoughts from my brain and Laura captured them in the most beautiful way possible. Why are grave stones so….grave?

‘Not All Those Who Wander are Lost’ is a quote from Lord of the Rings…. Maybe Ben wasn’t lost? The font is Lord of the Rings too.
The ‘R’ of Wander is picked out in gold, a nod to his half-sister’s Ruth and Rebecca, joining up with mly as I always ended our texts and letters with RMLY even when he was in his 20s- Remember Mummy Loves You.
The seagull represents that he is now Free as a Bird, Free Bird (Lynyrd Skynyr song) and that he was a non-conformist who did things his own way (from the book Jonathan Livingston Seagull) both of which were part of Ben’s memorial ceremony.

The back of the stone is Ben’s silhouette in a fine gold line. He is here but not here, a beautiful light- just like he is now, just out of sight. No words needed. I know I’ll spend hours talking to him. When Laura showed me his stone, I cried and cried- it is perfect but it broke my heart.
Laura wrote me a letter capturing her thoughts and inspiration behind Ben’s stone which she is happy for me to share here.

As soon as we put the stone in place I felt a sense of peace, rest now my boy.
Benedict James Findlay
14.04.96- 19.10.19
LOVED FOREVER.

Ps this has been such a difficult post to write. The subject is horrendous for a start and I’ve had a bit of mental block about it. Made worse by the fact that I’ve had to write it twice. The first draft vanished as soon as I pressed ‘publish‘. I felt like I’d lost yet another part of Ben and it affected me deeply. It made me really reflect on why I am writing this blog; It’s so I can capture every memory (however fleeting) I have of Ben. His life was so fleeting I don’t want to forget anything.

The 14^th of April is Ben’s birthday. Even though he’s not here anymore it’s still his birthday; the date on which he was born. This year (2021) he would have been 25. A quarter of a century. However he died aged 23 and 7 months. Strangely I became pregnant with him when I was 23 and 7 months. By the time I was 25 I had a beautiful one year old son and had recently moved from Oxford to York. Everyone thinks that their baby is the best- but mine really was THE best. He was my everything and despite life being a challenge (no partner, no job, no settled area to live in) it was all worthwhile because of Ben.

I moved to York to be nearer to my family and to start my first post-grad job as a hydrogeologist at York Environment agency. I worked part-time so that I could be there for Ben and as this was my first rung on the ladder my pay was less than my childcare bills. But it was a start and I felt like I was creating foundations for our future. Looking back on it the year we spent in York was one of the happiest times of my life. We moved to Bath when Ben was two and a half for work. But that’s another story for another time.

I was fiercely protective of Ben and totally knew what unconditional love felt like. I told him I loved him so often that I hoped it would become part of his DNA and that he would keep that love with him whatever happened in his future. I like to think its still wherever he is. I just don’t know where that is?

I chat to Ben all the time in my mind but sometimes I speak out loud to him. A couple of weeks ago I told him I was really missing him and could he come and see me in my dreams? I often feel him around and imagine him giggling at some of the pickles I get myself into. That night as I was dropping off to sleep I ‘saw’ him. Really saw him in 3D so I could look around his beautiful face soaking up his delicate features. It was lovely. A real gift. Then I stood back and looked at him as a whole. He was standing up and shaking his left arm like he was trying to get it into a tight coat sleeve. He noticed me watching and said ‘this body is such a uncomfortable fit- it always was but its how you recognise me so I’m back in it’. Ben was uncomfortable in human form. Human life was a bit of mystery for him. As a child he always said he was from Mars. 

I think I believe that we have a soul and that we incarnate in different ways/forms. Being a human was a stretch for Ben- he never really knew what date or day it was, he struggled to express himself and he was indifferent to eating food. He said that when he got to uni he would just exist on powder with nutrients in so he didn’t have to cook. He did it too. Money was another mystery. How he drove a car was something else. He did at least 4 theory tests and 3 driving tests. He never got his licence. Maybe they don’t have cars on Mars? 

In my dream as Ben struggled to fit into his body I said* there’s no need to do that. Next time be more comfortable when I see you; appear in a form what feels comfortable for you- just make sure I can recognise you. I wonder what it will be…

I often feel his mischievous energy around. I felt like I heard him chuckling the other day; I was getting ready to launch our new business and I needed a white board to write on. I sent out a request via text to ask if anyone had a white board I could borrow. Then I went for a swim in the sea and literally bumped into a flat board of white plastic. To me it felt like Ben had wombled and delivered exactly what I’d asked for! I picked the board up and its at home now!

Bens birthday present to me:

This year I’ve arranged a rather special birthday present for Ben to give to me. I’ll share more about it in a bit but here’s the back-ground..

