A ‘profoundly important book’

We, the comforters, the friends and members of the continuing community, shouldn’t worry about the exactitude of what we say. The grieving are also the forgiving. What comes out of our mouths in that holding out of comfort may seem to us painfully banal or repetitive, but it’s the act of offering comfort that is important.

The reaching out. Of course, in the world of robust and fundamentalist faith, the reassurance of eternal life and reunion in heaven or hell may be the ultimate consolation. But most of us recognise that in the flesh, bone and brain reality of bereavement, it’s all about the language and touch of human love.

Communication. Holding and keeping on. Those of us who have lost loved ones understand how difficult the folk around us can find our losses, and we honour the offerings of kindness, be they in the form of words, food, practical help, flowers or silent tears.

But the pain of loss continues for us long after the funeral, the burial, the leaving of the last relative or friend, that drive to the airport or wave from the Knab. Grief continues. Healing can take the rest of our lives.

This is why Christian Tait’s courageous and intensely moving book arrives like a great and sometimes overwhelming gift. On the one hand it’s incredibly intimate. These are poems Christian wrote over a period of years simply for herself, meditations on the loss of her beloved husband Harry.

They delve into the difficult physical realities and routines of both palliative c.