Saturday 26 October 2013

A Graceful Death and Soul Midwife Exhibition in Bridport. Come. We know where you live. Next Weekend.

A family at a recent AGD exhibition.  
We, Lizzie, Eileen, Jackie and I open the exhibition on Friday 1 November, at 10am, and from that moment on, we will be going with the flow, hoping to see you all, and being excited about everything.

There is our dedicated website here -

This website tells you all what is happening, when, and with whom.  What it does not tell you is that my new Hungarian Lady Lodger is making us some fabulous brownies, in bulk, to use for our afternoon teas. She is going to provide you all with brownies that will make you realise how alive you really are. Recently she was spotted cooking in the kitchen and we all kept an eye on her, as the smells were wonderful.  Later on, she let us try a bit of the chocolate brownies that she had made, and we all vied to become her best friend after that.  So now, she has agreed to make a lorry load for AGD, and for you, from Friday onwards.  The website does not tell you that we are looking for fairy lights to hang outside in the bushes at the entrance, so that you will be welcomed into a magical exhibition which we all know, is not magical, but has much love and passion in it.   Nor that we are going to burn beautiful smelling candles, and that we will create the most lovely exhibition. We will be challenged.  We will talk about death and dying, there will be difficult moments, but you will be held lovingly and kindly throughout, and there will be just as many jolly, happy and satisfied moments, moments of insight, of understanding, of acceptance and of sadness and remembering. 

You have seen this photo before, it shows the entrance to the Chapel in which AGD will be set up.  I want to put lights out here, in the November darkness, to welcome you all in.
The exhibition space in the Unitarian Chapel in the Garden in Bridport.  Lizzie and I being thrilled in the Summer with it. Still thrilled in the Winter (thank goodness)

Here, just to remind you, despite you having already clicked on the AGD Bridport website link above and thoroughly memorised everything, is the agenda.  I am so happy to have such excellent Soul Midwives at this event too, and hope that you will come to take part in their workshops and talks. 

  • Friday 1 November   10am Exhibition Opens. Exhibition free, donations accepted.
  • 11am stalls open.  Cards, CDs, earrings, Graceful Gifts memorial items, books, gifts.
  • Teas, coffees, cakes and buns available up in the exhibition area.  Donations accepted.
  • 7pm - 10pm Friday, Open Event.  I will introduce AGD and speak a bit about working with the dying through art and what effect it has on them and me.  There will be readings of some wonderful poetry from the exhibition, and best of all - a piano concert by AGD Composer Lizzie Hornby.       
  • Saturday 2 November 10 am exhibition opens. Teas, coffees, cakes, goodies upstairs.  Stalls open too.
  • 10am - 11am Laughter Therapy Workshop with Mandy Preece. Mandy is a practicing Soul Midwife teacher and practitioner. Mandy is an experienced, gentle, much loved and in demand Soul Midwife.  £5.00 on the door.
  • 2pm  - 3pm What is Soul Midwifery by Felicity Warner.  Felicity is the founder of the Soul Midwife movement, and lives locally near Bridport.  I trained with Felicity a few years ago, and have not looked back since. Felicity is inspiring.  Felicity has worked tirelessly to help change the culture of how we let people die, and is a kind, sweet hearted and gentle soul who will not take no for an answer.  She is an author too.  £5.00 on the door
  • 3.30 - 4.30 Harp music played in the exhibition space by Jane Saunders, musician and Sound Therapist.  Jane is a wonderful funny kind and talented musician, and brought her ukulele to my house recently to play some reggae songs.  Of course it was barking, but fun.  Tea and cakes will be on sale and you can rest amongst the artworks with Jane playing her harp to soothe and charm you.
  • Sunday 3 November exhibition opens at 10am
  • 11am - 12pm  Service in the Unitarian Chapel, led by Unitarian Minister Lizzie Hornby, and a bit by me.  I am delighted to be able to take part with Lizzie, and hope I keep up with her.
  • Bring and share lunch for all, time to chat, to meet, chat, chill and to see the exhibition with a sandwich in your hand. The exhibition is held just behind the chapel itself, up the stairs.  
  • 2pm - 3pm Sound workshop and sound bath by Soul Midwife and Sound Therapist Sarah Weller, up in the exhibition space.  Everything provided, just turn up and be amazed.  Sarah is wowing everyone with her Sound Baths!  We love Sarah, she works a lot with AGD, and also takes her gongs and bowls to all places for all people all the time.  Sarah is also a Soul Midwife.
  • 4pm the exhibition closes.

