Requiem for a Sister

 

July 28th 1940, with Mum.
Our birthdays: 1,5,7.

My lovely sister, Heather, died on Monday morning [Sept.5th] and while we have known for ages that she wasn’t very well with heart and cancer problems, and was slowly deteriorating in her physical health, it was nonetheless, unexpected and heart-rending. She and I had Face-timed on Sunday as she sat in her daughter's lovely garden, when she felt really, really unwell but still had a conversation about a number of things, as usual, and indeed, when I heard today’s news, I had been about to ring her again. In spite of all, news of her death was a shock.

Communal hair curled; probably for our birthdays
Heather was probably 5.

It is unsurprising that a death cuts short a relationship; ours had lasted for over 80 years, and as the oldest sister, I had always felt protective about both my younger sisters but Heather and I had developed a strong and lasting friendship since she had been about one or two!! Over the years, with separate lives unfolding, we remained close confidantes and friends. When I was poor, as a young mother, she used to give me her cast-offs, always gratefully received. My first husband and I had bought a somewhat derelict old hall in Derbyshire, much in need of restoration, and Heather often helped me with the enormous amount of curtain-making etc which was necessary in a huge old place with fairly poverty-stricken owners! She and her family spent frequent weekends with us so that our families, too, grew up together closely.

Unbelievably, Heather at 15.

Before I married, I used to send her to meet the current beau in my place when I wasn’t quite ready to go myself. After I married, she used to spend most of her free time at our house until, in fact, she married and moved away and we carried on our friendship at a greater geographical distance. Wherever we lived, we always remained psychologically close and open with each other, almost dependent, in our frequent chats, on each other’s good will and approval.

Heather was a brilliant needlewoman and dress-maker, in particular, she excelled in making collages and patchwork. She had a particular feel for the aesthetics of a garment, house, a person, a garden. Her sensitivity to aesthetics always resulted in elegance and discrimination in her taste and choices for her home, her children and her appearance. Throughout her life, she was centrally involved with plants and flowers and as a young woman, could always have been described in the French manner as “une jeune fille en fleur”. She had inherited our mother’s ‘green fingers’ and created a number of stunning gardens and as her botanical knowledge and experience grew, so her gardens became more creative and aesthetically appealing. Perhaps her last garden, created out of a virtual wilderness, was her most impressive achievement and one which she could not bear to leave eventually. She was the ‘go to’ person in our family and friends for gardening/plant advice and her wonderful flower arrangements graced so many occasions; family weddings, christenings, parties, birthdays, house warmings. In fact, looking back, we can see that she was always ‘en fleur’.

Heather at the Beguinage, 2017.
She often visited Bruges which she loved.

I seem to have omitted mention of her qualities apart from the creative. She was warm, kind, funny and generous. There was always a regret there, not spoken, that she could have achieved more with a better education. Had she come from a different family, she might well have gone on to study a design course, perhaps, which would have led to other outcomes. In fact, she became educated through her life’s experiences in her marriage to Michael who climbed the heights in his professional career in which she was greatly involved, but also through her own strong artistic inclinations.

Heather and I playing Mah Jong on the terrace.

It seems a little melodramatic to say so, but life for me, without Heather will be existentially lonely and much less rich. Quite simply, she has always been there from the baby who had always to sit near me at meals, to the young woman who went in my place to meet my latest beau, to the confidante I Face-timed several times a week from Bruges over the last six years. We could, and did, say anything to each other. Losing her is a grief that cannot be easily spoken.

Heather's 80th birthday party, she clad in white, with her children 
and me with two of mine.

Not at all sure when or where this photo was taken.
Perhaps 2004? Heather on the left.