Poems to help with Death and Bereavement

And Only the Seagulls are Laughing

Norman Setchell

And Only the Seagulls Are Laughing...

Norman Setchell

Š Copyright Norman Setchell All rights reserved. No part of this publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author First published in 2010 by Milton Contact Ltd. A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978-0-9562649-4-7

Printed in the UK

Milton Contact Limited 3 Hall End Milton Cambridge Cb24 6AQ United Kingdom www. miltoncontact.co.uk

DEDICATION This small book of poems I dedicate to the memory of Simon Jesson, a highly talented and gifted man, who died too young from Cancer.

In the weeks leading up to his operation and later his death in the Pilgrim's Hospice, in Canterbury, Simon and I drew close in friendship, and he opened up his whole life, hopes and fears to me.

It was a great privilege to be his friend, confidant and Hospital Chaplain, and I received from Simon the vitally important teaching that many people have deep and passionate faith in Christ that may not be evident at first. But I learned that behind this creative and forceful personality in creative journalism and photography lay a deep affection for all the medical professionals working with him, and underlying that a strong Christian faith.

After Simon's funeral service at The Friary, Aylesford, I needed help to work through the effect his suffering and death had on me at the time, but remain confident that, in the fullness of time, the Risen Lord will welcome all in heaven who love Him and have quietly remained faithful followers.

NS.

CONTENTS Why I wrote this little book of Poems

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An Ash Wednesday

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Night Call to Maternity

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Taking the Anger

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And Only the Seagulls Are Laughing

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Out Loud...

Then, Out of the Graves Ran Children

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Laughing Watching A Life Restored

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Christ Joins Us For Prayers

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They Sang Her To Heaven From

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Mission Praise Emmaus Road: Two Chaplains Visit

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A Patient O Lamb Of God

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How The Poems Came To Be Written

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WHY I WROTE THIS LITTLE BOOK OF POEMS This book of poems has been written in an attempt to convey the feelings of those who work among the bereaved, who are undergoing the pain of personal grief and loss; but it is also about hope and the unexpected moments of joy.

So much is written about those who mourn as we all will do in our lifetime, one way or another, and in so many different situations. A loved one dies, either from a long drawn-out illness, or because of a tragedy when an individual seems snatched from our midst, and there is an empty hole where that life once was.

Not only adults, but in hospitals or nursing homes there are countless little ones whose eyes will not open to a life. The mother suffers pain and anguish, and in a very different way there is the grief of the father, and then the remainder of family and friends.

Those who are called to be Chaplains, or clergy in the role of visitor to the sick and dying, experience the feeling of necessary detachment whilst performing their professional duties.

Emotions well up, and pain from empathy with another human being is suppressed, either when sitting with the bereaved or conducting funeral services. At those times it is inappropriate to display emotion, or so I have found.

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However, such moments of raw exposure to suffering and death stay with the professional carer, and are indelibly printed in ones memory.

Names become forgotten, but the look on the faces of patients and close family members remain all life long, and into retirement.

Of course, these expressions of emotions are mine, and may not be universally experienced; and indeed, there are many occasions when laughter and joy are experienced, particularly when the death is release for the patient and a time of letting go and moving on for the carer.

There have been many occasions when laughter is experienced, such as the time when mourners by the graveside celebrated their late friend’s departure by saluting him with pints of lager , or read a poem that had the whole company assembled chuckling, or a well inebriated relative of the deceased falling into the grave.

Perhaps the one that caught me unawares was the time that I turned to say the opening prayers in the crematorium chapel and saw a stuffed wallaby that the family had stuck on the coffin was waving about madly, and the piper who was playing turned a dignified lament into a cacophony of discordant wails!

Deeper than laughter is the feeling of joy, and that I have felt when conducting in a marriage for a terminally ill patient in Hospital, and the singing and celebration that follows is such that it is almost impossible to describe.

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These lighter moments, and many more I have experienced, do not take away the dominant feeling of sadness and loss at the death of a loved one.

It has been a privilege to share in many acts of grief, numbness and often anger that many mourners express at any stage in the process of bereavement.

I believe that God is compassionate and merciful, and love for us all is everlasting.

However we each understand the divine mystery that is one day to be revealed, I believe that His purposes for us are good, and he is closest to us when we suffer grief and loss.

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AN ASH WEDNESDAY It has been a difficult morning I don't really want to be here...

"I am the Resurrection and the Life" I take my place at the 'head' of the grave.

