The Passing of Thomas

Death will happen to us all. Just ten days ago, Thomas died. He had been given three years to live, seven years ago. He and his wife Sarah were our neighbours. Roll back five years. It is Christmas 2019 and it was J and my first Christmas in our new house. It was a house I thought about as our forever house. At that first Christmas we wanted to share our warmest wishes with neighbours. So, to the dozen or so houses on either side of the road to us, we posted a Christmas card inviting folk to come to our open house celebration between Christmas and New Year. Eight couples turned up and they have been our steadfast neighbours ever since. Thomas and Sarah wee one of these couples. As a neighbourhood community, we got through Covid together and our relationships have been stronger ever since. Which is good, as we don’t intend on moving any time soon.

Our forever house by the sea allows us to keep our goats, chickens, parrot, dogs and cats and still have beautiful gardens too. Last Wednesday evening, as J and I were relaxing watching some bubble-gum TV, there was a knock on our front door. It isn’t something that often happens that late in the evening. I went to answer and found a very upset Thomas’s wife on the door step. She was crying and said she didn’t know where to go. She had seen our lights were on and knocked on the door. She was clearly in distress, and without hesitation we welcomed her in.

As it was the day before my Board meeting day, we hadn’t intended on being late going to bed. However, Sarah wanted to talk, and that’s what we did. We talked about their life together, and what her life looked like to her without Thomas. It was a difficult discussion at times, but it felt important to keep talking. J had been with Sarah just 10 minutes after he had died and had helped with the immediate aftermath of his death. Thomas had been taken to our local undertakers, just some 100 yards up the road. The arrangements have been agreed for the funeral to take place tomorrow.

Sarah worried about her Thomas being up the road and imagined him to be lying in a fridge type compartment. She worried that the funeral directors would not have dressed him in his favourite pyjamas, his silly socks, or they would have lost a woollen heart they both were given as keepsakes. In trying to provide her with some reassurance, we suggested she went up to see Thomas herself, but this was a step too far for her. So, we offered to go and sit with Thomas and in so doing reassure her that he was being cared for. J agreed to go on the Thursday and I agreed to go on the Friday.

J went and sat with Thomas for 30 mins and was able to hold his hand as she spoke with him. The funeral directors had dressed Thomas as he wanted, the woollen heart was clasped in his hand and the ‘I love you’ beaded bracelet, a gift from one of his grandchildren was around his wrist. Telling Sarah all this seemed to bring a degree of calm and reassurance, but I said I would still go and be with Thomas on the following day. I did. It is a long time since I have been in a chapel of rest with someone I knew lying there.

It was a wonderfully calm place. There were perfumed candles burning and the quietness just gently enveloped you. The member of staff welcomed me in and took me to Thomas. She said I must stay as long as I wanted. She left the room and then there was just Thomas and myself sharing the quietness. He looked at peace, and he looked a great deal better than he had in the previous three weeks. I thought the funeral directors had ensured Thomas had been cared for with great care and dignity.

Thomas died at home. If he had died in hospital others would have provided the care for him up to and after his death. Looking at Thomas I was reminded of the last time I had been privileged to perform the last offices on a patient. It was a long time ago. The word ‘offices’ comes from the Latin ‘officium’ meaning service and or duty, so literally the last duties carried out on a body. In hospital, this is a duty usually performed by a nurse. Nearly every nurse will have carried out this duty at least once in their career. When someone dies in hospital, the body of the person is often left for an hour as a mark of respect. This is not the place to describe the full procedure, but one aspect of performing the last offices is in bathing the person from head to toe. This is something common to many different cultures around the world. In my experience it is a very emotional and almost sacred act to be part of.

For Thomas, these duties had been performed by the funeral directors. I spent my time in simply talking to him. I told him of Trump’s election victory and what I thought that might mean for the world. I spoke of the futility of mainstream politics in the UK (we have enjoyed many a political discussion, as Thomas and I held very different political views). I also spoke of my work and my hopes for the next couple of years; I described where we had travelled to this year and a multitude of other topics. It was a strange experience. Speaking my thoughts out aloud in the quietness of the chapel was somehow, quite cathartic. As was having a weep. Men don’t cry, do they?

And when we have this year’s neighbours Christmas celebration, we will raise a glass (or two) to our absent friend and neighbour Thomas.