Rest in Peace Mum, Jennifer Buckley, 1947 to 2020
Mum died on Wednesday 11 November 2020, having suffered a major stroke a week before. She was cared for during the last few days of her life by the fantastic NHS staff at the Queens Medical Centre in Nottingham, but didn’t regain consciousness after the initial event. Julie and I were still in Spain when she died. We knew from the daily phone calls that mum wasn’t aware of the world, scans having shown serious damage to her brain, and over time it became obvious the stroke was going to be fatal. Knowing that she wouldn’t have suffered or felt alone made what was a horrific few days a little easier. Dad has lung disease from his many years in dust-laden farm fields and at the coal face, and the doctors were very keen he didn’t go to the hospital whatever happened, where many COVID-19 patients are bound to be being treated. My sister works in a care home and has been under huge stress these past months, having to take all precautions to avoid infection, now being tested every week.
Mum had a really good life with dad, travelling widely, constantly surprising us when we told them we’d arrived somewhere only to find they’d already been there. She and dad worked hard to give me and my sister a good life, clawing their way up from early poverty in life up into a council house, then a terraced house of their own and finally their own home with a garage and driveway. She loved spending time in their static caravan first at a farm in Derbyshire too, and in later years in Skegness. Thankfully, mum and dad got to spend lots of time in Skegness this summer, having finally come out of months of shielding, locked in the house together, which they coped with incredibly well.
Mum had a great sense of humour, often teasing us with April Fools Day calls, starting phone calls by singing to us and buying us daft presents. I’m not sure that was always intentional mind you, I recall once rummaging through the usual enormous pile of wrapped Xmas presents and pulling out a ‘How to Speak English’ book. Considering I was in my late teens I’d already mastered that particular topic (albeit wee ah nottingum aksent me duck), and we had a good laugh when she realised she’d just grabbed it from the bookshop shelf! She had a soft spot for donkeys too, sponsoring half a herd at a sanctuary she liked visiting, feeding them carrots. We’ll all miss you mum. Thank you for giving me the tools I need to navigate the world. Thank you for all the sacrifices you made for me. Rest in peace now, free from pain, anxiety and suffering and in the comforting knowledge you live on through your family and friends many memories.
Julie and I flew home on 16 November. The day before Mark and Cath, who have a beautiful fifth-wheeler rig, invited us and Rod and Wendy to a socially-distanced sunny meal on their pitch. It was a lovely gesture, a great opportunity to learn a little about them and to step away from death for a while. After an evening walk into Nerja for a last delicious ice cream and a chance to watch the sun set over the sea, we moved the van to the storage location on the site, turned the fridge off and had a fitful night’s sleep waiting for the alarm to go off. Giving ourselves 45 minute’s prep time in the morning was, we discovered, only just enough as we rushed about getting dressed, cleaning puddles in the fridge, emptying the loo, draining the van down, eating breakfast and washing up. We locked the van in the twilight at 7:25am, not knowing when we’ll see it again.
The taxi was already waiting for us. It was a chauffeur experience, with doors being opened and our two 10kg bags lifted into the back. The drive to Málaga took about an hour, with us all wearing masks and a perspex screen separating us from the driver. As the sun rose we stared out at the mountainous landscape, encrusted with white villas and apartments towards the sea, rapidly thinning out inland. We talked with the driver about his experience of the pandemic, finding we shared common fears, getting an understanding how difficult the strict lockdown was for Spaniards, used to spending their lives outdoors. Even though Andalusia has closed the borders between towns, essential traffic is allowed, and we hit a small traffic jam as we approached Málaga.
Málaga airport was a ghost town. As we pulled into arrivals another car had partially blocked the road, perhaps parked so haphazardly as all other spaces were empty and he couldn’t imagine anyone else turning up? A guard checked out boarding passes before allowing us into the building, which echoed with silence. The cavernous check-in room was populated only by lines of dots on the floor, the regulation 2m apart. With no queue for security we were through in minutes, feeling a little uncomfortable at being close to security staff as we passed, despite everyone being masked up.
Social distancing was possible while we waited for our gate to be announced, but from that point onwards people gathered together pretty much like they would normally. That said, the plane was maybe only 1/3 full, so the usual scrum didn’t materialise. The transit bus to the plane didn’t pack us in quite so tight either, running a few times to the plane instead, the last shuttle with only about 4 passengers. On board everyone kept masks on (at least until they started eating or drinking) and we were spread around the place. Like the dentist I’ve been visiting over these last couple of weeks, it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as I’d expected being in a confined space again with a fair few folks. We wondered why the other passengers were flying to the UK knowing they’d have to quarantine, overhearing one couple saying there had been a house fire, and guessing similar problems still force people to fly between countries, even in the dark depths of a pandemic. That said, that was the last Ryanair flight to EMA for two weeks.