When Ben died he left behind very little stuff- he didn’t really ever want material possessions and over his last years he moved around a lot so things got lost. When I went through his stuff I found a small ingot of 24 carat gold bullion. I remembered that Ben/ had mentioned that he thought he’d been over-paid some benefit so he was going to invest it in gold to make sure he didn’t spend it. Then a few days after he died there was a deposit of £1500 in his account from PIP benefit. He had been waiting months for it and had jumped through loads of hoops to qualify for Personal Independent Payment (PIP). That meant he wouldn’t have to work until he was reassessed in a few years time and could therefore focus on his health rather than constantly filling in benefit forms or applying for jobs he just couldn’t hold down. It’s a baffling process even without a muddled mind. The whole process caused Ben a lot of distress in his final few weeks so I accepted the money on his behalf (its paid a month in arrears) and did what he would have done and bought some gold with it. I’ve been wondering what to do with it ever since. Watch this space…

Overall I think I’m coping better than I was this time a year ago. I’m still heart- broken and will always carry great big heavy bags full of grief and loss but I’m learning how to manage them better. I need to actively find sources of joy as much as possible to balance up the sadness a bit. I just have no room to carry optional sadness or drama. I live by the phrase ‘ I choose joy’ whenever its possible. I Think Ben would approve. 

Ben is still very much in my present and my day to day life but I miss him so much. Its very hard and relentless- I won’t lie. I’ve had a two pretty bad health scares this year. Ironically (and rather cruelly) on the first anniversary of Ben’s death I received the results of biopsy which meant my life went one way or another. For two weeks I’d had to prepare myself for either scenarios. I wasn’t sure what to hope for but when I received ‘good news’ I was pleased for John’s sake. Then recently I had to have another biopsy and this time I was hoping that the tests showed I was healthy. That was a turning point.

*said is not quite the right word and sort of illustrates the awkwardness of human communication techniques via the written and spoken word. My dreams don’t have words in, just feelings conveyed without the need for words. A sort of soul level communication. Its much clearer than using clumsy words which can be hard to find and can be misinterpreted- an example of the difficulties of being incarnated as a human. Brain too big, words too powerful, kindness too quiet.

This Christmas was so much easier than last year which was literally hell on earth. Last year I was shocked and raw and felt like all my skin had been ripped off. I was literally in bits. Every single part of Christmas preparation sent a stabbing pain through me. My brain kept reflecting back to the year before when Ben came down for Christmas 2018. It went something like this….’this time last year I got one of those for Ben’s stocking’ and ‘last time I heard that song Ben was alive’ and ‘last year I was a Mum’ and ‘Last year I had a son’ and ‘the last time I thought about bread sauce Ben was alive’. Every little tradition involved reflection and a huge pang of loss.

This year it was like the initial impact had been felt. I could look at a Terry’s chocolate orange without being hit by a stream of memories. Like one Christmas morning being woken by the distinctive sound of a chocolate orange being banged on the floor to open it up. I think Ben was about 6. When I went into Ben’s Room he was sitting there surrounded by the chaos of a hurriedly opened Christmas stocking. He said he loved his stocking but really didn’t like the muesli ball that he had taken a big bite out of … it was in fact a fat ball for the birds!

Christmas 2020 has been so different for everyone. Something that blind-sided me was when lots of people on TV, friends and family were really upset that they couldn’t see their family for Christmas this year. It made realise that I have to live my life with this loss not just for a year but for every single day for the rest of my life- not just at Christmas. I felt so isolated that my norm is so far from most other people’s norm. John and I also had a few ‘words’ as he finds relating to my grief difficult. Of course he does. Everyone does. Never in a million years would I expect him or anyone to know what it feels like. Well maybe God does- ironically the only common reference to the intense, enduring grief of loosing your only son is in the Bible!

This year I decided we needed to make some new traditions to make things easier. I still couldn’t face opening the Christmas decoration box so I took the easy way out and bought lots of new ones and asked my family to send me some of theirs. Ironically a couple of days after doing this I then felt able to open the box. It really, really hurt. I’m devastated to say that probably my most precious treasure had not survived storage. I hadn’t opened the box since it was put in storage two years ago when we last moved. Ben had made a ‘pork pie’ decoration at primary school. At the time we lived near Melton Mowbray and as we always have pork pie for Christmas breakfast it was an excellent choice. I loved it. When I saw it was now a mush I felt another pang of loss. But it was tiny in comparison to the loss of Ben so I’ve just got on with it. Things are things. I’ve got the memory.

This year I was able to give Ben a Christmas present. His long board has been a brilliant temporary headstone. However Bunchy who runs the green burial site where Ben’s ashes are buried has been gradually preparing me that it needs to be removed. They only like natural materials in the woodland. My sister Laura who is a stonemason has carved a headstone for Ben. Due to Corona she (and it) are stuck in France….. so I improvised and adapted a bit of left over slate to be a stand in until it arrives. I think Ben would approve! I’ve found being able to visit Ben there so comforting. I take the dogs up there (it was originally a pet/horse cemetery and they now reluctantly let people in!!) and say to them ‘where’s Ben? Find Ben’ and they run off to his plot- where they and us will eventually end up.