Bamberlamb: A Tribute

As many of you already know, our fellow No Kidding blogger, Bamberlamb of Its Inconceivable, passed away last week. Her last post was a year ago, telling us of her secondary cancer. I know she touched many lives, including my own, and I send love to all those who have been affected by her death.

I first knew her as Lambsie, on the Ectopic Pregnancy Trust's messageboards over 20 years ago. In the years I was going through two ectopics, she was experiencing her second and third. She was such a voice of fun, but also, and always, of compassion. Understandably, it hurt her when others did not show the same compassion to her. So like me, she sought and found understanding online.

We spent a few years online together when we were trying to conceive and/or recovering from our losses. Most of those who were online with us went on to conceive and have children. (After all, only about 10% of women who have an ectopic pregnancy do not.) But Lambsie and I did not, along with one or two others, including the author of the wise "inside out" comment I referenced in my post last week. 

I was lucky. In early 2005, I travelled to London to meet a bunch of women from that messageboard, and went on to stay with a few of the women I had connected with. I spent a lovely few days with Bamberlamb and her adored husband. They had a great relationship, and thought the world of each other. I know he has been her carer in recent months, and has done everything he can to make those comfortable and enjoyable. I hate to think what he is going through now.

Eventually, after several years of being present and supportive of other women, our role became more official, albeit anonymous. We both became EPT moderators, and given an official pseudonym. The moderators had a private site where we could seek confirmation that our information was correct (we were assisted by a medical lead, who had access to some of the world's leading specialists in ectopic pregnancy), share how to deal with difficult people, and work through our own issues. We did that together on an almost daily basis, for six years. 

Bamberlamb/Lambsie had a wonderfully kind way with words. Even if privately she might have been frustrated with a person's attitude or insensitivity towards others (as we all were from time to time), outwardly she was the voice of kindness, of compassion, and most importantly, of no judgement. She never made it about* herself. She was always so eloquent, she always found the right words for the right occasion. It was a skill I often envied. But rather than envy, I tried to learn from her. To know what to say that might help, and most importantly, what not to say. I fall short, I am sure. But I will keep trying, for her.

I met up with her several times in trips to the UK, and I have memories of noshing on cream cakes with her at the House of Commons on the banks of the Thames with some of our friends and colleagues, and a lively dinner with some other friends afterwards. The last time we met in person was 11 years ago. Sadly, she wasn't up to meeting on my last trip, and I completely understand that. My visit was just a little too late. It is frustrating having international online friendships and not being there in person. If I could have made meals, popped in to help with the cleaning, or run errands for them, I would have. I know many of us would have. Just as we know she would have done that for us too. I at least wanted her to know how much she was loved, by so many of us all around the world.

I wish I could have heard her sing in her choir, beyond the one youtube performance I was able to see a few years ago. I'd have loved to have been able to support her. Likewise, I know she was a talented artist. However, she once told me that her losses took away her love of drawing. I like to think that she used that talent, her observational skills, and her  ability to see light and dark and shades, in other ways, not least in her blog.

She gave me credit for starting Its Inconceivable, and becoming active in the No Kidding community. I know that, like me, she missed the messageboards when our roles ended. The support we gave each other also helped us, and without that, life was a little lonelier. It was why I started blogging here, and after a few years of encouragement, she started too, bringing another voice and different perspectives to our number. And she became much more active than I am in one of the UK-based childless communities, continuing to support others even when she was going through something terribly difficult.

Right up to the last, she kept her wonderfully whacky (and sometimes wicked) sense of humour. It is what I will always remember about her. Her humour, and her compassion, and enormous capacity for love. Love will be the prevailing emotion I think of when I think of her. What better legacy could she leave in this world than love?

 

* This post is not about me. Please focus any comments towards Bamberlamb/Lambsie.

From the Inside Out

Online connections last. I've just had the pleasure of a weekend with an eminent childless not by choice blogger, Pamela, who was visiting NZ. As one of my ectopic messageboard friends* said to me over two decades ago (and I've quoted her before here), we got to know each other from the inside out, so meeting in person meant that we had to fill in the gaps. Where did you grow up? Do you have siblings? What work did you do? etc. My blogger friend said that she agreed. "It is as if our souls connect at a deep level, and everything else is filler," she said. I liked that.

Once again, though, I found that meeting someone I've only ever known through the internet was remarkably easy and relaxed. Once again, I was reassured that these internet relationships are real, that we really do get to know each other in a different way, and that you can tell who you are going to like and feel comfortable with (or not) well before you meet face to face.

