Things Worth Saying

Just read a really good piece in Saturday's Telegraph magazine about how to deal with grief. The most poignant part was the author talking about visiting a male friend in hospital who was, well there's no other way to put this, dying. On her first visit to see him she blathered on about the usual stuff, wanting to protect herself by not saying anything meaningful to her friend, as she might get upset. 'I'm making polite conversation, small talk. Just imagine, how lonely for him'.

Then she realised it wasn't what she actually wanted to say, nor a moment that should be about her feelings, nor what the friend probably wanted to hear. She writes 'Be brave. Be available. Be there. Say what you need to say. I went to see my friend, perched on his bed and told him I loved him. A small, quiet moment, from which I will draw comfort for the rest of my life'.

I've thought many times, and now again today, on reading this, about the last time I spoke to my lovely old uncle Jan, Mum's older brother, over the phone at his care home in Holland.

It's one of the all too few times in my life that I've 'got something right' and reading this article reminded me that sometimes difficult things do need to be said.

I knew it was probably the last time I'd speak to this kind old man, who I liked to make chuckle with my – usually entirely inane – stories of a 30 something's life in Éngland. The Dutch nation and the Scott family are not known for hugging, emotional honesty or 'touchy-feely' stuff, so our calls were normally factual and covered the usual bases of family, friends and daily life, all safe, predictable territory.

But I knew this was probably the final phone call. And as I was chatting away, filling the call with my usual dross, I was trying to work out whether it was better to say the thing in my head or not.

If I said it, it was absolutely acknowledging that this was the last phone call. And therefore, was effectively saying that I knew he was about to die. I didn't want to upset him by bringing up the elephant in the corner by doing this.

If I didn't say it though, I'd have lost my chance to tell him something that I'd never even come close to saying in all these years of family visits to Clogland, lunches in and near the care home, cups of tea in his little room, packed with a lifetime' worth of historical artefacts, carefully-kept postcards that we'd sent him and books on great world leaders.

So I told him that I had really loved having him as my uncle.

And we both paused, and had a moment together. Which is something that again, didn't tend to happen, as I usually steam rollered him along with my one-way 'fill the call for 20 minutes, then its job done for another month' kind of busy-niece chat.

And I'm still so glad I said it. It made it all about him, which I don't think happened to him a lot in his many years as a self-contained lifelong bachelor. And it's still something I feel good about, that rare chance to 'get something right'. Good words, for a sweet old man who deserved quite a lot more. 

Cheers, Oom Jan x