Not all of us, God willing, will be called on to demonstrate the huge acts of bravery that the Ukrainian people are currently having to display. Most of us live quietly, doing our best to not harm or hinder others in their wish to live as they do. Perhaps it is age, or perhaps in my recent slowing down I’ve begun to pay more attention, but I notice the small acts of bravery that are playing out around me. The ones I speak of are shown by women, predominantly aged and ill women. One in particular has lost so much. Yes, she has financial security and the retirement (or should I say care) home she now lives in is a good one, at least it is clean and they seem kind, but she has still lost her husband, her home, her independence and her mobility. And yet, she never complains, she jokes and laughs and makes the most of what she can still do – such as sit in the sun, read Jane Austen and watch Escape to the Country on TV. Her fortitude is breath-taking, God grant me the same grace to bear what life has in store for me, not least the loss of him. And there is another, though in a very different situation. She is still in hospital (I believe as she has not answered her phone for a while) with Covid-19 and has been since before Christmas. What sense does she make of her life now? It is all on hold, small though it is. She has a daughter, a granddaughter, a cat with umpteen kittens (she is always having them being semi-feral), a neighbour’s dog she used to walk, and a place in a tiny hamlet where she is known and has been most of her life. Does she remember the fields, the smell of the nearby farm, her vegetable garden, her chickens, her cockerel who runs to greet her daughter when she returns from work? What does she dream of in that ward? Hers is less a case of fortitude and more one of endurance. She is enduring. And I wish her strength and support when she is finally set free for it will be frightening.
And me? I am stiff and hip-sore. And tired. Can one ever sleep it away?
