By June, we were in the middle of a heatwave the kind of heat you couldn’t escape. The kind that sits on you and doesn’t move. It had been an unusually hot spring.
I remember the house being unbearably hot, especially upstairs. Even with the fans on and wearing the lightest clothes we couldnt manage, the temperature inside just kept rising. Peter often slept downstairs in the summer to escape his small, stuffy room, so it didn’t surprise me to hear everyone huffing and puffing especially Jane, who was more sensitive to the heat because of the medication she took to manage her condition.
That was the only good thing about sleeping on the sofa. I’ve always been someone who feels the cold more than the heat, so part of me enjoyed it but even I found it hard to go about daily life. As kids, Jane used to climb into my bed to warm it up for me because I dreaded cold sheets. I would be wrapped in layers, and Jane would be sleeping in her knickers. It still makes me smile.
It wasn’t just uncomfortable. It felt genuinely unsafe at times, and the warnings on the news reflected that. I found myself constantly reminding everyone to drink water and take care. Jane even brought back her paddling pool something she often set up in the summer so the kids could cool down. Corey and Jane had so many memories of dipping in it or having water fights in past summers. She was so excited that she could do this for them, and couldn't wait until they could all enjoy this together.. I suggested she get some padding from B&Q to put underneath as the patio was the flattest area. Although she would normally do it and worry about it later, she agreed and arranged to go with my mum when she was free to give her a lift.
When I left for work each morning, it was already reaching 30 degrees. And still, Jane and the kids were going out during the day, often right at the hottest times. Jane couldn’t drive because of her health, so walking and buses were her only option. They’d walk to the bus stop, get the bus into town, meet up with Lou after work, and do what they needed to do trying to move through the heat rather than sit trapped in it. Jane and the kids walked half a mile uphill just to get to the bus stop, and then walked it again later on the way back. A couple of miles a day in that heat, when she hadn’t been doing much physical activity for a long time. She’d spent years mostly housebound, and then years more learning how to pace herself and live within the limits of her condition although she remained mainly isolated trying to be well for special occasions and her weekends. I worried about her. When I’d say, “Slow down,” or “Are you sure you can manage this?” she’d smile and say, “Yes I’m with my kids.”
She’d huff and puff a bit, but the happiness was beaming off of her.
Sometimes she’d laugh and say, “Look at this dress look how loose it is now,” holding it away from her body so I could see. Or she’d joke and show me her arms and legs and say, “Look how firm I’m getting from all that walking!”
I knew it wasn’t really about how she looked. It was about how she felt. About being able to move again. About feeling capable. About feeling alive.
I can’t quite put into words how it made me feel, but it felt like a dream.
Once a week she would go and help clean at my grandparents’ house, and she’d also do some cleaning for one of my cousins.My grandad was in his 90's now and his health had been declining over the past 6 months. Even in that heat, she kept turning up for other people. Those days meant long travel days I’d drop her at the bus station after we’d dropped Corey at school, and she wouldn’t get back until late teatime. Although she would still be beaming.
One particular week was especially busy. Jane was supporting Lou through some changes she wanted to make in her life. It wasn’t easy for Lou, and it wasn’t easy for Jane either but she wanted to be there. She wanted to listen. She wanted to walk alongside her daughter while she worked things out.
It brought up a lot for her from when she first became unwell, when she was trying to care for a toddler and a newborn at the same time. I could see how much she carried quietly.
That week, Jane told me she was no longer going to clean every week, because she wanted to spend her energy on the kids. It was so good to see because a few years ago she would have tried to do everything and ended up very unwell acheiving nothing.
My mum had also gone in for an operation that week, which meant she couldn’t collect Corey from school like she normally did. So we worked out a little system between us so Mum could rest and recover.
I’d pick Corey up from school, take him to the bus station, and Jane and Bailey would meet us there after getting their connecting bus. Then they’d all head home together.
One afternoon, after one of those drop-offs, I got a phone call to say they’d met Lou in town and that she’d sliced her elbow open on a tissue dispenser badly enough that they needed to go to A&E.
I remember saying, “Really? Can we all just not do anything for five minutes?” "It's fine sis"
But they were laughing about it. They told me they were getting the bus to A&E like it was just another adventure.
And somehow, they turned even that into something light.
They sat there together, joking about how ridiculous it was, making a story out of it instead of a crisis.
I picked them up after work later, all in surprisingly good spirits, and we all had a good laugh.
Even that became something shared.
Since Jane had moved back, Lou would come over to play games and spend time with us, and Jane would cook roast dinners so we could all eat together as a family. She cooked a mean roast.
I could see how much it meant to her how happy she was to be able to do that, to gather everyone together. She’d prep the food in the morning, then rest so she could pace herself.
We quietly carried one another through that week. It was stressful, tiring, happy, hot, chaotic, and strange. It had taken something out of all of us but we got through it together.
I remember Jane saying, “We’ve had a stressful week,” and I replied, “Have we?” I think I’d been dealing with so many stressful things over the years often things that weren’t even mine that I didn’t recognise it as stress anymore.
Over the last few years, in the face of uncertainty, my mum had started to lean into her faith. We hadn’t been brought up around the church, but she began saying to me and the kids, “Give it all to God. It’s not our job that’s His.”
At first I was taken aback, but knowing Mum had something that helped her through the hardest times was what mattered. It comforted her, and slowly we all began to do the same. That week, and especially when Mum was going into surgery, I found myself saying to Jane, “Give it to God it’s not for you to carry.”
When Peter died, I started to pray out loud every time we got into the car. I’d say a morning prayer too out loud for Jane and the kids, always including gratitude for each other and for what we still had. Sometimes the kids would say something other times they would just listened.
Amen 🙏