On National Pink Day: A funeral for a friend

I don't know where to begin with this one, but I must write it today, even if I can't write it as well or thoroughly as I'd like to. Apologies in advance for the clumsy nature of my writing in this post, and most of the photos are at the end if this post is too long/upsetting to read and you just want to see pretty photos.

The last few posts here have been about loss and that's no accident - losses or pre-losses have been a significant factor in my life for the last year. It's one reason I haven't blogged much.

When I told my friends I was doing a floristry diploma back in 2011, a few got excited and said I could do their wedding flowers if they got married. Others got excited and said I could do their funeral flowers. I remember those conversations, because I wasn't excited at all by the idea - I didn't want to think about my friends dying and I didn't enjoy doing funeral flowers anyway. But that was a long time ago - I've since finished my therapy degree, worked for three years as a voluntary bereavement counsellor at St Christopher's Hospice, and processed my own bereavements from long ago. I've also come to - I can't think of the right word. Not "enjoy" exactly, but I've become much more comfortable with doing flowers to do with loss, and have found beauty and love and human connections through that work.

And so I have done wedding flowers for a few friends, birthday and anniversary flowers for others, but no funerals for friends - until this week.

Vicky came into my life a few months after my partner and I called off our wedding. I was in a state of not-quite denial at the time - constantly doing new things and meeting new people and not wanting to sit with my pain because I worried if I sat with it too long, I would fall apart and be unable to piece myself together.

I was at the Depressed Cake Shop in Sundridge Park in August 2013 - and I've just remembered that it was only 100m up the road from the flat where I lived with my (ex) partner. I was there all day, and Vicky turned up in the middle of the day. All I can remember about her that day was how friendly she was, how she seemed like she knew me already, how many photos she took, and her nails were painted pink and blue. I wish I had photos of her from the day but I don't.

We became firm friends at once, and although the shop was supposed to be about fundraising and awareness, it was also the place that brought two women who were often crippled by depression (and anxiety) together. She was a troubled sleeper like me, and we would often write crap to each other on our night-time Facebook posts or text at odd hours. And, like in maths where two negatives make a positive, our mental ill-health seemed to cancel each other's out, and we would feel so comfortable and often joyful with each other. I told her father recently (he encouraged me to write this post today) that being friends with Vicky in my late thirties was like having a childhood friend to go shopping with in the 1980s - we never went anywhere especially exciting, but we both liked pretty, kitsch, weird things, we had a sweet tooth, our favourite colour was pink, and with her I felt the closest I felt to being a little kid and getting excited about pick 'n' mix and Easter Eggs and Adam and the Ants records in Woolworths. The one time Vicky and I went out for my birthday, last autumn, we asked for colouring-in posters and crayons and we sat in Giraffe eating our dinner and colouring in monkeys and elephants (and lamenting that there was no pink crayon).

Only four months after we met in 2013, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. After initially being told she would make a full recovery within a year, she was then told that actually she had secondary breast cancer - that's what the pain in her shoulder was - and at the age of thirty she suddenly had to get her head around the idea that her life expectancy was only another 5-10 years. That turned out to be an optimistic prognosis. I don't want to write about her cancer now because there is SO much to say, but I will just say that her attitude and her kindness and generosity of spirit during the last three and a half years are beyond incredible. She remained a support to me, with my disabled sister, with my mental health, with my lack of self-esteem and confidence, with my other loved ones with cancer, even while she was so ill herself. She never wanted to die, until right at the end, when she was in so much agony and the brain metastases, radiotherapy and steroids had left her in a terrible state. She shared every medical update with her friends and family on Facebook and sometimes in her exquisitely-written blog, and so we were able to support her (and each other) as much as possible. Because of this, many of us connected during her last five weeks in St Christopher's Hospice, and continued to do so after she died there three weeks ago.

During one visit to the hospice, I sat in the room while Vicky slept, and I talked to her mother. Her mother told me that Vicky had told her she wanted me to do a coffin spray for her. I was choked by this - Vicky and I had never talked about funeral flowers and I had no idea she wanted me to do hers. She gave me a free hand as well, which was - as ever - a sign of her love, trust and generosity to the people she cared about.

I'm so tired now, I can barely write...but I want to try to explain why I chose the flowers I did.

