Two days ago I learned that Jenni Murray, presenter of BBC Radio 4's Woman's Hour received the prestigious gold award at the Sony Awards. After this, I googled Jenni, wanting to see a photo. I then googled Libby Purves whom in my pre-France days I'd listened to on Radio 4, always admiring her verve.
When my son was born, the first book I bought on parenting - and probably the only one I ever read cover to cover - was by Libby Purves, entitled How not to be the perfect mother, not that I was at the slightest risk of such achievement. It was hilarious, including stories of would-be-helpful air stewardesses offering her 10 month old baby a jigsaw to do and more play-it-by- the book staff trying to insist she changed the baby's nappy in the toilets. Anyone who's ever flown will know there's hardly enough room to squeeze into an aircraft loo, let alone change a baby.
I found a photo of Libby Purves on Google, and then I stumbled upon an article about her son who'd committed suicide several years before at the age of 23. After his death she uncovered various writings by him and subsequently had them published. Nicholas Heiney apparently battled with depression for a long time, latterly fighting hard to resist the urge to take his own life, finally succumbing. Her articles about this are amazing. As writers, we are advised to guard against overstating strong negative emotions such as grief and pain. If the heroine cries, the reader won't, as the saying goes. Libby's avoidance of descriptions of heart-wrenching grief somehow convey her situation more potently.
Libby is determined to continue with life, has returned to presenting Midweek, has written a novel, and won't think of her son's death as having destroyed her. Her courage, her approach to dealing with the unthinkable is hard to put into words. Many years ago, a male friend, an only child, told me that his mother had once said to him that if she never saw him again she wouldn't mind as long as she knew he was happy. As a parent, I struggle to understand this. This 'loving without attachment'. Perhaps the mother meant that she'd rather have a fulfilled son she didn't see than be in contact with an unhappy one. Perhaps all we should wish for our children is their health, physical safety and happiness, and anything else should be a bonus.
In Buddhism, the four immeasurables, also known as the Brahma Viharas (Skt.) are found in the following prayer:
May all sentient beings have happiness and its causes,
May all sentient beings be free of suffering and its causes,
May all sentient beings never be separated from bliss without suffering,
May all sentient beings be in equanimity, free of bias, attachment and anger.
I read various articles about Libby and her son that evening, strong, indefinable emotions churning away in me. To say that I admire her would be patronising, to say that I can't comprehend how any parent can survive the death of a child would be understandable. To analyse further might be intrusive. Perhaps I just don't feel worthy enough to probe, even within the privacy of my own thoughts. Perhaps all I can hope for, for Libby, her husband and daughter, is that the knowledge that Nicholas's death was planned and not decided during a moment of despair, will provide some comfort.
Maybe the purest love is one which accepts separation from the loved one, believing he is now freed up from suffering
I have no message in this, only a need to attempt to communicate the uncommunicable.
Jane
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