Gentle much missed John Horne, part of the AGD exhibition.  It is his daughter and granddaughters that are looking at the painting at the beginning of this blog.

I travel down with Eileen on Thursday and with Lizzie and Jackie's help, we will be making the exhibition as memorable, as effective, and as welcoming as possible.  The setting up is always a total act of creation.  We often are not allowed to touch the walls, and so have to find other ways of displaying the paintings.  I propped them up on piles of old books against the walls once, in a lovely old room that was used as a tearoom, in a big old manor house.  If we can't use the walls, I have ways of adapting the exhibition so that it still greets you, still works and is strong enough to speak its message. In the Chapel in the Garden in Bridport, I will have a lovely large room in which to play, a staircase, a lobby area and a separate room where we will be holding the workshops and Lizzie's concert on Friday night.  I will be displaying the new paintings of Mike and Julia with MND, of Claire and Kate Granger with Cancer.  I hope I can play the films of Julia, of Mike, and the AGD film made by Neill Blume too.  We are expecting Mike to come on Friday, and hope it is possible.  

This is Lizzie's piece composed for the exhibition, called A Graceful Death. The left hand plays the notes as if they were a heartbeat.  At times in the piece, the heartbeat fades, becomes irregular, and then starts up again.  Lizzie's creativity amazes me, and her adaptation of the AGD message into her music, is an example of how clever I think she is.  Lizzie will be playing this and more, on Friday night, at the Chapel in the Garden Unitarian Church, East Street, Bridport.  £10 on the door, and a glass of wine and nibbles included.  You will, of course, have access to the exhibition and be able to talk to us all.
You are all welcome.  We hope to see you there, we look forward to meeting new friends, and seeing our old ones, and hearing what you think both of the exhibition, and of the end of life in general.


And So.

A snap shot of this afternoon.  I sit, as I do, on my sofa.  Outside my window, the guard hollyhocks are smacking passers by in the face as usual and the wind and rain are making them even more unpredictable (hollyhocks, not passers by).  Giant Boy is lying in a pair of jeans only, on the sofa opposite, eating pasta loudly and listening to South Park through headphones on his laptop.  His legs hang over the end of the sofa from the knees and he is so obviously a baby dinosaur, that if I was not used to him, I would wonder how on earth he is kept fed and exercised.  This dinosaur is laughing loudly every few minutes and I am trying not to react because the only other way for him to pass his time is to practice judo on me.  I don't want to bring myself to his attention.  We have a mantra here for when he gets too enthusiastic, "Mummy is for loving, friends are for hitting."  When he is longing to throw me over his shoulder and when he gives me a wooden stick with which to hit him so he can fend off the attack with quick Bruce Lee type moves, I have to shout very loudly "Giant Boy!  Mummy is for loving and friends are for hitting!" and then I run.  

He is on half term now and has told me he will be here 24 hours a day until next Monday.  Giant Boy doesn't go out much, he is a home bod and wants nothing more than to see his mother fly through the air between meals.  However, his mother is going to Bridport on Thursday, and won't be back till next Monday.  He may have to find the Hungarian Lady Lodger and give her some Judo instead.

Wednesday 16 October 2013

Are We Ready to Talk About Dying?  

An article written by Katriona Feinstein from the AGD talk and exhibition at the Brighton School of Medical Science.

Bognor Regis artist Antonia Rolls opens up the conversation on death – and the result is surprisingly positive
I am sitting in a brightly-lit lecture hall in Brighton and Sussex Medical School, watching a woman use a green LED torch light to show areas of interest on a picture of a dead man.  She draws our attention first to his still-moist lips and then to the bright spots on his jaundiced, sunken eyes.
This is no medical demonstration.  Our speaker is no woman of science.  She is Antonia Rolls (left), full-of-life, self-professed Artist Extraordinaire.  The picture is in fact a painting – hers – and in it she has depicted her beloved partner’s emaciated face minutes after his death, framed by a golden halo.
I was not sure what to expect.  Like many, I am used to thinking of death as something we all know is there, waiting in the wings, and that, probably, the best thing we can do is just to keep it quiet.  Like an uncomfortable shared secret we know we’ll all be forced to listen to, loudly, at some point or another.  Why not put it off until then?
Antonia is on a mission to show us this attitude is not helping. 

