Eulogy for Jane Taylor (8 October, 1935 – 4 September, 2015)

Delivered 18 September, 2015. Bridport, UK

This is a bittersweet occasion, indeed. We are here with friends and family from around the world and right next door; people we’ve seen just recently, and others who might have been strangers by now, but for the remarkable woman – Jane Taylor: mother,grandmother, sister, aunt, friend – whose death we have gathered to mourn and whose life we have come to celebrate. Thank you all for being here today. It means a great deal to Toni, Clare, Ruth, and me and to our families; and it
speaks volumes to Mum’s myriad contributions to the world and those in it that
there are so many of us here, from so many different places, and from all
phases and facets of Mum’s life. Thanks, too, to many others who, although
unable to join us in person today, are here with us in spirit and who have
shared their love and kindness through cards, emails, and the website we have
set up in Mum’s honour.

Speaking of Mum, which, of course, is what I’m here to do, more than anything else her death has left us feeling a profound emptiness these past two weeks. There’s a gap in our presence – in who we are and what we do – that is hard to explain but, I
suppose, not so hard to understand. We find ourselves with an empty seat at our
table; turning to hear a comment that does not come; looking for a delighted
smile that does not radiate; waiting to feel a footfall on a clifftop path that
is empty, save for our own steps.

And it hurts.

It hurts, because, like Dad, Mum left us too soon and too suddenly. With many things undone or unfinished (like seeing the Bridport co-housing community fully realize its shared dream); with many places unvisited; many trips untaken (Iran,
anyone?); many lives untouched by her spirit; and many stories untold…

It hurts most of all because she means a great deal to all of us. But she is no longer here to enrich our lives with her energy, her love, and her opinions.

And yet, as people do, we search for ways to take some comfort in our loss.

For Toni, Clare, Ruth, and me, such comfort comes in part from our own memories of times growing up together and the friends we made back then.

In our home in Wimbledon the door was always open. We cherish memories of meals around the family table – often a massive pot of spag bog; no frills, but made with love and in the joy of bringing people together to talk, eat, and drink (sometimes copiously). We recall gales of laughter; and Neil Young’s bass lines pulsing through the house.

In that same spirit of love and joy in sharing meals with friends and family, it’s reassuring to know that the Bridport co-housers will continue to gather around the Taylor family table – currently in John’s care – the same table that sustained so many lasting friendships and fond memories for many of us here today.

Throughout our childhood, exploration – whether near or far; physical or spiritual – was a constant theme. Mum and Dad both filled us with their love, their wonderful
wanderlust, and their powerful curiousity about the world and everyone in it –
perhaps one of their most lasting gifts to us.

Other comforting memories involve our wonderful cottage in Treberfydd near Brecon and the friendships forged and reinforced there; with the Rye family at their
cottage further west in Dale, and the summer time relationships and experiences
(and beers on the seawall) that comprised our holidays there. We are sure that
many here today will fondly recall their own memories of trips and travels with
Mum.

And we feel very fortunate that the last time we were all together as a family with Mum was to celebrate a much happier occasion: my daughter Emma’s marriage to Andy in Maryland this past April.

Mum’s vibrant personality also shines through our tears. She was a deeply spiritual
person, and much smarter than she generally let on. She was also extremely
energetic, dedicated, positive and giving, both personally and professionally.
She made “enjoying life” her occupation.

Mum was in constant motion, whether on land or at sea. She was always a keen walker; during weekends in Wales, a gallop up the Allt before breakfast was de rigeur, and another before tea was strongly encouraged. And Mum was rightly very proud of her achievement of having sailed around the entire British coastline, a long-term objective that she completed not all that long ago.

Then there was that bike…

As you all know, Mum had many, many interests. Just looking at a week’s worth of entries in her diary is both bewildering and exhausting! In addition to a weekend in
Plymouth or Brighton to spend time with family, her schedule might include a film with Christine, yoga – right here in this building, walks with other friends, gin and tonic with Marcia and Rose, dinner with John, a U3A seminar, a co-housing meeting, philosophy. And singing, always singing…

Any cause in which she believed and any role she took on became a lasting commitment. Her decades-long interest in handwriting and dyslexia continued to the last. And over the years she helped many children overcome their challenges, including her own grandchildren. Since she moved from London to this wonderful part of the world, We’ve heard a great deal about Othona and the many hours Mum dedicated to her work in the polytunnel there. The Bridport co-housing community has been a constant theme, too, and she was deeply committed to supporting not only the cause but also those with whom she was sharing this particular chapter in her life’s story.

Indeed, Mum was also an extraordinarily caring person and gave of her time more freely than most, whether as a mother and grandmother, a loving wife and sister, an aunt (surrogate or otherwise), a mentor, or a friend. And she would always look for
the positive in any situation or person.