The flight headed north, roughly tracking the route we’ve taken south to Nerja a couple of times. I had my phone on flight mode, but maps.me still worked, showing where we were above the ground, making me smile at the speed with which we rocketed across the Earth (I’ve not flown much for the past decade or so). Ryanair had given Ju and I seats on the opposite sides of the plane and we were reluctant to play the game of paying €10 to move, but the 3 hour flight was over quickly anyway and this way we both got a window seat. East Midlands Airport was dead too, our good friend Jon collecting us from outside the paid pick-up area and giving us a lift home, more masks, coats on and windows down, more new normal. The M1 looked fairly busy, at least compared with the spring lockdown.
Back in the Cooler unpacking took about 8 seconds. The few clothes and gadgets we could fit into our luggage went into their storage spots and we sat on the sofa with a cuppa, pondering the fact we were in southern Spain just a few hours ago, a journey which usually takes us days. Dad had thoughtfully been and left a ton of food, so we were well fed until our Sainsburys delivery came the following morning. Jon dropped off a TV for us to borrow, four times the size the one we have in the van, which we usually bring back to the Cooler.
Dad came up the following day, sitting a few metres from us in the yard. Although we’re quarantining, we’re all grieving and needed to see each other face-to-face. I’d been looking forward to seeing dad, and although its upsetting to see him grieving, it was a relief to see how well he’s coping, talking about his past with mum, as well as what the future might hold for him. We’ve picked up the process of registering mum’s death, notifying everyone who needs notifying and arranging her funeral for when our two weeks in quarantine is over. Thankfully mum had pre-arranged and paid for her funeral, so we know what she wanted to happen. The funeral will need to be a very tightly-controlled affair to keep dad as safe as possible while allowing him to say goodbye, so only a few close family and no wake. Sadly no friends or wider family will be able to attend, but we’re thinking we’ll hold a memorial service later in 2021, when (hopefully) vaccines and treatments have reduced the COVID-19 threat.
It’s five weeks from Christmas now and the adverts are on the TV and radio, all looking very odd this year, having us question just what xmas will look like in 2020. In my family xmas hasn’t been a big event ever since my sister and I left home, and mum was hoping to spend it at their caravan in Skegness this year, worrying (as she did about many details in life) about how she could get the water turned back on and drained down again in January. You don’t need to worry any more mum. Your loving son, Jay
Beautifully written, Jay. Our thoughts are with you and your family. xx
I’m so sorry Jay. Losing a parent is difficult. At least your Mom went quickly. My Mom took 14 years with Alziemers. My thoughts are with you as you go through this painful time. Take care.
So sorry to read your news Jay, having lost both my parents I know how hard it is and my heart goes out to you at this time. Treasure your memories, they will never leave you x
Sorry to hear that Jay. Ruth’s father died two days later on the 13th, so we share your pain.
Jay,
We know your pain and feel for you at this time. It is very tough and surreal with COVID adding to the situation.
It will become easier as time goes by, oddly I feel I am now able to let mum and dad know how it’s going live.
Be well both lots of love.
D&K
They are lovely sentiments, I lost my dad very quickly and although it was such a shock my lasting memory is him laughing at our dreams of having a motorhome and with some money he left me we were able to fulfill that dream. Always remember the laughs and giggles, your mum sounded and looked like a lovely lady xx
My thoughts are with you and all your family.
So sorry to hear your sad news Jay, it’s never easy to lose a parent. I lost my mum over 20 years ago and sometimes it feels like only yesterday.
I understand your pain but know she will always be with you in your heart and mind – memories are forever.
Our thoughts are with you and your family.
Such beautiful words Jay. The pain of losing a parent can not be described, and the days following seem like a blur. This must have been even more pronounced for you. All I can say is take each step one at a time, be kind to yourself and celebrate the wonderful woman you called mum. Mike and I are thinning of you and sending love xxx
So sorry to hear about your mum Jay. I wish you well and hope you can have a good christmas. Love reading your blogs
What a lovely piece of writing, your Mum sounded lovely. Our thoughts are with you at this sad time.
Kind regards
Chris and Keith Jones
Hi. Really sorry for your loss but what a lovely tribute to your Mum. I know she would be proud of you.
Rick Baxter
So sorry to hear your sad news. Both my Dad & Mum are now gone. 8 & 7 years ago now. I miss them still but now I cherish the warm happy time we shared. I wish this for you and your family too. In this respect they are always with you. Take care
Our thought are with you and your family.
Beautifully written as always. You guys are so inspirational at appreciating life and the people we share it with. Your mum has lots to be proud of
Long time lurkers
God Bless
Lisa and Ian
Nicely written Jay, a fitting eulogie, cherish those memories.
Gareth and Sue