Antonia Rolls’ partner Steve, the inspiration for A Graceful Death, whilst dying of liver cancer in 2007.
It all started for her in 2007, when her partner, Steve, was dying from liver cancer.  Bewildered and angry, she did what she knew best and painted the last few weeks, days and the actual day of his death, “with no other aim than to survive and understand this terrible loss.”  She never expected anything to come of these painfully honest depictions.  “I didn’t think anyone would want anything to do with me if they saw them,” she said with typical wry humour as she showed us the first image of Steve’s deteriorated form.

A Graceful Death – Paintings from the End of Life, Brighton and Sussex Medical School, 3rd October.
But in 2009, she summoned the courage to put on a small exhibition of the works in her house.  To her surprise, strangers and friends turned up and responded passionately to her illustrations of the end of life.  Most importantly, she found amongst her visitors a common desire to talk about their own experiences.  “I learned a huge lesson that day,” she said.  “Everybody has a story to tell.”

And now, Antonia tours the country telling the stories that people want told.   Since those early days, A Graceful Death has grown to include commissioned paintings of both dying and dead subjects, in addition to “Survivors” – those bereaved, or those who have endured a life-threatening illness.  At her exhibitions and talks she tells each person’s story in charming and poignant detail, helped by poetry and snapshots of that person’s life and death, written by their loved ones.  

Her aim is to start a conversation about death and create a space where people can share their feelings on this often-avoided subject. 

“I don’t want to die!” she admitted readily during her talk.  “It’s the biggest unknown.”   But it is as much a part of everyone’s life as all the rest, she said, and accepting death is fundamental to having an easy one. 
In East Asia, Confucian philosophy helps death to be thought of as an inevitable part of Destiny.  A man’s death can be considered less final through a belief that his family will constitute a continuation of his self.  However, as Antonia pointed out, in our more individualistic western cultures, we do not have a tradition of acceptance and we tend to fear the topic.  She believes we all have to deal with death at some point and most of us, through dodging thinking about it for years, suddenly have to go through a “crash course” on how to cope whilst at our least able to do so.  She wants to use A Graceful Death to show that it is not wrong to talk about death, to cry, to get upset and to laugh.  “There’s a lot of laughter in the exhibition,” she said, with a smile. 

The wit and candour with which she discussed her own gruelling experiences illuminate each of her paintings.  Her simple diptych, ‘Alone with Tea’ (left), portrays herself, desolate after her partner Steve’s death but with a teapot and mug by her feet.  She writes in the paintings’ description that here she is taking solace in the fact that “there is still tea.”  

Then there is the story of Hiram Burnett (right), a real character, strongly disliked by all of his children.  On what was to be his final day alive, Hiram’s daughter Cecil decided to visit him in hospital after a long time apart.  There Cecil finally realised that although she did not like her father, she loved him totally.  She asked him if she could take a photo and he instantly pulled the cheeky face seen here in Antonia’s painting. 

Walking around the cold and fluorescent lobby of the Medical School, I could not help but be touched by these stories.  Each person (or cat!) was given his or her own small, personalised section.  Antonia’s great skill was to give each life a sense of truth and immediacy, through boldly-painted facial expressions and intimate accounts from families.  The cherished slippers, rubber ducks and tiny perfume bottles hiding cosily in each painting were symbols of each of these subjects’ rich, various and funny existences.   I found an inescapable feeling of brief closeness to each one.

And yet death as a topic can still seem too raw to seek out.  I was told that some who had booked to come to the exhibition could not face entering the building.  It is certainly true that a few of the paintings are uncomfortable and haunting.  One in particular shows Steve in the bath with rubber ducks.  She writes that here the illness had taken hold of him and he had slipped into another place mentally where she could not reach him.  He looks frail, uncertain and lost.

I asked Antonia why people want to be represented in their dying states.  Would their families not want a painting that reminds them of the good times?  Are there not photos from their youth that could be painted?
In spite of what society expects, “dying people do not want to go and die quietly in a room somewhere,” she replied.  “Until they are dead they are very much alive and they each have a story to tell.”  Many of them want to be seen, she said, and this is why they or their loved ones have approached her to ask for paintings from the last stage of life.  I was surprised to learn from conversations with audience members later that it is also not uncommon to take photographs at funerals, in order to chart the very last part of a loved one’s story.  They saw it as part of the acceptance of death.

