An ordinary day

Today is an ordinary day. I am going to work shortly, the last day of my block of six days. I have the next three days off, and then it starts all over again. I like shift work mainly because of the days off!! There are three early starts and three afternoon starts. The earlies are very early ranging from 0400 to 0630. I hate the actual getting up early but I love having the afternoons at home, so that is the pay off.

It is also an extraordinary day as is each day of my life. I have just finished looking at the proposals for a permanent memorial for those murdered in the 7/7 London bombings.
The site will be one of three options in Hyde Park.

Two and a half years after my darling Shelley was murdered in London, there are still “official” decisions to be made. I know when I receive a foolscap white envelope in the mail, with a franked postage paid from London, that it will be one of those types of letters. Sometimes I think about not opening them, but I an always compelled to open them. Maybe only delaying long enough to get a drink and a cigarette to accompany the reading of the contents. There is always a gut reaction, a sinking feeling, a wanting to know what is in it and a not wanting to know at the same time. It might be information about the inquest, the trial or the memorial. Something that I read, consider and respond too. Something, that I have to think about. Something, that draws me into the reality of Shelley’s death.

They appear, unexpected, not uninvited because I have indicated I want to know everything there is to know, but the unexpectedness sometimes takes my breath away.
On my birthday in June, I received two pieces of mail. One was a birthday card. One was from the Coroner stating that they were going to issue final Death Certificates before the inquest, which has been deferred indefinitely, until the end of the upcoming trial. An Interim Death Certificate was issued at the time of Shelley’s death so that we could bring her home to NZ.

It is a strange place to be in on your birthday, sitting with two so very different pieces of information in your hand, in your heart. Seeing in your mind’s eye, fragments of the multiple journeys made to and from London, snippets of my child’s life from any time in her life, when she was born, so tiny and fragile, her graduation, her homecoming. Two parallel realities playing at the same time. It would be strange on any day but birthdays are the day in our family, more important than Christmas or any other officially noted date. Apart from death dates that is.

There is a rationale that runs through my head as I start to open the envelope. Nothing can be worse than what I already know. I have read the Coroner’s report which came in a sealed envelope, within an envelope in case I didn’t want to read it - yet. Nothing can be worse than the daily knowledge that Shelley is dead. I am therefore able to open the envelope and deal with what it contains.

The memorial will be something beautiful to honour all our loved ones. I am pleased about this. I wish there was no need for a memorial.


Arohanui
KG