As our South African friend Boetie puts it, Mum (and Dad) “Had a wonderful way of making you feel that you mattered; and in their humility, they taught you what it meant to be truly kind.”

Another friend, Martha, wrote, “For me, Jane was like an aunty who was no nonsense, straight talking, loving, generous, prolific, practical, interesting, kind, community and environmentally minded, smart, spiritual, frugal, and cheerful. She was a strong woman in every sense.” And Martha’s mother, Caroline, who first got to know our Mum over 40 years ago, writes simply, “She was a very loyal friend.” Sylvia (one of her singing companions from the Ville-Beau-Son choir in Normandy) recalls of Mum: “She was a great joiner-inner, a marvelous quality.” And Alan writes: “I see Jane as a wonderful example of elderhood: generous, positive and adventurous.”
Our cousin Jack recalls the devoted care Mum gave to Jack’s grandma – our
“Auntie Marjorie” – especially after Marjorie’s daughters moved to America to
raise their families there.

And so back to Bridport, where another friend, Kerry, in whose home Mum lived for her first year here, writes, “If more people lived and died like Jane, I think there
would be a lot less suffering in the world.”

How true. And what an example to set for us all.

Although it’s hard to put this in words, we also try to take some comfort in the manner in which Mum left us. Perhaps her abrupt departure, as shocking and difficult to come to terms with as it is, might have been what Mum would have wanted – for herself, in any case. Her accident happened while she was doing something she enjoyed (riding her bike) and on her way to a place she loved (the beach at West Bay).

Moreover, given the strength, vibrancy, mental acuity, and constant activity that, for
many of us, define the essence of Mum’s character, I do not think she would
have made a good “lingerer”; she (and all of us, I warrant!) would have been
miserable had her accident left her alive but debilitated or if, at some later
time in life, she slipped into the abyss of dementia that clouds and confounds
the lives of many sufferers and their loved-ones alike.

To be sure, bizarre as it may sound, we found ourselves infused with a sense of serenity as we kept vigil at Mum’s bedside in the Neurological Intensive Care Unit at Southampton General Hospital in the days following her accident. The staff there were superb, and – in addition to providing medical care – created an environment
that allowed us to say our farewells in quietness and in (relative) comfort. But it was more than that, I think. Although our rational selves understand that Mum had no knowledge of anything that had happened since she fell, at a much deeper level, it just felt right to be there with her. Together.

I also believe that as we accompanied her along the last few steps of her life’s amazing journey, her spirit was reaching out to comfort us; to wish us peace; and to
urge us to begin to accept that, while her death might leave an unfillable gap
in our lives going forward, she will always be with us. Or perhaps, as Ruth’s
husband Nigel observed, she was finally allowing herself a well-deserved rest
in this world before she was prepared to leave it.

Regardless, her example will always sustain us and bring us together as families and friends, including here today.

It has certainly sustained us and our families through the past couple of weeks and
their weird combination of grief, hectic activity, and efforts to preserve some
semblance of normality. We’ve all been busy, of course. But in addition, Nigel
and Ruth (and Ben and Izzy) opened their hearts and their home as we made
Yealmpton our base of operations. (Thank you, Firths!) Toni offered constant
companionship (even in some early mornings…), as well as some really good ideas
that have made this service more complete; Clare shared her constant steadiness
and oodles of loving hugs. My wife, Cynthia, flew over from the States to help
keep us focused. And Mum’s sister, Sally, along with our cousins Ian and
Deborah, arrived from Australia early this week, showering us with love and
support – as well as food, drink, and endless stories of Mum. This spirit of “togetherness”; of family; of belonging is pure Mum – pure Jane – and we are already looking forward to the ways in which it will be manifest in the future as we build upon the love and companionship that have been renewed and strengthened in the crucible of Mum’s death.

Mum would surely have wanted this – and not only for her family, but for all of us
gathered here today in person and in spirit. As Isabelle writes: “I’m grateful to think Jane will give, one more time, an occasion of gathering, and keeping in touch, for lots of people.”

As one who did not like to miss out, no doubt Mum would very much have loved to have been here with us, too.

And so she is. Because here we all are: Friends and family from across the arc of an
almost 80-year life, extraordinarily richly lived, and extremely well spent. Fondly
remembering Jane and her gifts and turning to each other in both our grief and
our desire to share her love. As her 9-year-old grandson, Ben, said with the
wisdom of a child: “She lived a good life, my grandma.”

In closing, I turn to the words of Rumi, the Sufi poet whose writings Mum loved:
“Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.”

So, with Rumi’s words in our hearts, I trust we will all always feel Mum’s love and hear her laughter as we move through our days.