And what does Antonia get out of doing this work?  “Painting someone who is dying and disappearing before your eyes helps to keep a connection with them even though they are changing and moving off to another place.”  After this helped her through Steve’s death, she said it “seemed right somehow” to move on to painting others.  “It is the most humbling and inspiring, and sometimes very difficult, way to paint…  It has changed my life because now I try to understand what I have, not what I have not.”
Although the subject matter may seem the heaviest, the hardest to understand and the most frightening, Antonia’s talk on her work for A Graceful Death and as a “Soul Midwife” (a spiritual and emotional companion for the dying) was in fact uplifting and cathartic. 

The audience watched in sharp silence as Antonia interviewed Mike Hardy, an ex-headmaster severely disabled by Motor Neuron Disease, and Michelle, his wife.  Mike was supposed to attend the evening but after 11 years of living with the disease, he had recently become unable to travel and was forced to appear by pre-recorded video.  “He never gets any better,” his wife said during the taped interview, “only ever worse.”

Despite such bleak content, the video and talk actually united the audience – which was an eclectic mix of medical students, doctors, mourners, clergymen and art enthusiasts.  The evening was not academic or particularly philosophical (apart from encouraging openness).   It was an appreciation and discussion of a spiritual experience that never became over-sentimentalised or centred on religion.  Its focus was our entirely human reactions to death and our shared ability for resilience.  In the context, it became life-affirming to watch Mike and Michelle chat on film about carrying on with their lives as normally as possible and Mike continue to tease Michelle through his computer-operated voice, as he always had done when able-bodied. 
After the talk, most audience members turned to their neighbours and asked them questions or comforted them if they seemed upset.  One woman talked to me about her brother who had died young and I, usually reticent on such matters, found myself telling her about the song they had played at my grandfather’s funeral. 
I would highly recommend A Graceful Death as an unusual and unexpectedly uplifting experience. 

A Graceful Death – Paintings from the End of Life
Upcoming events:
1st-3rd November: A Graceful Death and Soul Midwife Exhibition, Unitarian Church, 49 East St., Bridport, Dorset, DT6 3JX.
16th-17th November: A Graceful Death and Sound Therapy Workshop, 113 Marshall Avenue, Bognor Regis, PO21 2TH.
7th December: A Graceful Death and Gentle Therapy Day, 113 Marshall Avenue, Bognor Regis, PO21 2TH

Sunday 13 October 2013

A Blog in which I say as little as possible. Happily, but wearily, back on the sofa.

I have been talking to Giant Boy.  "Giant Boy," I said, "I do not know what to write."  He is sitting on the floor as I lie covered in pink woollen blankets and cushions on the sofa.  He is doing his college work, and I am staring into space.

It is pouring with rain outside, and I watch the guard hollyhocks sway dangerously in the wind, keeping the unwary from the door unless they know that they are there, or they find a different way into the house.  The heating will not go on until sometime later and I have just noticed that it is 4pm, and probably time for tea.

What is happening? You ask.  How is it that you do not know what to write?  I will answer these two questions briefly and in order.
  1. Not a lot
  2. No idea.
Perhaps a little bit of context would help.

I have been exceptionally busy recently.  I have been organising, arranging, writing, interviewing, speaking and being proactive.  My mind has been filled to the brim with exciting thoughts, and I have found extra minutes in the day to call people up and tell them about these ideas.  "Hello!" I say on the phone to a friend in the evening, at supper time, for example. "Put down your soup spoon and listen to me!  I have another idea!". Sighing faintly, my friends do listen, because they are kind and they love me.  And so it goes, until, I get a free Sunday (today), when suddenly I find I can no longer speak.  My head is very tired. There are no thoughts in it at all, and you could hear the wind whistle through it, so empty has it become.  Add to this, I have not slept so well recently, and we can see that I am a little below par.  Pooped, as they say.  

