Only a Year
One year ago – a ringing voice,
A clear blue eye,
And clustering curls of sunny hair,
Too fair to die.
Only a year – no voice, no smile,
No glance of eye,
No clustering curls of silver hair,
Fair but to die!
One year ago – what loves, what schemes
Far into life!
What joyous hopes, what high resolves,
What generous strife!
The silent picture on the wall,
The burial stone, -
Of all that beauty, life, and joy,
Remain alone!
One year – one year – one little year,
And so much gone!
And yet even flow of life
Moves calmly on.
The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair,
Above that head;
No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray
Says: "he is dead".
No pause or hush of merry birds
That sing above,
Tell us how coldly sleeps below
The form we love.
Where hast thou been this year, belovéd?
What hast thou seen?
What visions fair, what glorious life?
Where hast thou been?
The veil, the veil! so thin, so strong,
‘Twixt us and thee;
The mystic veil! when shall it fall,
That we may see!
Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone;
But present still.
And waiting for the coming hour
Of God’s sweet will.
Lord of the living and the dead,
Our saviour dear,
We lay in silence at thy feet
This sad, sad year.
Mrs H.B. Stowe
To all our friends, thank you.
Thank you for your love of our dear DR and for your care of me over these past twelve months – who can believe that a whole year has passed already? Who can believe that the shocking departure of one so full of life and with so much yet to give was not just yesterday? Time is a funny thing and as I know, many of you will relate both in losing DR and in losing your own dear and beloved soul mates, that there is a different pace of time which follows the loss of someone so significant, be it partner or parent, child or friend. It is all at once whizzing past and yet also standing still. Irrelevant and yet so meaningful. It has often been said that “time is a healer” and yes, I suppose, in some respects it is but not in the way one expects – time does nothing to mend the broken heart or the life ripped to shreds but it does bring with it a sense of numbness through the familiarity that seeps in to replace the shock. It creeps in slowly and inevitably and steals away the proximity of the passing which envelops one in the aftermath and leaves instead a vacuumous space which initially nothing can fill but into which memories and recollections begin to give form to the shadows and light to the darkness.
I am grateful that over our 23 years we had made so many memories in lives which, although complicated to say the least, were extraordinarily full. Lives full of incredible travels and events and myriad people from all walks of life, from all parts of the world who honoured us with their stories and some who shared their happiest times and others their most sad, momentous occasions in their lives or less so. A splendid kaleidoscope of the very best of humanity, often facing such difficulties and connecting in a World so divided and so fractious. But aside from this, as I look back, the times I miss the most are the most ordinary – they are the times spent alone together driving thousands of miles through the States visiting different communities or the times spent sitting in our garden with you all surrounded by our multi-creatured family; the times spent talking to pilgrims at Casa Anglicana or just time spent relaxing on a sofa, usually my head on DR’s lap, as we read something together or did the Times jumbo crossword. It has been an amazing shared journey and one for which I am so thankful to DR and to so many of you for sharing and being a piece of that too. I am grateful that when that journey was unknowingly coming to a close, we were in a part of the world we knew so well and loved so much, surrounded by so many friends – many of whom we had been able to see and spend time with, our last days being with Fr Peter, Elizabeth and John at lovely St Mark’s, New Canaan, bathed in sunlight under brilliant blue skies and surrounded by the height of the Autumnal colours which DR had said felt like Heaven – it really was the most spectacular Fall! And when the journey came to an end it did so whilst we were staying at the beautiful Berkeley Divinity School at Yale with our dear friends Felicity and Andrew McGowan who, together with Fr Stephen Holton, were just incredible on that horrible night and in the difficult days and weeks that followed. I was so fortunate to be surrounded by their love, that of the amazing community of Yale and so many of our friends and of course my family and Christoph and Martin for whom I am so thankful and who have helped me get through this awful year, along with the support of so many of you.
As many of you will recall, DR and I had a habit of lighting a candle and placing it in a window of the Deanery to remember those we had lost who were made known to us during Covid. I will be lighting a flame this evening in memory of our dear Dean Robert and would be very touched if you would care to do likewise as he looks down over us - no doubt with Monkey and Tiger by his side and surrounded by perpetual sunlight and the radiant colours of Heaven.
My love and very best wishes to you all, and thanks for your loving messages of encouragement,
Fletcher x
