Remembering Helen, 14 April 1960 – 17 September 2021

My sister Helen was born 62 years ago today. She was the youngest of the five children in our family, but the first of us to go. She was diagnosed with cancer late in 2020 and, after a mighty battle against it, she died on 17 September 2021, aged 61.

Helen (left), Nola, Neil, John and Rosalie Paterson. Early 1960s.

Helen, the bride, 1981.

Helen with her family, 2021. From left, her son Bryce holding Lily, his wife Emma holding Evie; Helen and Ray; Her daughter Stephanie with her husband Tim and their son Sam.

I drove down from Whanganui to Helen’s home in Gore when I heard her condition was worsening, arriving the night before her passing. Her funeral was held in Gore on 22 September. Despite being prepared for her death, I was deeply shocked by it – even today, months later, my mind refuses to accept that she no longer walks amongst us. “Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us.”

“When Great Trees Fall” by Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance, fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of
dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

Helen was as fascinated and enthusiastic about stones as I am. When I made my regular trips to Southland to visit beaches to collect stones to tumble polish, I would base myself in Riverton, at the crib owned by Helen and Ray. Often Helen would accompany me on visits to the Back Beach or to Gemstone Beach, bucket in hand to fill with pretty stones. She was just like me, eyes down, always looking.

Helen at Hendersons Bay, Riverton, November 2017.

Helen with grandson Sam at Gemstone Beach, June 2019.

Helen at the Back Beach, Riverton, September 2019.

Helen (right) at Gemstone Beach, with husband Ray and sister-in-law Petra, February 2020.

Helen on Gemstone Beach, June 2020.

Helen on Gemstone Beach, June 2020.

Helen was with me when I found my most treasured stone, a rare fossil coral stone, on Gemstone Beach in June 2020 – in fact, I was standing right next to her, talking with her and someone we met on the beach, when I spotted the stone (that day’s finds can be found in the Day Fifteen entry in “South Island Stone Collecting Trip, May/June 2020 – Days 11 to 15”). Helen would usually pass on to me any trace fossil stones she found on Gemstone Beach and, in return, I would tumble polish other stones she collected. She also made a visit to my fossicking beaches at Kakanui (North Otago) and Birdlings Flat (Canterbury). I ended up polishing quite a few stones for her – they filled a number of glass jars. At her funeral, a large bowl of these polished stones was at the entrance to the church. People were able to take one as a keepsake. At Helen’s burial, people could also take a stone to place on her coffin.

Me placing a stone on Helen’s coffin. Partly retouched screenshot from recording of funeral livestream.

Helen’s coffin, with stones. Partly retouched screenshot from recording of funeral livestream.

On the way into the church for her funeral, I glanced in the bowl of stones and noticed that sitting just on top was a stone that Helen found on Gemstone Beach in March 2020. This was an unusual red trace fossil stone, the best I have seen, one that Helen particularly liked so she decided to keep it. I tumble polished it for her (two photos of it the day it was found are towards the end of this Post). At the church, I took the opportunity to claim the stone as a special reminder of the times we spent fossicking together.

Helen’s red trace fossil stones from Gemstone Beach.

Helen has appeared a number of times in TumbleStone Blog. Posts that featured stone fossicking with Helen, and photos of stones I polished for her, include (in chronological order): “Jasper Stones and Petrified Wood, Shepherd’s Creek, Waikaka” (July 2017), “The Seven Stages in Tumble Polishing Stones: Stage One, Stone Collection, Riverton, 2-6 November 2017”, “South Island Stone Collecting Trip, Part Two – Riverton to Kaikoura” (March 2018, includes a hike up the Long Hilly Track with Helen and Ray), “Sam’s Stones” (July 2019, with Helen’s grandson, Sam), “Visiting the South Coast” (September 2019), “Helen’s Stones, Collected from Gemstone Beach, February-March 2020”, Days Seven and Eight in “South Island Stone Collecting Trip, May/June 2020 – Days Six to Ten”, “Fresh Batch of Polished Gemstone Beach Stones Collected by Helen” (July 2020), and “FB Group Posts: 8, 10 & 11 May 2021 – Helen’s Stones, Gemstone Beach Stones, and Riverton/Aparima Stones”.

At Helen’s funeral, her daughter Stephanie expressed well how all of those close to Helen felt about her: “Thank you for all you have sacrificed, given and taught us. I hope we can continue to make you proud. You will be missed every day.” Attending Helen’s funeral made me think about my own, about what I would want to be in it, and how I would want people to feel about it. I decided that I would like people to walk out of my funeral thinking about the rest of their own lives with hope and renewed enthusiasm, something along the lines of Lee Ann Womack’s song, “I Hope You Dance”. I suspect Helen might have wanted something similar.

Lyrics:

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed.

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance… I hope you dance…

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance.
Living might mean taking chances, but they’re worth taking,
Loving might be a mistake, but it’s worth making.
Don’t let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to selling out, reconsider.
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance… I hope you dance.
I hope you dance… I hope you dance.
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along)
(Tell me who wants to look back on their years)
(And wonder where those years have gone)

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
Dance… I hope you dance.
I hope you dance… I hope you dance.
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along)
(Tell me who wants to look back on their years)
(And wonder where those years have gone.)