But!  I did go to Bridport yesterday to meet with Lizzie Hornby who is helping to organise the next A Graceful Death and Soul Midwife event there on the 1,2 and 3 November.  I cannot write what we did there, but it was efficient and helpful.  I have created a special website that will give you all the info you need for Bridport, because you will want to come - 

The event is held in the Unitarian Chapel in the Garden, and will be filled with the AGD paintings, tea and cakes and a small gift shop.  We have a talk on Soul Midwifery by the founder of the movement and author Felicity Warner, we have a fabulous concert by Lizzie who composed the music for the exhibition. We have a laugher therapy workshop by Soul Midwife teacher and practitioner Mandy Preece and we have a Sound Workshop and Sound Bath by Soul Midwife Sarah Weller.  The Opening Event is set to be a fab affair, with a piano concert by Lizzie, who will be playing music from her latest CD, and I will be talking about what I do and why, who are the people behind the portraits. The exhibition is running from 10am on Friday 1 November till 4pm Sunday 3 November.  All the new paintings will be there, plus the older ones, and there will be much to talk about, much to think about and time and space to in which to do so.  My team for this event are Musician Lizzie Hornby, Photographer Eileen Rafferty and Fabulously Helpful Jackie Keogh. A round of applause for them, and another when it is all over.

Outside the Unitarian Chapel in the Garden in Bridport, host to the next big AGD exhibition in November.  You will be able to get down the path without me standing in the way longing to hug you.  I will behave.
On Tuesday, I am taking part in a Schwartz Round at the Hospice where I volunteer.  This is where the medical, social and volunteering staff all meet and talk over a difficult topic that comes up in the Hospice, and see how we deal with it.  There is a panel of about three who have a story of how they experienced the topic under discussion, and the rest of the room then talk it over.  I am on the panel this week and the topic is "when things go wrong".  But I know nothing about that, I told them.  You are dealing, I continued, with the Artist Extraordinaire, and things simply go right.  All the time.  No one believed me, and I am on the panel with a story of my own, of how something went wrong.

And now.  I am still on the sofa.  Night has fallen, and the heating is on.  I have been asked to write a tiny piece on AGD for the Dying Matters magazine Farewell, and I have done so.  Feeling as tired and blank as I do, it was a struggle not to send in a piece saying that I haven't a clue, and I can't remember anything about it.  I used small sentences and short words, and I think it worked.  Thank you to Farewell Magazine for asking in the first place, I am delighted.  A very perceptive and engaging piece has been written about the Brighton School of Medical Science AGD last week, by Katriona Feinstein.  She has asked for some more bits to finish the article, which I will write that and send over tonight. Then, I hope, it can be published online and wherever it can be seen.  I have known Kat since she was 7, and I loved her then and love her now.  She is well over 7 now, in case you think I make kids write articles about me.

Here is a very interesting encounter with which to end this week.  After I had finished talking about AGD at the BSMS last week, a young student came up to talk to me and told me that she had painted her Grandfather as he was dying for her A Levels.  Louise Byfield is a young Arts Student now, and sent me an image of her painting. Not only do I think that Louise is very talented to paint her old Grandfather in this way, I am impressed that she chose him as a subject.  This is what Louise said in her email, that here were

 "paintings I made during my A levels and art foundation. The painting of just his face I painted after his death during my foundation and the coloured paintings before during my A levels. Interestingly enough I never made the connections of colour and lack of it till your talk. I felt more at peace after painting him I now realise. 
A nice thought. "

Louise Byfield's Grandfather, painted as he was dying, for her A Levels.  I think this is just wonderful, thank you for sharing it, Louise.

Saturday 5 October 2013

AGD goes to Brighton University Medical School and Julia's powerful MND interview

A Graceful Death went to Brighton University Medical School this week and did its thing.

Before the event, sitting with dead Steve for a moment.
We, Endre the Hungarian lodger who, having just moved in, was asked to finish his unpacking and come to Bournemouth now to make a film of a man with MND for me, and did, and I set the paintings up during the day in the big public foyer of the building next to the cafe.  The exhibition opened at 6, the talk started at about 6.30, and at about 8, everyone was encouraged to go back to the exhibition and experience the paintings after having heard me speak about what I do.

We were surrounded by students coming and going in waves, all watching, looking, asking questions, talking about death and dying and interacting as the paintings went up, reading the stories, poems and explanations.  All afternoon, I had emails and texts from them, telling me what they thought of the idea of paintings from the end of life, of the works, and how it had moved and inspired them.  I loved it.  They were direct with their questions and responses, it made me see how wonderful it would be to work amongst young people for whom death and dying were open to discussion and full of fascination.  I even had a poem sent to me from the Accounts Department.  A very good poem.  It will join the others with the next showing of AGD in Bridport at the beginning of November.  Thank you for that, David.

