Both of our daughters readings at the church were beautiful I have printed off what our daughter ‘November’ had written and then read out at the church service. Jude was high on the autism spectrum. He loved animals, elephants where his favourite, beaches and the seaside, life.
Novembers Goodbye. St Marys Church, Morecambe Thursday 30th January 2020.
I’ve really struggled forcing myself to do this, because a lot of the time whenever I’ve imagined what I wanted to say, it’s been hard because while it might be a little easier to tell you what it was like to have a brother like Jude, ultimately what I wanted to show you what it meant to lose a brother like Jude.
For the last two weeks since he left, I’ve been plagued by questions and the memories of being by his side when he died. And I almost can’t remember him. I don’t have a lot of memories that spring out at me, because Jude was a constant in my life. Maybe it’s different for you, but when I remember Jude I remember feelings. And that hasn’t changed even in death. I’ll always feel the hole in my chest most in those moments I know he would’ve been there. I’ll feel sorrow whenever I step off a train, because without fail he’d meet me there. And I’ll feel empty whenever I have a long phone call with my mum, because he always took the phone off her to ask me when I was coming home. And I’ll always feel lost whenever I see an elephant, because I’ll never feel more sorry that I’m alive to marvel at them when he isn’t.
My love for Jude is made up of little thoughtless acts that don’t belong on public display, but always there for us. The way he was proud of himself for putting on his pyjamas every night, the way his smile was so effortless and beautiful, the way he cared for all of us because he could never stand to see us hurt, the way he would say ‘I love you’ for no obvious reason, the way he loved my dad’s sense of humour in a way none of the rest of us can appreciate it, and the way he wanted nothing more in this life than to be with my mum. It’s all of these things and more that make my chest hurt when I remember that he’s gone.
And as much as it hurts, I’m glad in a way, because for the rest of my life we’ll be the ones to endure not him. I know he’s here, especially when we need him most, he’ll always be there to remind us to live every day the best you can, like he did. To not be afraid to love what you love. To be kind always and to say sorry, even if sometimes it’s just to make peace.
I may struggle with the obvious things, but I’ll never forget the way we felt when we were together, on the beach, in the sun and sand, in a place where autism didn’t get in the way and the world didn’t frighten him.
I’ll always love you Jude, and this is just one of many goodbyes, until someday when I realise I never had to say it at all.
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