I can’t recall how many years ago I became aware of a little grave in the well manicured grounds of a beautiful village church in Thornton Hough, that small model village once acquired by William Lever in the late 1800’s in South Wirral. This small plot, at the head of which stands a young Cherry Blossom tree, has always been beautifully maintained with a plethora of bright-coloured flowers whose names I’m pitifully ignorant of, though I’m sure I see Primroses there every Spring. I won’t mention the name on the headstone (which actually sits at the foot of the grave) out of respect for the family, but it’s that of a little girl who was born just 48 days after me and who died when she was 7 years old. Over the years I’ve often wondered who she was and what she was like. Did our paths ever cross? And I also wonder what, if she’d lived, would she had done with her life, which in turn makes me think about what I’ve done with my life since that time. If roles were reversed would she, by chance, had ever passed my grave and wondered similarly?

Well, as chance would have it, I got to find out more about this young girl one pleasant August morning. Twice I was about to leave my car, parked up as I was in Thornton Hough, to go for a walk along my usual route through the fields of Lever’s Estate to Brimstage, and twice I was put off by dog walkers going the same way. As I fancied my solitude, I gave up on that idea, picked up my book that lay on the passenger seat, and trundled off to the aforementioned church and sat on one of its benches outside to read. The book I was reading was The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle. I was up to a point where he was talking about attention and how much we miss by not being present, so I found it kind of funny that while reading that part that I became aware of an elderly lady walking along the path where I was sitting. We exchanged some pleasantries and then she toddled off down the path and, although I tried to return to my reading, I noticed that this sweet old lady was attending to the grave of the child I’d come to wonder so much about. (I was paying attention!). So I put my book aside and, as she walked back up the path and approached, I had to say something…

So, it turned out that this lady was the little girls mother, and that her daughter was born with what she termed ‘an incomplete heart’ and that was what ultimately took her life. I had to mention not only that she was born around 6/7 weeks after me, but also that I was born with a hole in my heart, so I guess you could say it was incomplete as well. The lady kindly asked as to my welfare when I told her this, to which I replied that I’m fine as the hole apparently healed and closed over before any need for surgery when I was very young. But I felt a little sad for this girls mother then: I’d survived my heart issue as a child, while her daughter hadn’t. How small a twist of fate can change lives irrevocably? Whenever I pass this girls grave, and as trite as it may seem, I often remind myself of how precious is the time I’ve been given, and certainly never more so than after I spoke to her mother, who I counted myself as blessed to meet.

Another connection I became aware of was that of the Cherry Blossom tree that grows at her grave, Cherry Blossom just happening to be my fave kind of tree. There’s really nothing quite like standing beneath one in Spring on a clear day, a blue sky beyond, when the blossoms are in full bloom before the winds come and scatter their all-too-brief loveliness like pink, falling snow – and not to mention its final glory when its leaves burn to embers and fade away in the Autumn.  And maybe that short-lived beauty was in the mind of this child’s parents when they wrote the following on her tiny headstone:

   We planted This Tree for our dear little girl

who in seven short years brought great love

and happiness to her family and friends.

May it give to you, who pass by, some small part

of the pleasure that she gave to those who knew her

Like the life of this girl, and that of the Cherry Blossom in Spring and the short life of Autumn leaves, my conversation with the girls mother was all-too-brief, much like our lives here on earth, passing by so so quickly. I think it was Elizabeth I on her death bed that said something like “ All my possessions for a moment of time.”

The sketch I did at the top of this page of the grave ain’t great, but I gave it a go. If she’ll have it, maybe I’ll pass it on to the girls mother if I ever see her again. I hope so.

Well, as I’m unlikely to get anything posted here before the 25th, if you’re reading this, Happy Christmas! I pray it’s one filled with much love 🎅🎄☃️💖☺️

I’m outta here,

Jimbob 🙂