Leaving Doors Open

Yesterday a friend I have known for thirty years visited. I hadn’t hugged her for five or six; I see her smile on FaceTime, her voice on the phone and she reads my Blogs but we live some distance apart. I should have made more effort I think, as her familiar face pops into view when she walks into our green, bamboo swishing garden. 

Her daughters have grown, they remember their last visit well. I let the young girls loose with a box full of ribbon, furry bits and pieces and labels to wrap a few presents. Put as much on as you want I smiled. They burrowed their heads in paper and glitter while Mr H told them stories about climbing mount Everest from the inside.

Today we sit in the garden and with grinning faces the six of us chat about life while munching on homemade rhubarb and carrot cake. They are whizzing around on a whistle stop goodbye tour. Off to Australia, we’re not sure how long Michelle replies when I ask. Richard adds, with glares from his daughters, many say they don’t return.

I hate goodbyes Michelle says as they get up to leave. Let’s Facetime in August I say then we can still chat and see each other. And who knows you may even answer your Australian door one day to another hug. 

I leave the door open…

Even so I watch with a lump in my throat, as their car disappears out of view but walk inside with a contented smile as I know I will see them again. 

Whenever I go to see my 86 year young Mum, friends or family, as I leave I say I love you, I will ring you later. See you soon.

I  leave the door open…

Earlier this year I blogged about a shopping trip with my friend Jenny. Mr H and I met Jenny during a tropical storm. We were visiting gardens in St Vincent in the Caribbean and the rain fell without warning as though someone was pouring warm buckets of water over our heads. Amidst loud parakeet sounding laughter most ran for shelter. I didn’t, couldn’t, and therefore neither did Mr H. Behind us were two ladies who also couldn’t run, their knees stopped them. They were Jenny and Lyn and giggling we ambled along together as the rain soaked through to our knickers. We spent the rest of our sun and laughter filled cruise in the company of these bubbly ladies.

But sadness was tucked behind the smiling photograph of Jenny and I on our shopping trip. Jenny’s breast cancer had returned and like bind weed, had rapidly spread. 

During the last few months Jenny often asked me for advice and I reached out with my listening ears. When I couldn’t be with her we Facetimed while she was living with her daughter or staying at her sons. Your word is gospel Liz her daughter in law kept saying each time we spoke about some element of Jenny’s care. Jenny trusts you. 

We Facetimed as I sat on the beach on holiday so Jenny could hear and see the sea. I sent her a video of waves gently swishing on the pebble beach, she used it to get to sleep. I tried to bottle the salty smell of the sea in a jam jar to take to her bedside...

When Mr H and I visited after our holiday, I sat on her hospital bed in the spare room of her sons house while I rubbed soothing hand cream into her frail thin skin. We held hands as we talked about Cockleshell beach in St Kitts and how Jenny had held my hand to get me safely into the warm shallow sea. How we dug discarded pink and cream conch shells out of the white sandy dunes. How we walked through market stalls looking for our jewellery made from local shells. How we watched in utter disbelief and then hugged with delight as whales butted our boat on a trip around Dominique.

As Jenny's eye lids drooped with fatigue I stood up to leave, I hugged her and we kissed.  I love you Jenny. I will FaceTime you I said. Jenny smiled then closed her eyes as sleep swept her into dreams.

But I left the door open…

I woke early on Wednesday as a message gently slid onto the screen of my phone;

Jenny is at peace now Liz wrote…

Life is not always about saying Goodbye then closing the door.

It is also about walking through life while leaving doors open…

God Bless Jenny I'll see you in my memories and dreams x