A whole year
a period of loud and grainy silence
seasons that change
air, empty air
grey
grey skies
more grey hair

smoke

der dopplgenger
you stand outside downstairs looking up at the study window
I look down to see space where you should be
but you're not there
gone are your reflections in puddles
gone is the grit on your hands and under your finger nails
gone gone gone

ending with no beginning
broken cycles
but the mirror tells me something different

Kaddish
breathing in the damp air
wet mornings of meaningless words and angry old men
not like you
more shades of carbon
but no more oxygen

Unspoken things I never told you
Did you know you were my hero?
Apple of your eye

But now without you

Calm now gone
Family broken and full of rage
Glue now unstuck and unsticking
Removed without being replaced

Grey-sheen plastic covering your eyes

Hospital smells
Taste of hand-disinfectant on my beard
Sensations still tasted and smelt
You still come and stand be side me
But you are not here
But I still here the machines beeping

faded

As The Garden So Is The Gardener - Patrick Todd z''l

Patrick Todd z''l (1937-2007)

dutiful husband, loving father and keen gardener

Patrick was an unassuming man, and yet strong in his silence. He slipped quietly away in hospital on the 20th Cheshvan 5768 (01.11.07) following a series of heart attacks, having been a seemingly healthy and active man.

Born in the family village of Hargrave, he was the only child but was part of a much wider & stronger family, being raised in Ampthil where his mother & father were firmly embedded in their community. His love was in the scouts, and like his father, a blacksmith, he was a deeply practical man who loved cars and making things. His passion for "the motor" took him to working for Vauxhall Cars where he met his wife Marion. She the secretary and he the engineer.

The "glue of the family" keeping his wife and children grounded and together, he had a family of four children. All of them were raised to be productive and self-sufficient. His mother's musical talents came through the genes - he rarely sang, except to Brass Bands, but encouraged his children in their musical endeavours even when the notes were far from melodious.

The work of his hands was not just limited to a paid job or through his children, rather he was also a keen renovator. Moving from one derelict house to another, he and the family would take part in taking a house in dire condition and renovating to the standard of a professional craftsman. Even in his last family home in Peterborough, 20 years on he was often found down at the bottom of the garden fiddling with bits of wood making a new bird-feeder-table, or up the ladder re-pointing the cement around the chimney.

And in his gardening and building lay his spirituality. He loved the beauty of the earth. Tucked away in a side-draw of the welsh-dresser his son found a poem about G-d and the garden. Whilst the poem was put away and is now lost, it stands to memory that Patrick's internal life was rarely seen or expressed through speech or overt demonstration, rather it lay deeply embedded in the soil he dug, the foundation to the walls he built and the undercoat of the paint he slapped on the doors and window frames.

In his later years he moved from cars to trains - he'd always loved model railways and the old steam trains. And whilst it may have seemed unprestigious, took up a position with WAGN railways as a station worker. He had never seemed so happy as to be able to work the platforms, chat to customers and report back to his family members who needed to use the train, with the precisest of information and best way of getting from A to B.

Marion became more involved in the City of Peterborough and its politics. As a loyal husband he took her new career almost as seriously as she did, always at her side and at every occasion supporting her. She became the Deputy Mayor and quickly after was elected to be the City's Mayor. He attended over 350 events as the Mayor's Consort. But his unassuming style and dignity as "the common man" made him an accessible figure.

His illness & death came as a surprise. Thankfully his illness was brief and his family were able to be at his bedside, the love & care shown to him being a tribute to the love he had shown them. But like the garden, so is the gardener. Once a tree standing strong and tall, now fallen he still leaves a deep impression within his family & loved ones. His shadow still falls on those who knew him and the blessing of his memory will soon, no doubt, cause others to grow and live-on in his image.

In the words of George Eliot;

"The growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs."

We remember him now; may he remain in our hearts as a continual blessing.

Seasons Changing

The weather is changing and finally we almost thought we would have rain today. Coming from rain-drenched England I thought I would never experience the shear joy of such a feeling. It's been a period of almost 6 months without any rain at all... not a drop. So with my plants turning a little pale and I a little sun-burnt, it feels like it's long-overdue to have a good drenching.

Just as the weather is changing so to we're entering a new phase. I'm no longer "new" at work and moving into a non-social-work service has certainly provided me with food for thought. On the good news, I'm meeting some amazing organisations as I promote the project's volunteering programme. And also positive has been my sense of valuing what I had in my previous professional life - working with people in need of help and support. I've come to the conclusion that there is something quite special in being able to work with families and challenging in trying to promote change with people who don't want to. It's all a bit of a far-cry from what I'm doing now, but I'm working towards getting back there, and moving closer everyday.

My private practice is also now starting to build up. So now my mind is back in the therapy world too... I'm also working my way through a psychiatry text book written in Hebrew, and academic Hebrew is a whole 'nother ball-game. Turns of phrases, Aramaic expressions - I feel a little overwhelmed at times but I'm plodding on.

As a relief from all of the tensions of work I'm continuing to work on the second door - the first is now completely finished and a lovely blue - and making the place look beautiful - we now have some hand-woven carpets from the Old City and some great glass beads hanging off of the candelabra-chandelier. With winter coming the warmer colours are coming out through carpets, throws, the bed now has a duvet on it and I'm wearing trousers for the first time in ages.