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Well, so far 2021 is completely failing in its role as a year that sucks less than 2020.
Of your charity, please pray for the repose of the soul of Ramona Adams.
I knew Ramona for about six or seven years, since I started worshiping at St John's, but we became considerably closer in the last two or three. It was not the most obvious friendship. On the face of it we had little in common except for our shared faith, very different lives and experiences, and very different ways of thinking. But that was part of what made the friendship so rich. I remember her nervous pride the first time she served at the altar, and the way that adjusting the ceremonial to make it accessible for someone who uses mobility aids enriched my understanding of the liturgy. I remember how much she enjoyed being part of St John's Singers, and the way her confidence singing was beginning to blossom. I remember her mischievous sense of humour, and the palpable joy in connecting to other people that underpinned it.
Early this morning I called Mthr Alice, because I'd been trying unsuccessfully to get hold of Ramona for a couple of days. She went round to her flat and got no answer, and then after a second attempt around midday called the police. At this point I set off walking over and arrived a few minutes after the police did, and found Mthr Alice in the entrance lobby of the building along with several police. There was a lot of faff about PPE and whether they should wait for an ambulance to arrive, but it seemed to be taking for ever, and eventually they broke the lock and went in. After a couple of minutes one of the officers (I think perhaps the most senior) went out and made a phone call, and all but two of the remaining police were told to wait in the hallway. At this point I think I knew, because there was no attempt to hurry the ambulance, but it was about another 20 minutes or so before the senior officer came and said she was sorry, and did we know who was the next of kin. (We didn't. We don't think she has any living family in the UK. To some extent, I think St John's was her family.)
More faff followed, with quite a lot of questions that we weren't able to answer, as well as some that we could. (We knew that her date of birth was the 13th January, because she'd been talking excitedly about her birthday, even though she'd barely be able to celebrate it, but neither of us knew the year.) We gave statements in the police car, which I wasn't entirely thrilled about - being in an enclosed space for probably about an hour with three people whose jobs involve contact with a lot of people, one of whom wasn't masked, is not my idea of a low risk activity. And they said they'd be in touch to let us know whether they'd found any next of kin, and let us know what we could do about funeral arrangements if not.
I am feeling a bit flat, but otherwise okay, which is how I usually feel in the immediate aftermath of bad news. I am feeling a bit guilty for not feeling more sad. I am intellectually aware that it probably wouldn't have made any difference if I'd called the vicar or gone round myself on the first day that Ramona didn't answer my calls rather than the third, and that even if it would have made a difference it wasn't neglectful of me not to have done so. But I do find myself making this observation to everyone I speak to, so there is clearly a part of me seeking reassurance.
Of your charity, please pray for the repose of the soul of Ramona Adams.
I knew Ramona for about six or seven years, since I started worshiping at St John's, but we became considerably closer in the last two or three. It was not the most obvious friendship. On the face of it we had little in common except for our shared faith, very different lives and experiences, and very different ways of thinking. But that was part of what made the friendship so rich. I remember her nervous pride the first time she served at the altar, and the way that adjusting the ceremonial to make it accessible for someone who uses mobility aids enriched my understanding of the liturgy. I remember how much she enjoyed being part of St John's Singers, and the way her confidence singing was beginning to blossom. I remember her mischievous sense of humour, and the palpable joy in connecting to other people that underpinned it.
Early this morning I called Mthr Alice, because I'd been trying unsuccessfully to get hold of Ramona for a couple of days. She went round to her flat and got no answer, and then after a second attempt around midday called the police. At this point I set off walking over and arrived a few minutes after the police did, and found Mthr Alice in the entrance lobby of the building along with several police. There was a lot of faff about PPE and whether they should wait for an ambulance to arrive, but it seemed to be taking for ever, and eventually they broke the lock and went in. After a couple of minutes one of the officers (I think perhaps the most senior) went out and made a phone call, and all but two of the remaining police were told to wait in the hallway. At this point I think I knew, because there was no attempt to hurry the ambulance, but it was about another 20 minutes or so before the senior officer came and said she was sorry, and did we know who was the next of kin. (We didn't. We don't think she has any living family in the UK. To some extent, I think St John's was her family.)
More faff followed, with quite a lot of questions that we weren't able to answer, as well as some that we could. (We knew that her date of birth was the 13th January, because she'd been talking excitedly about her birthday, even though she'd barely be able to celebrate it, but neither of us knew the year.) We gave statements in the police car, which I wasn't entirely thrilled about - being in an enclosed space for probably about an hour with three people whose jobs involve contact with a lot of people, one of whom wasn't masked, is not my idea of a low risk activity. And they said they'd be in touch to let us know whether they'd found any next of kin, and let us know what we could do about funeral arrangements if not.
I am feeling a bit flat, but otherwise okay, which is how I usually feel in the immediate aftermath of bad news. I am feeling a bit guilty for not feeling more sad. I am intellectually aware that it probably wouldn't have made any difference if I'd called the vicar or gone round myself on the first day that Ramona didn't answer my calls rather than the third, and that even if it would have made a difference it wasn't neglectful of me not to have done so. But I do find myself making this observation to everyone I speak to, so there is clearly a part of me seeking reassurance.
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Date: 2021-01-10 09:12 pm (UTC)From:The feelings will come when it's time for them.
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Date: 2021-01-11 12:42 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2021-01-10 11:47 pm (UTC)From:Being in coping (and assurance seeking) mode after such a strange and shocking experience seems pretty normal - feelings will come in time.
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Date: 2021-01-11 10:23 am (UTC)From:May she rest in peace and rise in glory.
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Date: 2021-01-11 12:50 pm (UTC)From:Thank you. *hug* I will try not to feel guilty; emotions are hard.
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Date: 2021-01-11 02:52 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2021-01-11 08:23 pm (UTC)From:Thinking of you and others who cared for Ramona, may you have space and support to grieve and remember as you need.
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Date: 2021-01-11 08:51 pm (UTC)From:May she rest in peace and rise in glory.
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