Like a mantra revolving around my skull—”earth to earth” and I see the muddy soil pitted with chalk stacked around the open grave, too deep, with clods set back.

My right hand reaches to the heavens Where God watches, and weeps, I imagine; "ashes to ashes“ And the undertaker's men take the strain Like fishermen returning their catch, Pulling away support beams The coffin, with bouquet decorations descends; "dust to dust, .." I begin to say then, "In sure and certain hope...”

But, I pause momentarily, imperceptibly.

Who is this person with no mourners but Myself and the Funeral Director and men?

Rain slants into my face, spattering the words Covered sensibly by waterproof paper....

Slowly down, rocking gently to settle forever. "...of the Resurrection to Eternal Life...."

There! I've said it.

Another soul gone to be with God! "Well done, good and faithful servant" I feel compelled to announce to the men in black.

We are soaking wet, and we turn away; But there will be another one this afternoon.

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Mud clings to my shoes and I am taken back To memories of battlefield cemeteries, And remains of a soldier in the Falklands. "...Known only to God..."

Here, dear, sweet Lord is another soul unknown Except to you.

In Your mercy be gentle and forgiving To all the sins committed.

The rain has stopped as I drive slowly away.

Sunshine smiles through the weeping windscreen And it is easier to cope with the afternoon.

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NIGHT CALL TO MATERNITY Rudely awakened at three in the morning the mobile grates, and I pick up the 'phone.

"Is that the Chaplain?" the midwife asks, - and "Can you come, we've another loss."

I find my voice, and also my shoes the socks I've kept on , just in case There's a shirt somewhere with a collar in.

Then it's into the bathroom and wash my face.

Car keys, notebook, anointing oil, Bible, prayer book and Celtic Cross.

Into the kitchen and a gulp of juice, then out to the car; just twelve minutes or so.

The sky is still black, but a few stars are out.

There's nobody else, so the road is mine.

At the hospital door I put in the code and rush to the ward now fully awake.

My head round the door of a staff room of girls, night duty midwives, and all of them tired.

"Mother of baby P, twenty one weeks... it's her first and she wants to talk to you now."

And then to a room where a girl and young man sit on crumpled bed in a crumpled embrace.

My arm around the boy and his shoulders sag, and silent sobbing rocks his frame.

The young girl weeps, but looks in my eyes "We'd like a blessing for our child."

A Moses basket is brought by the nurse with the still, little form cocooned inside.

I offer a prayer with the name of the babe, and pass the basket to mum and dad; in silent grief they sit and cry. and the weary eyes of the midwife are moist.

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I promise I will see them again when arrangements are made for the funeral date, so I quietly exit that intimate scene and leave the couple to mourn their loss.

Outside, as I pass maternity rooms I hear the cries of a healthy babe. in stark contrast I hear sighs of joy, and balloons are tied to the baby's cot So. before I leave and head for home, I pause by the bed of a mother and child – asking a name and leaving a prayer in an act of closure that feeds me new strength.

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TAKING THE ANGER “Where is your God now, Reverend?" the young mother cries. Life slips away as her daughter dies; the life-support system has stopped her breath and the girl lies pale and still in death.

We are still on our knees around the bed where, for more than an hour not a word has been said. All around pagan symbols, magic pebbles and charms,' as I place a small Cross by the little girl's arm.

The Chaplain in me wants to pray, but often it's better to have nothing to say.

I need to respond to the mother's cry, and I raise my head and catch her eye.

I want to tell her that God feels her pain, and has promised that she'll see her daughter again; that the hospital staff have done all they could to save this life; but, it is no good to try to bring faith to this parent in grief.

At this moment in time there is no belief.

I try to absorb all the anger and pain, and. after a while, I pray once again.

This time she submits and sinks to the chair with her head in her hands, as I make a last prayer.

"God is here with us", I want to explain, -but don't want to add to the mother's pain.

Just now there's nothing more to be said; but there will be time in the weeks ahead at the cemetery. and at the home later on to pray for her peace now her daughter is gone.

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AND ONLY THE SEAGULLS ARE LAUGHING OUT LOUD ...

Rain falling hard on a sad Summer's day Cemetery service; families embraceWanting to leave but compelled to stay To hear the ritual; to mourn their dead.

Charcoal-black mourners in dutiful pairs Come on the scene, and stand in the rain Puffing on cigarettes with distracted stares.

I am a lifeline. Someone who cares.