Vicky had asked me to source striped roses before, and I used some in the bouquet and posy I did for her 33rd birthday. I ordered "Angry Bird" white and red striped roses for her funeral flowers, but they were unavailable, so I had "Frou Frou" pink and red striped roses instead.

I wanted lots of beautiful roses for her because she loved them and they're a symbol of love and grace, so I ordered "Charity" David Austin roses because of their scent, unusual appearance with the bright green stamen inside, and the name - Vicky was the embodiment of charity in the biblical sense, and apart from the coffin spray she didn't want any flowers but rather donations to St Christopher's and to cancer charities. It was also a thank you to the hospice that cared for her over three years but especially at the end.

I also ordered "Tess" David Austin roses, because they are named after Tess of the d'Urbervilles who's one of my favourite fictional heroes - so loving and tenacious. They're not especially scented, but they are such a gorgeous, sexy dark red, which is a colour I associate with Vicky even though I don't think I ever saw her wear it.

There were bright pink "Dr Alexander Fleming" peonies because she was so appreciative of medical research and because peonies are symbolic of a few things, including anger, and I am so angry she got this horrible illness and died so young. There were pale "Shirley Temple" peonies because of her playful, child-like side.

I did order "Karma Choc" dahlias (which look like and smell of chocolate) and bright "Labyrinth" dahlias (because she liked David Bowie, a "fellow cancer patient" as she called him, and was gutted when he died), but that bloody heatwave pretty much killed the dahlias, despite some great advice on keeping them cool and hydrated from Sara at My Flower Patch (it was at her flower patch last year that I smelled the chocolate-scented dahlias for the first time). I snuck in a few not-too-shabby chocolate dahlias so Vicky could have one last chocolate fix, and I used a few buds of Labyrinth which had lasted better than the main flowers. Dahlias symbolise dignity amongst other things.

There was jasmine from the garden, which started flowering the day after she died. It symbolises attachment and amiability.

There was also ivy, which is sign of love and fidelity, magnolia (more dignity), eucalyptus for protection, fern for sincerity, rosemary for remembrance, and mint for protection and warmth of emotions.

It is British Flowers Week, so I bought lots of flowers from Zest on Monday, including achillea which the Victorians called "a cure for a broken heart", astilbe, and brodiaea, as well as giant alliums and scented dill. The last two were a tribute to one of Vicky's wonderful sisters, who organised the funeral (pink hearse and pink cupcakes and all) and who grows organic vegetables. There was also pale pink malope, which I've grown from seed for the first time. It was also Zest where I ordered her roses, peonies and dahlias.

It was an honour and a privilege to do this for my friend and I am so glad she let me. I listened to Nirvana and Radiohead and Joy Division while I worked in a dark garage. It was hard at times - I suddenly started crying when I had to use a measuring tape and long stems of rosemary to measure out the size I would be working to, realising that I was measuring my dead friend's body. It was horrible. This was a flipping world away from doing wedding flowers for a friend.

I need to finish now, but not before sharing a few links.

Firstly, the funeral directors Varley and Varley who were so personal, intuitive, and sensitive. Clayton Varley is an exceptional man.

Secondly, St Christopher's Hospice - if you have been bereaved of someone who received care there, you can request bereavement counselling if you would like. You can also help with fundraising or become a volunteer as I was up until a month ago. It is a lovely place to work, as well as an amazing place to receive care - Vicky and I would sometimes have lunch together when her outpatient appointments and my supervision meetings were on the same day.

And finally, the Samaritans on 116 123, because cancer, death, depression, all of it is a shit, and if you need to talk to someone, they are there.

If you find Mother's Day difficult: alternative workshop on 25 March

When I did my floristry diploma, we were taught about the importance of certain dates in the calendar - the most significant being Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Easter, and Christmas. For another module, we were taught how to sensitively take an order for funeral flowers. We didn't really put them together, and it's only because of personal losses in the last few years (my own and my friends') and my work as a bereavement counsellor that I've seen how the two are connected.

I have mixed feelings about Valentine's Day, and I still wish it was used as a day to celebrate all kinds of love rather than solely a day for couples to remind themselves that they're a couple.

