Skip to main content

Life and Death

St. Mary's Merivale youth group on a trip to Broken River, 1981. I am standing at left. Beside me is Catherine Fuller. Kneeling, in red striped jacket is Mark McIlroy, later to be her husband.

Catherine McIlroy died on Monday. She was 49. When I was first ordained she was a member of the youth group that I ran at St. Mary's Merivale in Christchurch. Well, helped run. Selwyn and Penny Paynter (Penny has the Canterbury colours in the photo above. Selwyn is cuddling up behind her) were a seriously cool couple just a little younger than me and they were the main attraction. I did the Bible studies and drove the kids who wouldn't fit in Selwyn's Capri and kept things sweet with the vestry if something got broken; which wasn't often because they were spectacularly great kids; and none so spectacularly great as Catherine.

She was smallish, with dark serious eyes. She played the flute and helped out with music at youth services. She was intelligent and very sensible and self contained and just a little shy, which didn't seem to stop her being at the heart of pretty much everything that was going on. I can't remember a time at youth group when she and Mark weren't an item. Mark was somewhat more impetuous and certainly a lot more extroverted but they balanced each other and together were pretty much the centre of the group.  They were one of those couples who are so comfortably harmonious with each other that one glance is enough to know that this relationship is right. The way they moved, the way they talked, the opinions and interests they held just seemed to fit. I can't remember exactly when they got married, but I do remember the service, which I shared with Michael Brown, the then Vicar of St. Mary's, and I remember the reception with many of the youth group present. Mark has lived all his adult life with her, and  she was, truly, his other half.

I left St. Mary's in 1982 but over the years Mark and Catherine would pop up occasionally, appearing on our doorstep after long intervals looking pretty much as they did in 1981; a little more lined, perhaps, and lately a little more gray, but only a little. They had  built a good life together. They had two children who are now both doing very well indeed at University. With a combination of Mark's superb interpersonal skills and Catherine's savvy, over the years they had built up a business which allowed them a measure of comfort and some exciting possibilities for the future.

Last Friday Mark celebrated his 50th birthday at a restaurant with a few good friends. Catherine was feeling a little ill, but not ill enough to stay home. By the end of the evening she was feeling a lot worse and continued to deteriorate during the weekend. On Monday she died of influenza.

After I learned of her death I went for a long walk on St. Kilda's beach, to pray for Mark and his children, but also to face my own sense of shock. The services with guitar and flute and the games of shipwreck and the studies with gestetner sheets all seem so very, very recent; but of course they are a lifetime ago: Catherine's lifetime. In this tiny span of time a lovely woman has come from the brink of womanhood to maturity, formed a home, raised children and made her contribution to her society. Now she is suddenly gone. It is all so fragile and temporary and brief.

Her funeral is on Friday in Wellington Cathedral, and Michael Brown will lead it. I am sorry I can't be there but I know Michael will do the best possible job that these circumstances allow. So I commit her to Jesus, who loved her and who loves her still.

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May the soul of  your  faithful servant Catherine rest in peace. Amen.

Comments

Barbara Harris said…
Dear Kelvin,

My very deepest sympathy to you in the so sudden loss of the beautiful friend you loved so well.

" No reira, waiho ko te aroha o Te Matua Kaha Rawa hei korowai mou "
May the love of the Father, the Almighty, surround you like a feather cloak.

Arohanui,
Barbara
Selwyn Paynter said…
Dear Kelvin,

Penelope and I went to Catherine's funeral yesterday, it was a great celebration of her life. As you could imagine their was much sadness but also many laughs.