I reassure them that 'all will be well,' Thanking them all for coming today, Even though most are feeling like hell, I want to tell them that 'things are OK.' Here was an old man of ninety-two years, They were his friends who had nursed him each day.

One or two young ones are holding back tears.

Then comes the hearse and its off to the grave.

Later I drive to conduct the next rite In crematorium, skies try to clear.

Sitting and waiting I watch seagulls fight Screeching and laughing, and spoiling the day.

These are two babies who died in the womb At twenty two weeks, and the parents are numb.

Miniscule coffin a temporary tomb, Then 'ashes to ashes' like everyone else.

What makes it hard is that siblings are here, With white, turned up faces in question to me.

I want to convey optimism, not fear, And to tell them their brothers are safe with the Lord.

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So quickly it's over, and, grateful to go With a handshake and mumbling thanks in their eyes.

Out in the car park the tears start to flow, But they are still young, and there's years left ahead.

Finally, full-term baby deceased, Parents are Muslim, with man from the mosque.

We lower the coffin, 'head' to the East Then pray in the rain that God answers our prayers.

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THEN, OUT OF THE GRAVES RAN CHILDREN LAUGHING With time to spare between each act Of burial in the Communal plot.

I walked among the rows of dead With dates and epitaphs erased.

The filtering sun fell on the tombs And bracken brushed my cassock hem.

Respectfully I walked each row And thought about the life long gone Angelic birdsong filled the air To lighten my heart and 'restore my soul.'

Then, to my mind. the years rolled back To imagine each occupant as a child.

Then out of the graves ran children, laughing; Clapping hands and skipping for joy, Not old or decayed as when laid down But flushed with the Spring of a child alive!

Their numbers swelled as each rose up — Springing around from stone to stone Like young gazelles or pups at play; No tears, but laughter filled the air.

Entranced, I stopped in trembling joy And gave release to pent up tears — For, into view, touching each child's hand Came the Saviour of the world, to me And even He was full of zeal And childlike radiance filled His form; On His head was a crown of flowers And eternal warmth wrapped me up in His eyes.

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Then a breeze blew through, and erased the dream And I was standing alone again.

I wanted to run and skip, like a child But....I walked slowly as the hearse drew near Funeral over and mourners departed I stood by my car and closed my eyes The child in me stood and cried for joy — For, out of the graves ran the children, laughing‌

(from a 'glimpse' into eternity . Margate Cemetery 15 March 2007.)

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WATCHING A LIFE RESTORED Slowly, like his broken limb his life begins to start again; once crushed, with splintered bones in half, he emerges from a cacoon of pain.

Carefully, with fear in tow crippled joints are joined again, In painful moves he stretches each limb feeling the life flow through his veins.

Overjoyed was I to see a new beginning in this boy; Last week wishing just to die, I sense a flood of inner joy, Softly, yet, a smile broke out erasing the darkened clouds of pain like livid truths the scars would remain, yet the broken boy would walk again.

The Staff Nurse came and saw us laugh. for we'd shared a journey as our mood revealed.

God and they had coaxed him through a tough ordeal, and he was healed.

Gently, like a dawn of song we shared some prayers in that place.

Then as I rose to leave his room, peace, like God's shadow, lit up his face.

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CHRIST JOINS US FOR PRAYERS Doors are closed. But in the foyer still is heard the muted voices beg directions; many choices in a labyrinth of clinics.

Desperate to meet appointments – pleas to find some parking places, abandoned hope of any spaces; volunteers smile out directions, Porters clatter, visitors chatter, clutching letters; strained and tearful, Stretcher patient, loved ones fearful.

Queue of wheelchairs for the taxi.

In the Chapel, in a circle, wheelchair worship in the stillness; patients in their evident illness, blanket-wrapped, hands clutching hymn book.

In the light of altar candles, hard to hide a note of sadness; yet, bright eyes show inner gladness shining out from ageing faces All together - no distinction: there is no discrimination; Christian, not denomination Christ is present in the moment.

A real resurrection moment: He is here, among the dying, and inside my head I'm crying yet they are not tears of sadness.

It's a privilege to be here, and to see their hopeful faces; this is where true faith is and it humbles me to see it.

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THEY SANG HER TO HEAVEN FROM MISSION PRAISE! Two sisters, aged about sixty-five came to the Chapel where I sat alone; asked for a hymnbook to take to the ward, where their mother was lying, barely alive.