I've seen how Mother's Day can be upsetting for people - whose mothers or children have died, or whose mothers or children are ill or disabled, or who are estranged from some of their family. It could be that someone has a difficult relationship with their mother or child for all kinds of reasons. It could be that a woman wants to have children but can't. It could be that a woman chooses not to have children but gets messages that she's less of a woman for it. Last year, Jennifer Aniston wrote about the scrutiny she comes under for her maternal status, amongst other things.

It's easy to suggest that someone just ignores Mothering Sunday and the messages that are implied with it, but unless you're a hermit, it's near-impossible to ignore Mother's Day in Britain. Adverts and articles will pop up on television, newspapers and websites, the shops (that includes florists - sorry) will do their damnedest to make you remember, and even if you want to just go out for the day, there might be themed lunches and afternoon teas in cafes and restaurants.

So, with some encouragement from other therapists and flowery friends (waves to Sara at My Flower Patch who is running a Spring Workshop in Wiltshire and donates to local charity The Finlay Foundation), I am running an alternative workshop the day before Mother's Day.

• In this workshop, we'll get to talk to each other about what makes Mother's Day difficult.
• We'll do some mindful exercises with flowers.
• Then we'll make a scented posy that people can keep for themselves, give as a gift, or leave as a memorial.

The workshop will be held at Neal's Yard Remedies in Sevenoaks on Saturday 25 March from 1.15-3pm. You can book your place by visiting the shop at 134 Sevenoaks High Street or phoning the shop on 01732 456402.

The cost is £30 and this includes the workshop, a posy to take away, and a £5 donation to the charity Child Bereavement UK.

This year, Child Bereavement UK has launched a campaign called Make for Mum to encourage bereaved people to remember their mothers or mothers to remember their children. The charity supports children and parents who are bereaved or facing bereavement through their national helpline; one-to-one, couple, family and group support; and training for professionals and schools.

Support available over Christmas

I'm repeating last year's post with some additional information. If it's a hard time for you, please get the support you need. And if you're in crisis, call 999 or go to A&E.

The Samaritans are available to talk 24 hours a day, every day. Their helpline is 116 123 if you are calling from the UK, and it is free to ring. Other details are here: http://www.samaritans.org/

If this is a difficult time for you because of bereavement, Cruse www.cruse.org.uk/ have extra, trained volunteers on their helpline over the holidays. The helpline is 0808 808 1677 and it is open from 9.30am until 5pm from 25th - 26th December and 30th December, 9.30am until 8pm from the 27th - 29th December and New Year's Eve, and 9.30am until 5pm on New Year's Day.

Beat (the eating disorder charity) has kept their helpline open over Christmas: 4pm-8pm on Christmas Day, Boxing Day and New Year's Day. The number is 0345 634 1414 - and it will be open from 4pm-10pm on the bank holidays. You can also visit their website www.b-eat.co.uk

Napac napac.org.uk/ supports adult who have experienced child abuse. Their helpline on 0808 801 0331 is usually open 10am-9pm Mon-Thu & 10am-6pm Fri (I can't see Christmas hours though).

Survivors UK supports men who have experienced rape or sexual abuse. www.survivorsuk.org/ways-we-can-help/ Their helpline is closed until 28th December, and then closed again from 1-2 January.

24-hour National Domestic Violence freephone helpline is available on 0808 2000 247. Other information is available here: www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/

There are lots of reasons why people can feel less than merry over the holidays, especially if someone is alone, or feels alone. Mind has some ideas here for self-care and treatment if you are suffering: www.mind.org.uk/information-support/your-stories/support-at-christmas/#.WF-S4BuLSM8

Support available over Christmas and New Year

I hope you are having a peaceful Christmas and are able to enjoy today, or at least look forward to a day of rest in the week ahead.

If this is a difficult time for you because of bereavement, Cruse have extra, trained volunteers on their helpline over the holidays. The helpline is 0844 477 9400 and it is open from 9.30am until 5pm from 25th - 28th December, 9.30am until 8pm from the 29th - 31st December, and 9.30am until 5pm on New Year's Day.

The Samaritans are available to talk 24 hours a day, every day. Their helpline is 116 123 if you are calling from the UK, and it is free to ring. Other details are here.