I enjoyed speaking very much.  It is such a help to be talking about paintings, as they come up on the power point behind me and I know them so well.  I love my paintings, I love the people in them, and I feel linked to them for the time we spent together. I am very involved with each painting, and remember much about how it felt to be with that person, and how their story unfolded.  And the audience like to hear about who is being represented to them.  They like to know who they are seeing, and be introduced to them as if they are a new friend.  I expect each person forms their own relationships with the painted images of the people in AGD.  Part of the beauty is that the stories are meant to touch you in the most appropriate way possible for you. You find your own meaning.

I loved the questions and answers afterwards. It is just wonderful to have people ask you what you think, and what your opinion is, and be unable to get away or shut you up because they are part of an audience and your job is to answer their questions.  One of the questions was, do I teach?  Do I teach medical students, because they would benefit from this approach to the end of life?  My reply was that I would love to talk to medical students.  The lady who asked the question made a very good point, she is a palliative care nurse who now works in education, and she comes across countless students that are nervous about this part of their career.

When we were setting AGD up in the foyer, with our waves of students coming and going and asking questions, many of them were medical students and all of them told me that they were afraid of end of life care.  "What will I do?" they asked, "What if I do it wrong, what if I say the wrong thing?"  They were very nervous of encountering dying people and felt that the experience would be far outside their comfort zone. I asked them what they felt was expected of them when they had to deal with patients with palliative needs.  We talked of their fears, and the feelings of helplessness and awkwardness they thought they would have on meeting dying people.  That as doctors and medics, they should know what to do, and would have to answer questions and get them all correct. They felt that they needed to protect themselves from being shown up as wrong, or as stupid, or even, as emotional.  One medical student suggested coming with me to visit people for AGD.  I think that this shows that the students want to explore this part of their training.  They want to do it, but safely, without feeling that they are being thrown into the deep end and that they must pass some kind of test.  If it were possible, I would gladly take a student or two to visit someone I work with for AGD.  It may well be a very good idea.  Much to think about. The A Graceful Death exhibition is an excellent spring board for all sorts of  discussions on dying.  It is different to talk with someone who works through art and words, telling stories of the end of life to the wider community, so that their dying experiences can be seen for what they are - sad, peaceful, difficult, terrifying, releasing, with moments of surprising wonder and love, truthful, meaningful and most of all, normal.

The next day we packed up, loaded up the car, and left.  I don't know about Hungarian Endre ( he is very stoic), but I was pooped.

Having a sleep next to dead Steve.  As one does.  Exhausted.  Pooped.
I want now to share with you six minutes of the film that Eileen took of an interview of Julia, one of my MND sitters for AGD, talking a few weeks before her death.  I must warn you that it is hard to watch, because Julia is dying, Julia cannot now speak because of her MND and that there is a great need for her to tell her daughter Elizabeth that she understands how afraid Elizabeth is. The parts in the film when Julia looks away and moves her eyes are when she cannot make her words understood and she looks at the special board with letters on it.  She looks at a letter at a time to spell out a word and looks at Yes or No written at the edge of the board when we get her words right or wrong.

Elizabeth is 12.  She has not been able to speak to nor spend time with her mother, because she is so frightened.  Elizabeth is a lovely girl, and in this clip agreed to join us as we film Julia.  This clip is part of a longer interview showing how MND limits communication, and affects the body, but does not touch the mind.  None of us expected this encounter, in which Julia spends much energy trying to tell Elizabeth, who sits next to her, that she understands how frightened she is, and that nothing, nothing, can be too much for Julia to hear from her daughter.  Elizabeth does tell her that she is afraid, and that she does not want her mother to go.  Something important happens, a conversation that needed to be had, and you can see the strength, the wisdom of Julia the mother and the love of both Julia and Elizabeth for each other. We were all tearful after this, and we thank Barry, Julia's husband, for agreeing to the filming in the first place.  We thank Elizabeth for her strength and honesty. She really is a lovely girl.  Here we go -


Julia, kind intelligent much loved Julia died on 9 August 2013.

Julia about two months before this interview, able to talk, but with difficulty and able to move her head.  On the arm of her chair are the names of her husband Barry, and her children Adam and Elizabeth with a forget me not.