Later that day I went to the room, We sat together around the bed.

I prayed for their mother, and gave the books; they thanked me, and began to sing.

Like a lullaby to a sleeping child came the gentle words of "Amazing Grace..". and a smile danced around their mothers' eyes, which she opened, like a child in prayer.

The two ladies sat by the head of the bed. one on one side, and one the other.

I still can see their tear stained faces singing hymns to this dying woman.

I came back later and saw them still quietly praising God in song no longer in sadness, but in notes of joy with a nurse joining in a familiar hymn I felt I was privileged to witness that scene, two sisters attentive to their mother's needs.

As the breath was drawn from this shrunken frame they sang her to heaven from Mission Praise!

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EMMAUS ROAD: TWO CHAPLAINS VISIT A PATIENT Didn't our hearts burn within us that day as we walked off that ward tired, but strangely infused with a sense of having been given a gift?

Hadn't our eyes really opened in faith as we sat by that bedside and held that man's hand who held on so long that his knuckles were white?

Hadn't we known we were not on our own as the wafer was broken and shared out among us so the three of us left in no doubt Who was there

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O LAMB OF GOD (Tune 'Finlandia' words Norman Setchell) O Lamb of God. be always in my heart: and may Your quietness fill my anxious mind.

Remove the stress that melts away my courage, and give me calm and stillness in my soul I need Your peace that passes understanding, O Lamb of God, breathe on me, make me whole O Son of Man walk with me in the darkness; when shadows come and doubts come crowding in.

I need Your light that pierces gloom and darkness, I need Your light that You can light in me.

Just as You walked with eyes set on the Father, O Son of man open my eyes to see.

O Lord of life be with me in my gladness; and I do praise You. Jesus, Saviour, Friend.

No matter what may come to test and prove me.

I will withstand until life's journey's done.

Your Holy Spirit comforts and inspires me: O Lord of life; O Father, Spirit, Son.

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HOW THE POEMS CAME TO BE WRITTEN ASH WEDNESDAY As a Chaplain I frequently turned up to take a funeral for an adult who, either had no surviving relatives - and no friends- or two or three faithful Care Workers from the Home where the deceased spent his or her last few months or years.

All too often it was me, the Funeral Director and the men and women who carried the coffin and lowered it into the grave; and that was it!

I would be met by the Cemetery Officer, and invariably was met with warmth and friendship.

In that mood, whatever the weather conditions, we would act out, in dignity and quiet solemnity, his final rite for the deceased.

In this poem there is also a comment about the individual "known only to God" and this hailed from my time as an Army Chaplain visiting graves in the Falklands and in Europe where so many gravestones had these four moving words.

What is important at each funeral is to realise how little we know of each other, many family members being unaware of major events in the lives of their loved one, and all too many souls are attended by those who have no information at all - especially the Clergy conducting the rite,

NIGHT CALL TO MATERNITY A major part of a Hospital Chaplain's duties is to be 'on call' for the death of a foetus or baby

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at the Maternity Unit's Labour Ward. Sometimes this 'call' came in the daytime, but all too often the mobile 'phone rang at some time during the night.

Knowing I was on call would mean anticipating the likelihood of broken sleep, which as most hospital staff understand creates its own problems in either being too tense before bedtime, or even more tense on return from the hospital.

The call-outs to grieving parents were always emotional moments for all concerned, including midwives - and myself. But, they were also moments where grief-stricken young people found the comfort of knowing that a God of Love held their lifeless child in His eternal care.

TAKING THE ANGER Part of bereavement, as any counsellor knows, is a sense of anger. This often occurs later in the stages of missing the loved one - but it can be experienced at any time.

On several occasions I was called to the Intensive Care Unit or A&E when the family were in a state of shock, and understandable denial.

It was on these occasions that I - and also the Consultant and Nursing Staff would receive quite an emotional battering from people in grief, as their son or daughter or parent died, despite all that was being done medically to save the patient from suffering and death. Such a reaction was perfectly understandable and I always agonised with the watching family

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members, but felt helpless at times in the face of such visible grieving.

At such times Chaplains have to 'just be', and wait on God for guidance to find the right words to say, - or the moment to say nothing.

AND ONLY THE SEAGULLS ARE LAUGHING...

On arrival at the crematorium or cemetery it was not unusual to have two or three funerals that day; and there would be time between each service to walk, read or have a coffee from a flask.

On these days I would have to mentally separate each funeral event, and not stray into what I will call "ritualistic familiarity."

