Finding faith before the untimely call of death

Not long before Mum died, she suddenly found faith and decided to become a Christian. The timing was curious and I’ve often wondered if her subconscious mind or spirit knew she was going to suddenly die soon. Or if there was something miraculous at work and she was called away. Or if it was just one of life’s (and death’s) coincidences. I often wonder... was it untimely, or timely? 

What I have to say on the topic of spirituality in no way advocates any one faith, nor faith full stop. We’re all on our own journeys, and they’re ours alone to have if and when we’re ready. At its most basic, my understanding of faith is that it's about developing self-realisation; who you really are, and how that fits in with all this other stuff, both tangible and intangible. It’s about being trusting and being open, and what can happen when you are. It's a relationship with yourself and something much bigger than you. 

Whilst I am not bound to any one religion myself, I would call myself ‘pretty spiritual’. Most of my willingness to be open comes in the form of profound dreams, which I have had my whole life but seem to have ramped up of late, changing my life for the better. At the time, I was surprised when she became a Christian, but was immensely proud of her for recognising what was right for her, and for the comfort she found in God; in the last leg of her life, in the last moments; and beyond this body’s life. 

Twelve Octobers ago, she stepped into a pool of water at the church she’d started attending and went and got herself baptised. Throughout the 57 years of her life, until that last year and a bit, she had flip-flopped between agnostic and spiritual. She believed there was something more to life and death than ‘this’ that we experience here in the time and space we know as human beings. But she didn’t really know what. We’d both dabbled with elements of Buddhism, Hinduism, Paganism and ‘universe and energy stuff’, but she was most definitely was not a Christian. She’d never liked the idea of organised religion and we often spoke long into the night about how much irreparable damage has been inflicted on the Earth and its inhabitants due to differing religious beliefs.  

Yet something called out to her, and then a few months after getting baptised she was dead. No warning – this wasn’t a death that any of us knew was around the corner. She suddenly caught lobar pneumonia, and it killed her in the space of a day at home. Here one day, gone the next. She even wrote in a new diary, that she’d started just two days before, about how strong and clear-headed she was feeling. She was suddenly calm, happy and had hope. I believe that something in her knew – or something told her – a change was coming. She just didn’t know what.  

Her three-sentence diary entry had the most beautiful phrase in it that I had engraved on her woodland burial plaque: Past ends, present begins.  

The irony was unreal, but something in it gave me comfort. I hated the bitter irony of her feeling that positive then a further thirty years of life being ripped away from her in the next breath. But the beauty irony in it was also undeniable. I'm currently marching ahead on my own burgeoning spiritual journey following a couple of trips to India in this past year (also called by some intangible synchronicities). I’m consoled by the musing on where her soul might be right now. And for the first time in my life I really trust the process, however crappy it can be along the way. 

Deciding on what kind of funeral to put on for the lady who had previously told me she wanted a humanist woodland burial, but who had then pledged her soul to Christianity in the last minute, was not easy. As her only close family, it was me making all the decisions; there was no-one else that could do that with or for me. I wanted to get it right, and wanted to be true to all versions of my mum. I stuck with the woodland burial, and arranged a non-denominational service with space for her new vicar to do his bit alongside me. Something happened that day that Mum would have been absolutely wetting herself with laughter over. I nearly did, and I’m forever grateful for that ridiculous moment. I have never laughed so much as with that woman, we were so silly.

I chose 'Amazing Grace' as a hymn for everyone to sing, as a nod to Mum’s new religious beliefs. I didn't provide lyrics for people to follow (‘God knows why’) and the vicar warned me that I’d need a pianist to play the music, so people could at least take some cue from that when singing along. I couldn’t afford the extra (I was already massively in debt from the funeral essentials) so said, ‘Oh don’t worry, it’ll be alright’. 

My word, it was not alright.

The poor ole vicar tried his best to help us but it was an absolute wreck. None of us knew what we were doing and it sounded like 70 discordant cats in an alley. I literally could not stop laughing, even when the song had ‘finished’. I’m laughing even now as I type. I was worried about people thinking I was either callous for laughing at my mum’s funeral, or that I’d lost control due to my grief. But that just made me laugh even more. All you could see were my shoulders shaking uncontrollably on my pew at the front. My word, my face hurt. 

So, yeah... I’ve been meaning to do something with the topic of Mum’s (un?)timely death in the wake of her finding faith, as her baptism anniversary pops up on my calendar every year, but I was never sure why I had decided to mark it all this time. Now I have – there you go, Mum. Perhaps I needed to wait until now to understand it – everything in its right time and all that. Perhaps like Mum, I didn’t go looking for spirituality or faith, it came knocking at my door. It’s funny how one thing leads to another, which leads to a person and then to another, and before you know it everything starts falling into place. I was profoundly ill last year and I’m now so grateful for it, otherwise I wouldn’t have randomly gone to India and become the person I am today. I ended up back in India on a free Raja Yoga retreat a couple of months ago and now suddenly I'm talking to people that have got me writing again. Who knows, this book may get published yet!

Here’s to being open, deep and silly, and for all the beautiful souls we meet along the way.