Sixteen Days

Dear P

Well the third event to mark your death. I took something of a risk by offering to make home made pizza to complement the drinks. This amused a number of close friends who thought it might all go terribly wrong. But with the help of Jenny Lloyd and the boys we pulled it off.

Around forty folk turned up to remember you and once we started to produce the pizza it took no time at all for it to be consumed. We must have made 10 different models all of which were well received, even by KCD who declared that he doesn't like pizza. And Simon, one of the earlier critics conceded that it had been a cost effective way of feeding a large group of people.

When all was finished at home we went to your favourite cinema to see Michael Sheen playing Brian Clough in The Damned United.  All those who went enjoyed the film which, if you like football and lived through the seventies is a complete delight.

As ever you can find my review at www.lighthousefilmclub.blog.com

So another year has passed. I still think about you every day.

Much love

M

xx

Dear P

Two years ago today we were coming to terms with your death. The time since that fateful day has flown, catapulted along by the responsibility of caring for our two young boys.  Emotions have ebbed and flowed from great sadness, brought on by thinking about what I have lost, to happy memories of great times together. And of course life must go on and there have been moments of great joy amongst the dulling numbness of having to cope with life without you.

Today we again celebrated your passing with a drinks party at home followed by another visit to the Lighthouse Cinema to see the film Son of Rambow

You would have appreciated its charms (for my review go to www.lighthousefilmclub.blog.com) The boys certainly did and its story of two young boys shooting a remake of Rambo is something that will inspire them.  You would be impressed to know that they already show a bent towards film and I am of a mind to buy them a digital camcorder.  The next Coen brothers ?   Who knows, they have to start somewhere.

Love

Mark

xx

Dear P

Well Little One, the boys and I have survived our first year. I had told you we would, but it broke my heart when we talked about it.

You would have enjoyed this evening. All your close friends from Wolverhampton turned out for a drinks gathering at home ahead of an evening at the Lighthouse Cinema where we went to see the Chinese melodrama "The Curse of the Golden Flower".

As a film to introduce folk to the charms of arthouse cinema it was not the greatest example, but the sets and fight scenes were well worth the cost of the entrance fee. 

What a great way to celebrate your memory. 

I still think about you every day.

Much love

Mark

x

In 1979 as a First Year Student at Hull University in the UK, I started a day to day diary. 28 years later I am still writing this diary.  During all these years it has remained private which meant that the decision to publish the Sixteen Days that make up this blog, was taken after a long period of soul searching.

What happened to change things ?

On 1st May 2006 I suffered the tragic loss of my wife Catherine. She was just 44 and had been fighting breast cancer for four years.  Although terribly sad I also had to recognise that we were incredibly lucky.  We had two super lads and had enjoyed a marvellous marriage. Catherine was someone with whom I truly clicked and the strength of our relationship only added to the sense of irony at our enforced separation, surrounded as we were by people who had split up, were in the process of splitting up or were simply enduring stifling unions.

Why should I share these Sixteen Days ?

I am aware of the disquiet about the current trend to "share one's suffering" when one should "endure in silence" and part of me agrees with this notion. That is why the blog is limited to an account of the Sixteen Days that elapsed from Catherine's death to her funeral. I am also aware, however, that it takes only a short period of time for memories to fade.  

The first aim of the blog therefore is to ensure that Catherine's memory lives on. She was a talented woman, not just as an artist (by which she earned her living) but also as a pianist and song writer. In 1991 she was elected as a member of the Royal Institute of Painters in Watercolour (RI), the UKs foremost watercolour society. Despite its rather passe reputation watercolour is a difficult medium to master and Catherine's vibrant works bear testimony to that. She was prolific, completing over 900 paintings mainly of buildings in the UK, France, Italy, Spain, Malta, Ireland, The USA and Israel.  The vast majority of these works were sold to private collectors.  Her talent was recognised in August 2006 when The Independent, a UK National Daily, honoured her with an Obituary. You can read a transcript of that obituary at : www.catherinebrennand.co.uk

The second aim of the blog is to try to ensure that some good can come from Catherine's premature death. To that end I have a long term aim to establish a Charitable Trust, in her name, which will raise funds for three organisations dear to her heart:

1) The Deanesly Centre Trust, New Cross Hospital, Wolverhampton, where she received most of her cancer treatment  

2) The Artists General Benevolent Institute (AGBI) which was founded by JMW Turner to provide funds for artists who had fallen on hard times and still operates on that premise

3) A cancer charity (choice to rotate annually)

Please take time to read what I have written.  We are now nearly a year on from these events and are coping well.

