Looking back over my life, I can see that I was fortunate not to feel the tearing agony of grief, loss and bereavement until I was in my late forties. My beloved grandmother died when I was nineteen, and I cried and missed her, but she was old and slipped away in her sleep. I couldn’t wish her back. Then my father-in-law had an operation and never woke up, and I cried and wished I had had just ten more minutes with him. Worst of all, nearly seven years ago, a dear friend died. She’d battled breast cancer successfully but then along came bowel cancer. In March, she was complaining of a cough that wouldn’t go away. By the end of August, she was gone.
I had never known grief like it. I cried constantly, dreamed she was still alive, was crushed and broken and took two weeks before I could even drive through her village. Even now, I still see a book or a piece of jewellery and think it would make the perfect birthday or Christmas present before I remember that she has no need of such things now.
Everyone was kind to me, but nothing helped. Nothing. Those who had known similar grief told me that it came in waves and that you simply had to take it one step at a time. They were right, too.
Scent of Water
So I was delighted to be asked to review Penelope Swithinbank’s new book, “Scent of Water” which sprang from a traumatic loss of her own, that of her beloved mother in an accident. Penelope understands what it’s like. She says that her book is for times such as these:
“For those days when finger-tip-hanging is by a single nail.
When grief is all-consuming, raw, inconsolable.
The days when it is a raging torrent, a swirling river, a catastrophic tsunami.
And the days when it seems only a brook, a stream,
a trickle and you know it’s just waiting to roar on again.
The days when the waters of grief are lapping at your toes,
or your tears become a waterfall.”
Trying to be helpful, people would sometimes say things like, “Well, she was a Christian. At least you know she’s in heaven.” Didn’t help. Not one jot. I wanted her to be here, on earth, having coffee with me in the back garden.
Penelope Swithinbank
Penelope is a vicar and offers spiritual counselling for clergy. She’s an expert on grief and decided that it was time to write a book for those in the middle of it, who ask why and wonder how they are going to get through the day.
The book is divided into short sections, including “A Week of Extra Special Days including the funeral, the day after the funeral, the first Christmas, New Year, their birthday and the first anniversary. Penelope understands the nature of grief, the questions, the frozen heart, the anger. This is a very gentle and loving book which acknowledges that there is no quick fix for heartbreak.
The book is beautifully illustrated with photographs of nature and there are spaces for the reader to write and ponder. As you would expect from an ordained Anglican vicar, this book is Christian in tone and contains many quotes from scripture.
I wish I had had this book when I was going through my own dark journey of loss and grief. Penelope has taken her own heartbreak and trauma and used what she learned to help others. It would make a beautiful and heartfelt gift for anyone who has felt the pain of loss. Copies can be ordered from Penelope’s website. You can follow her on Twitter and on Instagram.
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I was given a copy of the pdf in return for an honest review. All views are my own and at no time was I asked to provide a positive review.