I wasnt quite sure where to put this. It may belong in writing, but its the eulogy for my late partner Alison that I could not write until now, nearly two years after she died, and on what would have been her 67th birthday.
You really weren't my type. Long leggy blonde, who wore things which weren't so much skirts as wide belts. A joker, whose used words and rapier like wit to protect yourself. You hid your pain behind the screen of that wit, imagining that, while they were laughing no one would see.
Thing is looks can be deceptive. You pretended to be oh so vivacious and confident, yet actually you were terribly shy. Anyone looking at you saw someone slightly brash, maybe even vulgar, and assumed there was nothing too you. In fact you were one of the most perceptive and intelligent people I have ever known. People read your employment history, and your lack of formal educational qualifications, and took you for stupid. In fact you had educated yourself about the world, so that I, who hold three university degrees and am working on a fourth, will never be as well educated as you were.
Above all, when your dementia stripped away the layers of personality, we found that underneath it all you were the most kind and gentle person that anyone could be. I will always remember you, when you had long since passed the point of being able to understand where you were, or what was happening to you, taking time to try and reassure and comfort a nervous and confused 80 year old who had been admitted to the care home. The truth was you were more disabled than she ever was, and yet you willingly expended what little mental energy was left to you, to try and help her.
It was typical of you, that even as you were dying, you wanted to help others. You knew you were too young for this to happen to you, and so you convinced yourself that you had come to the home, not as a resident, but to "help out" and help out you did. They still talk about the pasties you made – the last ones from a long line.
For twenty five years you looked after me. I was the racing engine – high performance but sometimes in need of tuning, and needing a smooth track to give my best, you were the ever dependable off-roader, never defeated by the terrain ahead, always ready and able to get us home even when you had one hundred and one things wrong with you.
I never knew you "before". To me you were always my Alison, but I have heard many tales of Alan, the fearless pilot boatman, coxswain of the coastguard, who rescued many a ship in distress, or young Al, the gentle HGV driver, always willing to go the extra mile, or Ali, the landlord turned landlady of the Russell Inn. All these people were you. All of them had a ready wit, and the strength and moral courage to defend the underdog.
Above all you were my angel for 25 years and on this your birthday I miss you.