There are lots of reasons why people can feel less than merry over the holidays, especially if someone is alone, or feels alone. Mind has some ideas here for self-care and treatment if you are suffering from a low mood.

Bluebell Monday, Paddington, and Winnie the Pooh

Today was a long overdue good day. We had plenty of blue Mondays (and Tuesdays and Wednesdays...) over Christmas and New Year, with my autistic sister being very poorly and aggressive. She came back to London yesterday, and she is much chirpier. I took her to see the Paddington film, and it's the first time in years that she's sat through almost an entire film. Usually she wants to leave after half an hour. (The film is wonderful, by the way - really fun and funny, with a sweet message about diversity.)

We watched The Great British Garden Revival in the evening, and she was transfixed by the footage of bluebell woods. Blue used to be her favourite colour, and although she never asks to go anywhere, she does seem to enjoy being around nature. I often point at things for her to look at, but she doesn't always want to look. I also show her nicely scented flowers to smell, but she doesn't really sniff them. But I am hoping that a bluebell wood will surround her with beautiful blue flowers and a sweet scent, that she will notice and enjoy. So I'm planning to take her to one in the springtime.

I'm also hoping to take her to Ashdown Forest (Winnie the Pooh country) one day, although that will probably be more fun for me than her! I loved A. A. Milne's  stories as a child and even more as a teenager. As well as seeing the polar bears in Canada for my 30th birthday, I also saw the statue of Winnie the bear in Assiniboine Park in Winnipeg: the bear who was smuggled to Britain and who inspired Winnie the Pooh.

As other bluebell lovers chatted on Twitter after today's Garden Revival episode, the lovely Sara Willman of My Flower Patch sent me some bluebell photos she'd taken a few years ago at West Woods in Wiltshire, and I asked her if I could share four of them here. She agrees that it will hopefully be a wonderful sensory experience for my sister to visit a bluebell wood. We can all enjoy Sara's photos until the bluebells make their appearance in a few months!

On suicide, bereavement, and being a good friend

In the work I've been doing recently for a bereavement service, I sometimes have to ground myself to prevent tears rising up. It feels like an honour to sit there with someone as they tell you about the person they loved and still love, the death, and the effect it has had on them. But sometimes it's terribly sad, and I feel there's nothing helpful I can do or say, other than to just hold that sadness (and anger and other feelings) with the person sat in front of me.

Yesterday morning, along with millions of other people, I woke up to the news that Robin Williams had died. It was reported that he had severe depression and had killed himself. And like millions of others who were strangers to him, I couldn't believe it. We didn't know him, had never met him, but his tremendous voice and his energetic presence played in our living rooms time after time. Although many of us admired his darker work like Insomnia and One Hour Photo, and his dramatic roles in Dead Poets Society and Good Will Hunting, it was his (often improvised) comedy that we'd enjoyed so much. Aladdin was the first film I took my sister to see at the cinema. It was the old cinema in Sidcup which is no longer there. I don't know what she understood, but she giggled a lot. I bought the VHS for her and she watched it every day.

It seemed deeply unfair that a person who brought so much kindness and laughter to others could feel so unhappy. As I read the news, I found myself crying. I don't often cry at the news - I think the last time was when I saw the filmed reports when David Cameron visited Sri Lanka. I wasn't sure why I was crying at first yesterday, but then I realised it was probably to do with my friend.

My friend took her life over a decade ago. I don't want to share her name here out of respect for her family and also because I hate the idea of people Googling her name and seeing links to horrible tabloid reports that don't represent the young woman I knew. I found out through my boyfriend at the time - his boss had read the report about my friend in a tabloid, and wondered if I knew her. I remember the phone call from him almost word for word. And I remember the phone call a few hours later, to my friend's boyfriend. I will never forget his kindness to me during that call. At the time of her death, my friend and I weren't speaking. A stupid, childish argument that was never resolved, despite her attempt to reconcile things at one point. But her boyfriend didn't care about that; he said my friend knew I cared about her and she would have wanted me at her funeral. It was the first funeral I went to.

I still think about her. I wonder what sort of woman she would have grown into, whether she would have stayed in the job she was doing or changed careers, whether she and her boyfriend would have got married, or whether she would have met someone new or just been happy on her own. I wondered if she would have had children and what they would have been like; she was one of the most maternal people I knew at that time. And more than anything, I wonder if she would have been unhappy or content.