When we were back at their house after the service I found your blog which brought back many happy memories, and was appreciated by all.

regards

Selwyn paynter
Jenny Wilkens said…
HI Kelvin, good to read your memories of Catherine and the Merivale days. I ended up taking the service, as Michael wasn't able to, and was very conscious of people's prayers and how much those early seeds sown had borne fruit in Catherine and Mark and their family.
Nothing is lost on the breath of God, Nothing is lost forever,
God’s breath is love and that love will remain
Holding the world forever.
(Colin Gibson)
Kind regards,
Jenny Wilkens

Popular posts from this blog

Camino, by David Whyte

This poem captures it perfectly Camino. The way forward, the way between things, the way already walked before you, the path disappearing and re-appearing even as the ground gave way beneath you, the grief apparent only in the moment of forgetting, then the river, the mountain, the lifting song of the Sky Lark inviting you over the rain filled pass when your legs had given up, and after, it would be dusk and the half-lit villages in evening light; other people's homes glimpsed through lighted windows and inside, other people's lives; your own home you had left crowding your memory as you looked to see a child playing or a mother moving from one side of a room to another, your eyes wet with the keen cold wind of Navarre. But your loss brought you here to walk under one name and one name only, and to find the guise under which all loss can live; remember you were given that name every day along the way, remember you were greeted as such, and you neede

Kindle

 Living as I do in a place where most books have to come a long way in an aeroplane, reading is an expensive addiction, and of course there is always the problem of shelf space. I have about 50 metres of shelving in my new study, but it is already full and there is not a lot of wall space left; and although it is great insulation, what is eventually going to happen to all that paper? I doubt my kids will want to fill their homes with old theological works, so most of my library is eventually going to end up as egg cartons. Ebooks are one solution to book cost and storage issues so I have been  using them for a while now, but their big problem has been finding suitable hardware to read them on.  I first read them on the tiny screens of Ipaqs and they were quite satisfactory but the wretchedness of Microsoft Reader and its somewhat arbitrary copyright protection system killed the experience entirely. On Palm devices they were OK except the plethora of competing and incompatible formats

Ko Tangata Tiriti Ahau

    The Christmas before last our kids gave us Ancestry.com kits. You know the deal: you spit into a test tube, send it over to Ireland, and in a month or so you get a wadge of paper in the mail telling you who you are. I've never, previously, been interested in all that stuff. I knew my forbears came to Aotearoa in the 1850's from Britain but I didn't know from where, exactly. Clemency's results, as it turns out, were pretty interesting. She was born in England, but has ancestors from various European places, and some who are Ngāti Raukawa, so she can whakapapa back to a little marae called Kikopiri, near Ōtaki. And me? It turns out I'm more British than most British people. Apart from a smattering of Norse  - probably the result of some Viking raid in the dim distant past - all my tūpuna seem to have come from a little group of villages in Nottinghamshire.  Now I've been to the UK a few times, and I quite like it, but it's not home: my heart and soul belon

En Hakkore

In the hills up behind Ranfurly there used to be a town, Hamilton, which at one stage was home to 5,000 people. All that remains of it now is a graveyard, fenced off and baking in the lonely brown hills. Near it, in the 1930s a large Sanitorium was built for the treatment of tuberculosis and other respiratory ailments. It was a substantial complex of buildings with wards, a nurses hostel, impressive houses for the manager and superintendent and all the utility buildings needed for such a large operation. The treatment offered consisted of isolation, views and weather. Patients were exposed to the air, the tons of it which whistled past, often at great speed, the warmth of the sun and the cold. They were housed in small cubicles opening onto huge glassed verandas where they cooked in the summer and froze in the winter and often, what with the wholesome food and the exercise, got better. When advances in antibiotics rendered the Sanitorium obsolete it was turned into a Borstal and the

Return to Middle Earth

 We had a flood, a couple of weeks back, and had to move all the stuff out of the spare bedroom, including  the contents of two floor to ceiling book cases. Shoving the long unopened copies of Sartor Resartus and An Introduction to Byron into cartons, I came upon my  copy of The Lord of the Rings . Written in the flyleaf are the dates of its many readings, the last one being when I read it aloud to Catherine, when she was about 10 or 11, well over 20 years ago. The journey across Middle Earth took Catherine and me the best part of a year, except for the evening when we followed Frodo and Sam across the last stretches of Mordor and up Mount Doom, when we simply couldn't stop, and sat up reading until 11.00 pm, on a school night.  My old copy is a paperback, the same edition that every card carrying baby boomer has somewhere on their shelves. The glue has dried and hardened. The cover and many of the pages have come loose. I was overcome with the urge to read it again, but this old