Bit of a stark title but I wanted to head off any sunshine seekers/death or misery avoiders.
[Er, close tab now if you are any, either or all of these].
A definite turn in the weather today. Late autumn sunshine to complete shite. I spent the day at a symposium. Held a bit closer to the cemetery than our office. I grumbled and mumbled about foul bus journeys in the Oxford rush hour. Delay, crowds, dripping water, condensation, sniffing and a coughing.
All the while I thought about LB. And wondered about the rain and the gound/earth. A mile or so away. The cemetery staff have topped up LB’s grave with earth and sown grass seed. Carefully re-arranging the collection of buses and other stuff. Bloody love em. Another stark reminder of simple acts of care so absent from LB’s life in the last few months.
I was further reminded of seasons with the latest vimeo (sigh) from Sloven, in which the CEO carefully explains to staff the timeframe for the findings of the CQC inspection that took place last week. Trying to ease potential staff concern/worry. Drawing on changing seasons. January is the expected time of findings. A short four months from kick off.
LB was hugely patient in many ways. And so ordered. He was renowned for his love of puddings and cakes. Sitting at parties/BBQs to finish his nth pud. When everyone else had moved on to other party type stuff.
Complete concentration, absorption and contentedness. And a joyous lack of concern about what anyone else thought or expected of him.
Given that LB lost his life and we’re left struggling to hold on to some semblance of normality in the wake of his death (and the complete crap chucked at us since) it would be good to get some sort of resolution before the slow wheels of reviews/police investigations. Some answers about staff disciplinary actions or surveillance-gate.
We’re now beyond the four month mark. Nudging six season changes.
I don’t know how much I need to describe the experience of having a child buried when it rains. But the Trust and other others responsible for, or connected to, LB’s death could do a fucking shedload more to make it less painful and, as an absolute minimum, not make it worse.