I'm agnostic, which leaves me in a bit of a no man's land as far as life after death is concerned. If someone asks me, "Do you believe in life after death?" I'll answer, "No." Logically, impulsively - no, I don't. But somewhere, I don't believe in something but I feel something. Memories, I guess. But they don't feel stuck in the past to me. My memories of my friend are as much as a part of my present and future as my past. I don't want to forget her. She deserves to be remembered. So I sometimes think of her. I sometimes have a one-way conversation with her in my head (this is fairly normal bereaved behaviour, by the way!). I've donated to charity on her behalf for her anniversary. I've written her a letter I'll never send.

Once the shock and sadness had subsided, guilt was the overriding feeling after she died. I imagine a lot of suicides leave the bereaved feeling angry or guilty. Or both. I wasn't angry, not at her, and can't ever imagine feeling that towards her. I feel sad that she was so troubled, and guilty that I wasn't there when she needed a friend. I don't believe I could have "stopped her", but...I don't know. Maybe she'd have felt the tiniest bit less alone. I don't know. Maybe it's just selfish of me. I was just someone who was friends with her for a fairly short time. What on earth have her family and boyfriend been going through?

After yesterday's eventful morning, and a slight reprieve photographing the supermoon, I threw myself into my flowers for the day and was so grateful for the peace that they give me. I had to deliver flowers on the train...and found myself crying again. Although I stopped long before I got to the front door. I left a lonely bouquet at the train station - I hope it brightened someone's day.

When I got home, I cut for myself a Genova dahlia, a Galahad delphinium, and made a tiny posy of Cariad David Austin roses, phlox, verbena, mint, and my only red zinnia. Zinnia = I mourn your absence, phlox = our souls are united, verbena = pray for me, mint = warmth.

If you are feeling depressed or have thoughts of ending your life, no matter how small or fleeting the thoughts are, please talk to someone:

In the UK, you can contact the Samaritans on 08457 90 90 90, or Mind (who can provide details of local mental health services), or your GP. The BACP has a list of accredited therapists who you can contact directly.

In the US, the National Suicide Prevention Hotline is 1-800-273-8255. 

And if you are friends with someone who has depression, please contact them as often as you can and don't ignore them when they reach out to you. People say, "You can ring me anytime", but it's not as simple as that - depression and anxiety can be debilitating and soul-sapping. The idea of phoning someone can be terrifying, and the disappointment when people don't answer the phone or ring back can be huge. You don't have to talk for hours, but a real conversation with a real person can make such a difference.

I'm fortunate to have a lovely friend called Tracey who calls me and chats for hours on end. When I was going through a hard time last year, she sent me a different "How many...does it take to change a lightbulb" joke every single day for a month - by postcard, text message or Facebook. I think Robin Williams would have been proud of her.

Time to Talk Day - what to do if you can't talk

Today was Time to Talk Day - organised by the charity Time to Change to get people talking about mental health, and encouraging people to give a little bit of time for a chat with someone who might be struggling.

Unfortunately, both my sister (who is severely autistic) and I have depression and anxiety, which can be unnoticeable or overwhelming, depending on how things are going in our lives. There has been much discussion about the mental health benefits of gardening and being outdoors, and I think both have been a blessing for us.

Whether it's going for a walk on a beach in Brighton...

...or spending an hour or two in a garden or park, there lots of ways to make the darkness a little less intense. This is a picture from her Brighton garden last August. She often sat outside in the summer.

Last weekend, she came back to stay with the family, and she was ever so quiet. But she seemed to enjoy watering the autumn-sown nigella, cornflowers and Aquilegia 'Nora Barlow'.

None of these are a cure for mental illness. But for people like my sister who can't really have conversations with others, these are ways of making the days a bit brighter. And for someone like me, who appreciates thoughtful talks with friends and family, these are ways to help myself.

Kent pop up shop for Bromley Mind

I first heard about the Depressed Cake Shop through Twitter. Once I knew there was one in the neighbouring town, in the village where I had lived for six months last year, I knew I wanted to get involved. Elisabeth Shrimpton, who runs the Lillyput Bakery, organised the Kent pop up shop after she heard about the intriguing idea to approach mental health awareness with a visual, edible representation of depression. My first reaction was: that sounds like a great idea for an artistic project, but no one’s going to want to buy grey cakes. They will look too gross to eat.