If you have any comments about this blog then please post them and many thanks for visiting.

Mark Brennand

Dear P

I had been dreading this day since we discussed your funeral with Bill Boyd ten days ago. Now that it is over, and I have survived, cathartic is the most apt way to describe its impact. That your mum, dad and I spoke with such apparent composure (when we were anything but) leaves me thinking that we did you proud. For the first time in two weeks I am in a state of tainted joy.

It was not so this morning.  Wracked by fear ahead of the arrival of your courtege, I tried anything that would take my mind off things. Giving lifts, making small talk, mowing the lawn or simply staring vacantly at the bedroom ceiling.

And before I knew it you had arrived. Black tie on, jacket on, flies checked, alarm on, front door locked and out. Out into the Avenue where family units of neighbour looked on. I could feel their sympathetic eyes staring at me. I am the centre of attention, the grieving husband. It is a miserable feeling and it intensifies as we drive up to Bushbury Crematorium.  Here there are hundreds and the sight of so many folk instills real doubt that I can carry things off.  These feelings are not helped by an anguished wait,before you are taken into the chapel. 

We follow and then shoehorn ourselves, somewhat inelegantly, into the front pew.  Either side it's standing room only. Bill was right. The place is packed which is wonderful and dreadful in equal measure. He walks to the pulpit, waits for calm and then begins.

The time races and before I know it, we are through the first hymn. We all sit, bar your mum, who makes her way to the pulpit to read from First Corinthians vs 1 - 13   ".... but if I am without love I am a sounding gong or a clanging cymbal".  She is incredible, seemingly so calm and word perfect.

No sooner has she finished than it's me. I know folk are with me but it's still very hard. Every time I have practised my address, I have broken down.  I walk to the pulpit, take a deep breath and say "Good afternoon". Mercifully I am in control. There are moments when I feel as if I am losing it, but they pass and before I know it I'm reading the final sentence (go to www.catherinebrennand.co.uk and click on funeral service for my address).  And then it's over. The sense of relief is indescribable.  There is not a sound as I make my way back to the pew. I place my head in my hands and just weep.

Another hymn; "Love Divine All Love Excelling", before your dad gives his moving tribute, again with such apparent calm. A final hymn, and then the commital and redemption. At previous funerals I have dreaded the moment when the coffin disappears but they've changed the configuration and it is a relief to experience something which is not too harrowing.  As your coffin is enclosed I say goodbye, and just weep. 

And then we are being ushered outside, into blessed sunshine.  Within minutes we are being hugged and kissed by a never ending procession of mourners. The experience is incredible and a couple of days later I write these words:

The fifteen minutes that we spent in the grounds of the crematorium, after the funeral, provided a high that I have never before, nor am likely ever again, to experience. I am not sure what we did today but the way folk reacted to how John, Jill and I conducted ourselves was incredible.  It was as if we had touched them in a way they had not been touched before. Warmth, respect and admiration were all evident in their words, handshakes and hugs. However dreadful I had felt in the run up to the funeral, however fearful, all those thoughts and emotions could now be, temporarily at least, laid to rest.

Lest I get carried away, I am only too aware that this inner glow will soon pass as people return to their lives and I begin the struggle of raising two young boys on my own. But I need something to hang onto, something to cherish that will help me cope duing the dark months ahead.  The warmth and respect that emanated during those fifteen minutes will be my crutch. Above all else I know that I did the right thing for Catherine. To have no regrets at our parting is a wonderful feeling.