We were focused on getting to know each other, talking about the future or recent past, but inevitably conversations about Not Kidding came up, just as parents might share the things they had in common. Thoughts about what links us, about relationships with parents, and about ageing without children were inevitable topics of conversation. But they certainly didn't dominate. They were, like our childlessness, just a part of us. And it was wonderful. Plans will be made to visit them in their country sometime in the future.

I was also given some food for thought for future posts, but as they only left yesterday, I might have some cogitating to do first. 

 

 

Note: Photo above was taken on our childless walk through the local botannical gardens

* She wrote a lovely guest post here some years ago - https://nokiddinginnz.blogspot.com/2016/01/guest-post-sarahg-on-living-life.html

 

Monday Miscellany: No Kidding version

I have little to say today. The Husband and I celebrated a wedding anniversary a week or so ago. I mentioned it on A Separate Life in Another Year. As we hear of relationship or health issues that friends or family are going through, we appreciate each year we are lucky enough to have. Even when we drive each other crazy! It's odd - when I think of the decades we've been together (we met at university), I don't think about being childless. I think of all we've been through, and all we enjoy now. Because focusing on now, on what we have now, is so much more important than thinking about what we do not have.

Looking at the world right now, it would be easy to say that I'm glad I don't have children. There's so much horror, and insanity. It's going to come to our shores. It's scary. It would be tempting to wash my hands of it all, because I don't have descendants. But I can't do that. I care about all children, not just my own. I care about the world they're going to inherit, about the attitudes that they might be subject to, about the discrimination against girls and women that seems set to continue and even grow, thanks to social media. I may not have children, and I may feel isolated at time, but I have not dissociated from our communities, country, or world. 

And a couple of happy notes. I'm editing my trip photos at the moment. I like to take simple scenes, or close ups of flowers, and compose them specifically to be used here on this blog. You see, you're with me whether I'm sitting at my desk and laptop (as I am today), or standing on the southern coast of Ireland snapping a beach with sparkling water that will be perfect for a future No Kidding post.

And finally, No Kidding freedom is always good! We spent New Zealand's national day (Waitangi Day) in a beautiful olive grove on a warm, sunny day having lunch and catching up with friends. Their kids are grown and have children themselves. They are a loving family, but children are no longer part of their daily lives. Which means they have time for us. And of course, we have time for them. It was lovely.

It's only a part of me

Every Saturday we get the local newspaper. I know, we're dinosaurs. But we have a digital subscription that gives us a hard copy once a week. I like the puzzles in the Saturday paper, and it's quite nice for a change to linger over the newspaper with a cup of tea, so I've been reluctant to let it go. 

The last year or two, I've found myself skimming over the death notices that mostly appear on Saturdays. I realised I'm at the age where people I know are either losing their parents, or perhaps older bosses and colleagues are dying themselves. But I find it frustrating, because the only thing ever mentioned are their familial relationships. 

There's nothing identifying these people except family. When I forget names, or names are common, I'm not sure if this was the person I knew or not. No mention of their years of diplomatic service, or their volunteer work, of the books they loved or gardens they nurtured or clubs they belonged to. I understand all these things might be mentioned in an obituary, but who goes on line to find them, if they are even written? They're never in the newspapers unless the deceased was a public figure. Yet each person mentioned - whether they have long lists of loved ones and descendants or not - was so much more than their families. And we all know that families aren't perfect. It's impossible to tell if they were loving or largely estranged, if the children and grandchildren mentioned phoned regularly or cared enough to visit or care for their elderly relatives. That's just how people are summed up.

It strikes me as being very one-dimensional, and quite sad. In my own parents' notices, I didn't really think beyond the traditional either, so I'm not blaming others for doing the same. Yet my mother had a dear friend she would miss who deserved a mention, the friend keeping my mother company for the 11 years she survived without my father. Both my parents had a wide circle of acquaintances, both from the days living in a rural district and from their activities in their local communities, whether through school, or their own sporting and social activities, or through ours. My mother was a rifle shooter, and marched, she coached and managed netball teams, and was secretary of the school committee. My father belonged to other community groups, volunteering his time, and in his younger days tossed cabers and rode bulls, putting that aside for golf as he aged. They were farmers for years. All these things made them who they were, as much as being children, siblings, parents, aunt and uncle, grandparents, and great-grandparents. 

That's why I am able now to feel more comfortable about being childless, simply because I know it is only a part of me. Just as my friends who are parents are much more than that too. (And this is especially obvious as those children grow up and leave home and sometimes leave the country.) Those who might be tempted to distil my life down to simply being childless are showing their own limitations and lack of imagination. I feel sorry for them. I may be childless, but I am also much* more. So are you. I'm not kidding.

* see my 2012 post Who I Am