Death & Rebirth
20th February 2024 my dad, Peter Christie transitions from this world to the next.
I wanted to honour my dad in this years spring blog post as he had come to live with us for a short time, here at Nest and Nurture and had found a lot of peace looking out over the Devon hills, listening to the birds and watching nature as it settled in to its seasonal cycle.
I’ve been with the dying a few times now and it’s not horrible or frightening, in fact it’s rather peaceful. Its normally the circumstances that lead up to or that surround the death that can be triggering, but right at the end, there’s a sense of release like taking off a tight pair of shoes after arriving home. There’s a profound sense of something much greater than us, it’s almost tangible, the atmosphere, the air and the sounds. My senses seem to become heightened in the presence of death and it’s actually quite a beautiful experience. There is of course our human emotion that weaves its attachments and grief throughout the process, as well as a long time after a person transitions and the eulogy below is just that-my attachments to memory and loss but hopefully one that will shine a spotlight on my father as I rebirth our business this year in to a space for more healing workshops and the holding of safety, creativity, purpose and potential in memory of my dad.
Eulogy of Peter Christie written by Jessica (daughter)
I wanted to pay tribute to my dad but I also didn’t know exactly what to say
How do I share my personal feelings authentically with so many of you I have never met and of course so many I have known nearly my whole life.
My grief feels raw and yet strangely safe and so it is from this place I share with you some of the fond memories I have of my dad.
Most of you will know he loved books and some of mine and my sisters earliest memories are of him reading books such as the hobbit, the lion the witch and the wardrobe, and many more including a personal signed copy of the borrowers that he just happened to get from the author, along with the promise that these little people really did exist beneath the floorboards.
My dads imagination was always full of magic, even if as an adult I came to realise what a skeptic he truly was. Without realising it, he taught me how to feed the imagination which I found to be the doorway to my own faith and at the same time, he taught me how to keep my feet firmly on the ground.
I remember as a little girl, my dad massaging my feet to help me drift off to sleep. I remember going on long country walks where he would pull bamboo like sticks from the hedgerow and challenge us to a sword fight.
I remember him washing up the dishes while listening to the archers, making apple pie and letting me decorate the top with the left over pastry.
I remember every Sunday he would venture off to the boot sales and if we were up early enough we excitedly went with him and then back home he would sit on the sofa, listening to his eclectic music collection while marking his students work.
Christmas presents were wrapped in the guardian newspaper which bizarrely my sister and I never questioned.
Some of the fondest memories my sister and I have are of going off to work with him, which in those days was known as North Devon College and we either hung out in his office or sat at the back of his lectures munching on crisps, feeling incredibly important.
I distinctly remember my parents at a school disco once, taking to the dance floor like John travolta and Olivia Newton John from the movie Greece. I was mortified only to recognise as I got older how beautifully free they must have felt to express themselves like that.
My dad really did love to dance. My sister recently recalled, giggling while she told me, how dad would dance around the front room singing to buddy holly like he was living his best life. I had forgotten this and it’s a joy to be reminded by others of his childlike spirit,
When I went off to University, dad would proudly visit me, always gifting me food money and checking I was ok. I never fully appreciated this gesture until I became a parent myself. That was the thing about my dad he never made a big thing about the gestures in which he showed his love but it was there, silently holding a space that made me feel safe.
When he met his first grandchild, he was so proud, and willingly helped babysit. As more grandchildren came along and they grew, he never failed to light up their faces at Christmas and birthdays with bootsale treasures and time spent reading stories, playing games and building Lego creations.
This last Christmas he’d come to live with us as we’d agreed my sister and I would take care of him. This time became a precious gift in which I felt I was able to have meaningful private conversations about our lives and dying and it was in one of these conversations that he told me, he was not scared of death, he had had a good life and his only wish was to keep his dignity and I can honestly say that is what he did until the very end.
Having a father who achieved so much, encouraged me to strive for my own achievements with ambition and integrity but losing him so soon reminds me of what really matters in life, when we come to say goodbye to our loved ones and I feel lucky enough to have had the conversations and connection we did in the last of his days.
I always imagine there to be so many unsaid words when we leave this life but I felt he was able to say what he needed to in order to let go.
He told his grandchildren he loved them and said his goodbyes, with so much love and grace, my heart will never forget.
I witnessed the healing moment in which both my parents were able to say a tearful goodbye and I watched as his good friends lovingly supported his journey until the very end and as for my sister and I, he told us that if there was one good thing he’d done in his life, it was have us.
Words can be so simple and yet such a powerful gift.
Today I feel honoured and proud to pay tribute to such an extraordinary man.
A POEM By Jessica
An historian at heart, an author by name, the teacher he’s known for, there’s none quite the same.
But I only know him and see him as is, my father and friend, the man that I’ll miss.
His devotion is timeless to a life full of knowledge, an old fashioned soul with a heart full of courage.
He’s not a believer in the spirit world that I know, but that world is my comfort and the home we all go.
I see entering and passing as very much the same, it’s like walking in the sunshine while listening to the rain.
They’re both peaceful and magical, mysterious and known, these two sacred doors that our spirit is shown.
It’s now Christmas Day before the sun moves above, and the only gift I have is my care and my love.
So here’s to my dad, and his glorious being, his legacy lives on in my world of foreseeing.
Dad I’m now letting you know that you’re never alone, as I help walk you back to your ancestral home.
Lastly but not least I’d like to say thank you Dad and I love you x
https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2024/mar/05/peter-christie-obituary
https://torridge.greenparty.org.uk/2024/02/21/rip-peter-christie/
https://www.northdevongazette.co.uk/news/home/1429157/tributes-pour-in-for-popular-bideford-historian-and-councillor-peter-christie.html
https://www.amberley-books.com/author-community-main-page/c/community-peter-christie.html
https://www.waterstones.com/author/peter-christie/190683