With all my love

M xxx

Dear P

We are on the cusp of your funeral and relatives from afar have begun to arrive.  Your cousin's Juliet and Caroline from France, your mum's parents from Lincolnshire, Tim & Shirley from York and Pamela and Keith from Kent. We are all trying to maintain a brave face but it's a sober gathering.  Nobody can comprehend the finality of what has happened. We are all in shock even though we've known that you have been living with this terrible disease for four years. That sense of shock is just further evidence of just how successful you were in preserving an aura of normality, during a time which was anything but normal. What an astounding feat.  

I took the boys to St Michael's Church in the evening to meet with Bill Boyd so that they can say a personal goodbye. He conducted a moving service in which we light a candle for you and say our farewell prayers. They both cry, for the first time in a forthnight. I'm relieved that at last they are able to shed some emotion. 

In the evening I practise my eulogy for the umpteenth time, and for the umpteenth time I start sobbing before I get to the end.  This is not good.  I have decided to give Bill a copy of what I will say, so that if I do break down during the funeral I can hand over to him. For your sake however, I'm determined that it will not happen.

And so to my lonely bed. It sounds terrible but there have been a number of occasions during the last three years when I have thought about your funeral. And now were are all but here.  

Love

M

Dear P

Around midnight I needed a spoonful of Night Nurse to get me to sleep. Thankfully it did the trick which was just as well, since I had arranged to play golf at 8.00am.  When my car wouldn't start there ensued a mad round of telephone calls which eventually tracked down Ossie, who subsequently came to collect me.  I'm lucky that I live so close to the course.  Maintaining my weekly game of golf is one of the routines which will help me in the weeks and months ahead. Not just the enjoyment of playing but the banter in the bar afterwards. It will be my therapy. 

Played poorly but at least it was a lovely day.

Gratitude list:

• The boys are remarkable; very little distress and just wrapped up in living for the day. Not having to shore them up emotionally is a big plus
• The ongoing help of family and friends in an atmosphere of mutual support 

Love

M

Dear P

Felt tired for most of the day on account of another poor nights sleep.

Just aswell that I didn't do anything strenuous but instead listened to Test Match Special on the radio and then watched the FA Cup final. A pulsating game between Liverpool and West Ham United, which finished 3-3 and was settled on penalties. The scousers won.

Mum treated me to a meal out at Bella's in the evening with Denham and Anne. I think the last time I was there was with you.   It was good to talk to Anne, who lost her husband over 20 years ago, when at a similar age to me. She gave me some sage advice.

Love

M

Dear P

Knowing how you liked a bit a retail therapy, I took a leaf out of your book today by booking a holiday at a smart hotel near Porto Vecchio in Corsica. It will either be a relaxing and uplifting time, or a complete disaster. Our three holidays to Corsica were all tremendous. So do you think I'm making a mistake by returning to a place which holds such  happy memories ?  Who knows. Anyway, it's too late now because I have booked the thing.   

Admin today.  Collected the inserts to the order of service, which look excellent, before I went to watch Jack play football for the school team against Bhylls Acre. A 7-1 win, with J performing well. Life goes on.

We indulge ourselves again in the evening by ordering fish and chips. It's a rare occurence and thus a real treat. 

Love

M

Dear P

I went through some of your belongings today and came across all the drugs you have been taking. The volume and variety terrifies me.  You poor, poor girl. I fill a large shoe box and have decided to keep them safe so that I can show them to the boys when they are old enough. I want them to gain a sense of what you endured to keep yourself alive. 

Your mum has been a tremendous help in keeping the house ticking over whilst I go to work and basically look after myself. The three of us work well together and in the circumstances are coping remarkably.

In the afternoon I had the novel experience of going to the hairdressers for the first time in five years. You had always been our stylist, usually on a Sunday night as part of a conveyor belt that included the boys. It's these little things that trip me up. If I was ever working in the loft when you returned from a visit to town, within seconds you would telephone  from below and ask, "Cup of tea ?".  Never again.

Yet more beautiful letters of condolence each with a glowing tribute. They are at the once uplifting and terribly sad.

Love

M