Each group of mourners wants to be treated in a special way, and although each funeral service may have the same format, special words or songs will make the time unique.

All those who conduct such acts of farewell on behalf of next of kin work hard to create a time that will help the bereaved. It was easy to feel as a Chaplain 'down' on such days, but that is why it is essential that all chaplains and clergy understand fully the roots of their own faith and trust in the promises of God.

THEN OUT OF THE GRAVES RAN CHILDREN, LAUGHING...

At certain times, without any warning and alone in the Cemetery, my senses were awakened to a special state of spiritual awareness. This

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particular poem was written in the car, following the experience and still speaks to me vividly.

I had this dramatic vision of all the graves opening, and instead of old and ravaged adults, the ones who emerged, running and laughing, were children. Wildly fanciful though it may be it helps me to be reminded that God sees and loves the child in each of us, all our lives.

WATCHING A LIFE RESTORED Not all visits to hospital mean being confronted with death, grief or loss; although it is, undeniably, a major part of the hospital visitor's experiences.

Like sunshine through a cloud there were moments when I had the privilege of seeing the impossible become possible. It is a time of great rejoicing, and if one can stretch the parable of the Lost Sheep in the New Testament there is a sense in which the Good Shepherd rejoices over the lamb that was lost and now found in respect of recovery from illness or a major operation.

Freedom from pain and a new beginning (going home!!) is always something which God must surely sing about! A patient close to death and in great pain when last visited is transformed to be a patient who is experiencing healing.

When patients are given 'new life' and more time to live they begin a rich chapter of their lives, which often results in greater awareness of those around them, and the presence of God in their lives.

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CHRIST JOINS US FOR PRAYERS The Hospital Chapel or Quiet Room is a sacred space which has undergone a metamorphosis in size, design and siting since the days when the Chapel was designed to look like an Anglican church.

Once there was no consideration for the wide variety of denominations, and, until comparatively recently, no vision and there was no space for 'Other Faiths'.

In a hospital it is vital to have a haven; somewhere just to sit and be still. Also there needs to be short services of worship, often including Holy Communion.

For some patients it is painful to sit and even hold a book or service sheet. Many will have left their specs on the ward. But in all cases, especially when the patient knows they have a serious illness, or have come because they are a relative of a loved one too ill to be moved there is an emotionally charged atmosphere that draws in everyone present, including the chaplain.

In the poem, the 'resurrection moment' I refer to comes from a powerful concept in the book by the late H.A. Williams, and describes moments of special perception and heightened awareness, when we feel closer to the risen Christ.

From my experience of working with the chronically ill or patient receiving palliative care there are special moments like these for both patient and care nurse, doctor or chaplain.

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O LAMB OF GOD My father, "Steve" as he was known to all close to him, died in 1993. In the closing months of his life we talked in a more intimate and honest way than ever before. Things we would not have dreamed of talking about we shared, laughed over, and wept over together.

Dad had 'lost his faith' a few years before, and in trying to go on that dark journey with him I wrote poems, as indeed he did, and on one occasion wrote this version of the hymn "Be Still My Soul, " to the beautiful tune Finlandia.

It coincided with a 'dark night of the soul' that I also experienced and found that this helped both of us, especially during the time when my father returned from dialysis and we talked together.

I hope that this hymn speaks to you who need to call for more light and courage in your journey of faith.

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Poems by a Hospital Chaplain on the feelings of grief, loss and faith Norman Setchell wrote this book of poems in an attempt to convey the feelings of those who work among the bereaved and of those who are undergoing the pain of personal grief and loss. It is also about hope and the unexpected moments of joy.

This is a pocket book that you, the reader, can take with you as a companion when you are helping the bereaved or suffering a loss yourself.

The author, Norman Setchell is a retired Minister of the United Reformed Church. Since his leaving Westminster College, Cambridge in 1979 and ordination to his first pastorate his Christian ministry has taken him to parts of the world as an Army Chaplain and Port Chaplain; the experience gained in visiting patients in hospitals from the Falkland Islands to Belfast in NI and Cyprus, Germany and Belgium provided a good grounding for Hospital Chaplaincy. The last seven years of full-time ministry was as Team Lead Chaplain at Margate Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother Hospital, Margate, as part of the Chaplaincy team in East Kent, where he was given inspiration for the poems written in this book.

Norman is married to Barbara , and living in Cambridge. They have five children and five grandchildren between them.

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