I was wrong. I looked at the Pinterest board for the Depressed Cake Shop and day by day more photos of trial grey cakes (and biscuits and sweets) appeared. They didn’t look gross. Most of them looked delicious. Some of them looked too beautiful to eat (see the incredible chocolate sculpture of an unhappy man’s head in his hand). So I joined in. I thought I would just make grey iced biscuits, but then I felt more inspired, and as the DCS seemed to rise in popularity and more cakes were needed, I decided to make grey and black jam tarts and grey fondant fancies as well.

I chose elephants because I have a tin full of random biscuit cutters that I have acquired over the years: a train, duck, elephant, man, rabbit, heart, and lots of Christmas shapes. Of all of these shapes, elephants are the things that are grey in real life, so I thought they would look quite appropriate! The butterfly shape I chose because they are usually pretty and colourful and are associated as a symbol for girls and women more than boys and men, so I liked the idea of making them grey and gender-neutral. I got a small dog cutter to represent the black dog (the symbol of depression), but as I only had grey ready-rolled icing, this didn’t entirely work! They looked more like the icon of a famous handbag company than a metaphor for depression. Oh well; the intention was there.

I used Peggy Porschen’s recipe for fondant fancies as inspiration, but changed them. I just made vanilla sponges in mini loaf tins, dyed in different colours, halved them and filled them with buttercream and strawberries from Hugh Lowe's farm in Kent. I did try to dip them in the pastel grey fondant icing, but I just ended up with lots of cake and jam in the icing and not much icing on the cake! So I put the cakes on a tray and poured the icing over. I did it three times, each time using darker icing. The end result still looked translucent, but when we put them out on the day they were sold out within an hour – so they must have looked ok! I attempted to make grey sweet shortcrust pastry for the rosewater jam tarts, but once baked they lost the grey colour and just looked a dirty beige. I made some with blackcurrant jam, and topped these with blackcurrants from Hewitt’s Farm (a pick-your-own farm on the edge of Bromley borough) and white chocolate that I had melted, dyed grey, squiggled onto baking paper and left to chill. I also made some grey pastry dog toppers and some strawberry tarts.

My mum made marshmallows with a white bottom layer, a pale grey top layer, and black sugar sprinkles. After two days of baking, I didn’t feel like eating any of the things I made, but I couldn’t have eaten the marshmallows as they have gelatine. I am hoping that one day she will make them with vegetarian fake gelatine so I can enjoy them too!

The event itself was a fantastic success. I was amazed by the kind donations we received of ingredients and sundries from the Co-op on DownhamWay, the Waitrose on Burnt Ash Lane, Baker and Maker and Cake Craft Shop. As all of the people making the cakes had volunteered their time and resources, and the money raised from the sale was all going to Bromley Mind, it was much appreciated. The bakers were great – they made colourful cupcakes topped with grey icing, black butterflies and a brain design, there were gluten-free family cakes, and the organiser Elisabeth made themed cake pops. I asked her how she made them; I assumed there was a special baking tray. She cuts and shapes hers by hand – what a painstaking job! There were also sweets and chocolates which were kindly donated by local chocolate company Cocoapod. Cinnamon Culture restaurant let us use their wonderful restaurant and lovely garden to set up the shop and an area with leaflets from Bromley Mind, and local company Plumbline Direct spent the morning blowing up 100 grey and black balloons.

People came because they had heard of the shop and were intrigued by the prospect of grey cakes. Since we were lucky enough to be in a restaurant with a garden (which we moved into once the rain had cleared up), many people got a cake from us and a drink from the restaurant and sat in outside, enjoying the sunshine and the scent of the lavender. A representative from Bromley Mind was on hand to speak to people, and gave us an insight into the amazing work that the charity does.

By the end of the afternoon, cakes were eaten, tea was drunk, conversations were had, smiles were exchanged, and £305 was raised for Bromley Mind. Not bad for a day that started with a thunderstorm. A huge thank you to the organiser, Elisabeth, and the many people who took part in the event, including our wonderful customers. It was a joy to work with you or serve you cake!