The first of the lasts…

It’s nearly a year since Ben died on 19th October 2019, and so it begins.

I have a feeling this one might be the hardest:

It’s the anniversary of when I last saw my boy. We had such a lovely day together. For the first time in 3-4 years I had hope. Hope that the Ben we knew before he became ill was on his way back to us.

 
I thank God that I didn’t know this was my last chance to hug him. To smell him. He gave the best hugs that totally held me tight. We met approx half-way between Brighton and Penzance in Bath. Ben and I had lived until he was 7 and it was where I met and married John. We collected Ben from the train station, he looked so handsome. He’d had a hair cut and told me all about the lunch he’d taken with him on the train. He had worked in a community cafe the day before and had been given a takeaway lunch as part of his pay. I think he said it was salad, quiche with cous-cous and roasted veg. He’d really enjoyed it. It was the first thing he told me about, even before he’d got in the car!

Bath was so busy- there was a rugby game on so we headed straight up to Solsbury Hill to avoid the crowds. I just wanted time with Ben- we only had the day. The aim was to have a short, lovely time which could pave the way for future trips that over time could gradually last longer.

 
Ben had moved out of hospital two weeks previously so we talked about his new flat which he was sharing with 5 others including a good friend of his called Paul. He had settled in really well and they were going out for coffees, he’d done a supermarket shop and was loving jacket potatoes with beans and cheese every night. He treated himself to a can of coke every night. He was talking about trying for uni again and wondering what job he could do. It was a wardened flat and was a significant stepping stone to getting his own council flat which was his goal. 

We walked up Solsbury Hill which was so familiar to us both. It was somewhere we walked regularly when we lived in Bath. I’d often go there on my own to reflect and make decisions at various turning points in my life. It’s a very special place, an old Iron Age hill fort. Some of the hot springs that give Bath it’s name emerge from the base of it. I find it very spiritual there- it’s a ‘thin’ place where the gap between this world and the other realms feel very close. John and the dogs were there too but John discreetly gave Ben and I time to ourselves. 

We talked about things- he was worried he had caused too much damage to his head but we looked at how far he had come over the last year when he had first been admitted to hospital. He seemed distracted and told me he wasn’t on form and that his head was bothering him; a term he used when he had voices in his head shouting at him. His medication had recently been reduced. Ben was more ‘Ben’ but the cost was more disruption in his head. We talked about finding more of a balance over time. I was so pleased he was being open with me. 

From the top of the hill we looked across the valley at the house we used to live in and where our friends still live. It had been a happy time of our lives where Ben grew from being a toddler to a school boy. 

John joined us as we sat there and asked Ben if knew what the song Solsbury Hill was about? It was written by Peter Gabriel after he had a spiritual experience whilst at the top of Solsbury Hill. He realised he had to leave Genesis and set out on his own:

‘Climbing up on Solsbury Hill

I could see the city light

Wind was blowing, time stood still

Eagle flew out of the night

He was something to observe

Came in close, I heard a voice

Standing, stretching every nerve

Had to listen, had no choice

I did not believe the information

Just had to trust imagination

My heart going boom, boom, boom

“Son”, he said, “grab your things, I’ve come to take you home”

Obviously we all agreed that it was much likely to be seagull rather than an eagle that was flying around!

We talked about that sometimes we just have to move on even if other people don’t understand. That being true to our own feelings was far more important than being concerned about what other people would think. Even at the time I thought he could interpret these words as me saying that I’d understand and support him with any decisions he made. However difficult. It was Ben’s life and I could only guide him. We played the song at his funeral.

 
I’m reminded of the words from ‘The Prophet’ by Kahil Gilbran when he shared his thoughts about children: 

‘And he said: Children are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.’

Ben wanted to make a move and we all walked down the hill together. John suggested that he take a photo of us. I said no as I hate having my photo taken. Ben put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me close; ‘Go on Mum….’

It’s now one of my favourite memories and I’m so pleased it was captured on camera. He died less than three weeks later. It was the photo on the back of the order of service for his memorial service and now the header for this blog. As we walked down the hill I just felt an uncontrollable urge to hold him. I grabbed him firmly by his shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes and said ‘ You do know you are very loved don’t you?’… ‘I do Mum, I do, I know that’ he replied. Heart speak.

The rest of the afternoon was less connected, we went to a pub and I wanted to keep things light and play cards- Ben didn’t really do chatting. He wasn’t keenon playing cards but organised the pack in suit and number order. He seemed pre-occupied by his thoughts as he sipped slowly on his pint of beer. We headed back into Bath for a Swartz burger. They were his favourite when we lived in Bath, he had fries and a milk shake too. I found the receipt a few months later when I was in America. The pain was like a bullet. Our last meal. It started to drizzle so we all ate in the car and as we had parked near one of my favourite shops I went into look at a long, cotton teal coloured top that had caught my eye. I tried on two sizes and took Ben’s advice to get the more floaty one. I wore it to his funeral. 

It felt like the right time to drop him back at the station, to leave things on a high. We’d had such a lovely day and discussed meeting up in Bath again soon. He got out the car, I told him I loved him and he started to walk away. I called him back and did our sign language for ‘I love you’. He chuckled and walked away. I waved until he was out of sight. Then he was gone. It was the last time I saw him. 
I’ve remembered that day so many times since he died and feel so blessed we had such a special time together, so pleased my last words were ‘I love you’. My heart is breaking as I write it down now for the first time but I don’t want to forget a moment.

 
I’m not sure I can ever go back to Bath. I left my hope on that hill.