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| May 1992: In Holland Park with Mom and Ari
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To think back in sadness, in joy, or just to remember… how time
flies. It is today 20 years since my mom Vicky left us.
It was a beautiful Spring day in Kensington. May is one of the most
beautiful months in London, with flowers blooming all over, trees budding and a
promise of summer, that most years forgets to pass by.
Two days before, we had been to Holland Park on the afternoon walk
we did most days during the two years Vicky was with me in London, barring a
spell in hospital. We had with us Ari, the Sri Lankan lady who for eight years helped
take care of mom.
We lived on Campden Hill Road, just five minutes away from
Kensington and Chelsea’s largest park. It became a habit after lunch and a
short siesta to wrap up, whatever the weather, and go visit the park. It was a
routine that broke up our long, solitary days and one we looked forward to.
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| Holland Park's Kyoto Garden |
Holland Park is the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea’s
largest park with 22.5 hectares of flower gardens, children’s play facilities,
sports areas, a cafeteria, and large stretches of woodland buzzing with
wildlife. Contained within the park is the beautiful Kyoto Garden, a Japanese
garden donated by the Kyoto Chamber of Commerce in 1991.
The park is one of central London’s most peaceful spots and so it
provided us with lots of joy. It had semi-wild woodland, garden areas, a
famous Orangery and a restaurant by the same
name, a giant chess set, a cricket pitch, tennis courts and one of London’s
best equipped children's playgrounds, as well as squirrels and peacocks.
After crossing alleys lined with chestnut trees, we had several
stops to make before heading to the pond area where we would site and chat with
the regulars.
First was the Kyoto Garden to hear the gong from the natural
fountain.
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| Is this Hanna? |
Next we would go feed the squirrels. They are very tame and would
come up to our hands for their peanuts and make Vicky giggle. They are tagged
and we recognized them by these bands. Vicky named one Hanna (John), and would
look for him every day.
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| A Holland Park peacock |
We’d then go look for the peacocks and wonder if they would grace
us with their spectacular fanned tails. We would then check on the formal
gardens to see what flowers had bloomed, run our hands on the lavender beds to
keep the aroma and then pass to say hello to a lady statue, next to the
Orangery. We never knew whom she was, but she was to play an important role…
With an ice cream or a cup of tea in hand, depending on the
weather, we then sat by the pond for an hour or so.
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| Our corner of transuility |
We were easily recognizable, Vicky in her wheelchair with Ari and
myself pushing it in turns. We were part of a small community of regulars who
spent a couple of hours in the tranquility of the beautiful Holland Park
grounds.
But rewinding the clock 20 years… When got back from Holland Park
on the afternoon of May 4, 1992, Vicky wanted to have a little rest. She
stretched out on the living room sofa. She seemed more tired than usual, and
when Ari and I tried to sit her up a couple of hours later, it was too difficult. She had become very
heavy and we had to wait for a friend to pass by and help get her into bed. I
could feel the kind of sleep she fell into was much deeper than usual. It was
time to call the family.
May 5, was another sunny London Spring day. The sun was out, the
birds were singing, cars were passing, the World Snooker Championship continued on TV… but Vicky could not get up, there was no
walk to Holland Park, just a bedside vigil, where minutes feel like hours and
hours like days.
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| A final resting place |
Although mom was terminally sick for eight years -- first surviving
an aneurysm, then severe osteoporosis, living with Hepatitis C and a broken hip
for good measure -- you are never prepared to say goodbye to a loved one. So it
was while sitting next to her on the bed that I thought it would be okay, yet
again, and we would be racing back to the park in a couple of days. But it proved
wishful thinking…
As the hours passed, she sank into a deeper
sleep. And then, the most horrific sound of all – the death rattle – began at
night. It is a sound you never want to hear. And in those last hours, a
lifetime goes through your mind played in slow motion.
The final breath is so peaceful. You can feel it going through your
soul and lifting in the air.
On that May 6 morning, life would never be the same again. “What
will I do now?” I wondered then in tears.
The following weeks are a blur. I know we eventually made our way
back to Holland Park to scatter Vicky’s ashes.
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| The statue of the lady gone, my sister Asma takes her place |
Being so far from home and her beloved Beirut, it seemed
appropriate for all the peace and joy the park had brought us. And where better
to spread out the ashes than in the flowerbeds, with the birds, squirrels and
peacocks, next to the statue of the lady (which sadly was removed a few years
later)?
And life goes on…
If any of my London readers happen to be in Holland Park today, say
hi to mom and maybe a little prayer.
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