From the earthly to the heavenly Jerusalem

2005 - Ali at the sea of Galilee near Tiberias

 

In 2005, to mark Ali's 50th year we went to the Holy Land.   We were not with a group.  We hired a car at Tel Aviv airport and travelled first to Caesearea, then to Haifa, before having a few days at the Sea of Galilee.  We visited the many places associated with Jesus's life and miracles, including the Mount of the Beatitudes, Capernaum, Nazareth,  Cana,  and Mount Tabor, before heading south to Bethlehem and, of course, Jerusalem.

It was the first and only time that Ali visited the Holy Land.  It is an incomparable land, given its importance for salvation history.  It was extraordinary to be in the places where Jesus was conceived and born, and where he lived, taught, performed miracles, suffered, died, rose from the dead, and ascended into heaven. The impression it makes is beyond words.

Everything to do with the Holy Land, everything to do with Jesus's mission, everything to do with the life of the Church, is to prepare us for eternal life - for the heavenly Jerusalem.  While Jesus is the Way, the Truth and the Life, we need guides to bring us to Him, to explain His teachings and to show us how to live them.   The most exceptional among those guides are recognised by the Church after they die as canonised saints, and I have long believed that Ali will one day be added to their number. 

I was in the privileged position of knowing, more than anybody else, the quality of Ali's faith, hope and love and her extraordinary holiness.    Her greatest wish for all people, without exception, was that they would make it to the heavenly Jerusalem.   I am sorry that I still have not yet provided an account  of her life so that she can become better known as the heavenly guide for others that I believe she is destined to be.  In the 70th year since Ali's birth, and on the 12th anniversary of her entering into eternal life, I believe she is now experiencing the joy and wonders of that heavenly Jerusalem.    May it be a destination we all reach.

Ali and I on the Mount of Olives, 

overlooking Jerusalem - Sept 2005

Ali's 70th birthday

 

It's hard to believe ten years have passed since I made the video with some snapshots of Ali's life to commemorate her 60th birthday.  

The song "One in a million" by The Christians now always reminds me of Ali.  A couple of years ago I went to see the 1980s group, who are still performing and touring, when they were in Wimborne, Dorset.  They played virtually all their well-known hits but for whatever reason they omitted this one.

I visited Ali's grave today and remembered the many people whose lives she touched - her family and her many friends, and many who hardly knew her but greatly appreciated her.  I thought of  those for whom she worked so hard -  especially those who are unborn or otherwise marginalised.  I particularly remembered the many children in India - now grown into adulthood - for whom she had a mother's love.   Today is a day for giving thanks to God for the gift of Ali.

The execution of Ali's friend Sammy Felder

Sammy Felder
(photo by Dan Winters for the New York Times, Nov 1999) 

On Wednesday, 15th December 1999, twenty-five years ago today,  Sammy Felder, Jr, whom Ali thought of as a brother, was executed by the state of Texas.  Ali and I had been able to spend four hours with him on each of the three days from Monday 13th December, and were present when he was declared dead by  lethal injection at 6.15pm.  

11 years since the end of "the greatest adventure."

Ali:  "Living: The Greatest Adventure There Is" 

The weeks leading up to today's 11th anniversary of Ali's passing into eternal life have been dominated by the attempt to legalise assisted suicide.  Ali would have been alarmed by the media's focus on the issue, and dismayed that the assisted suicide bill had a majority at second reading, just last Friday, 29 November.

Ali encapsulated in herself the principle objections to assisted suicide, and how a law would have affected her was part of the recent public discussion.   All who knew and loved Ali can only be grateful that there was no law to allow assisted suicide during the 1980s when she longed to die. 

If she were still with us Ali would definitely be contributing  to the campaign against assisted suicide,  and so it seems appropriate to reproduce her own words, written the year before she died and published in the Catholic Medical Quarterly in May 2013. 

    Why Euthanasia/Assisted Suicide Would Have Robbed Me Of The Best Years Of My Life

I have been involved in campaigns against the legalisation of euthanasia/assisted suicide for more than 25 years. I am disabled, and the population of western countries seem to hold, almost in equal numbers, the views that of course I want to die, and of course I want to live. Both of these are simplistic, and fail to get to grips with the realities and complexities of living with a disability.

I want mainly to discuss in this article why I changed my mind from wanting to die to wanting to live. However, in order to do this, I need to first explain more about my condition, its effects, and the effects of other people in shaping both my life and my views.

I was born with spina bifida and hydrocephalus. I use a wheelchair full time, and a respirator at night. I have suffered a lot of pain throughout my life, and now need increasing doses of morphine to control the pain of trapped nerves, caused by my collapsing spine, but even that doesn’t always alleviate the pain. When the pain is at its worst I can’t move or think or speak.

A few years ago I experienced alarming and very frightening mental symptoms also, which turned out to be due to excessive doses of morphine. I was given a stark choice – take the extra morphine and live with the mental symptoms, or take less morphine, to prevent the mental symptoms, and accept more physical pain. I chose to prefer physical to mental pain. However it is certainly a tough road to cope with unending and severe physical pain, which I am told will inevitably get worse.

During the years 1985 -1995, due to a combination of difficult circumstances both physical and emotional, I lived through the most difficult period of my life. I have already mentioned some of its implications, but the hardest remains to be told..

In 1985 when I was at my lowest ebb ever, I made the decision that I no longer wanted to live. At that time, doctors believed that my life expectancy was very short. Over time, my desire to die became a settled wish and it lasted about ten years. During the first five of those years I attempted suicide several times.

My first “cries for help” included cutting my wrists with whatever sharp implements came to hand, to make them bleed, but not to threaten my life. This, of course, caused yet more physical pain, but seemed in some strange way to alleviate the unbearable mental pain that was with me night and day. My friends went through the house removing sharp objects with which I might possibly hurt myself, and I can clearly remember through the mental haze eating scant meals with a spoon because all the knives had been moved

Despite this, I continued to find ways to hurt myself, and made several very serious suicide attempts. I tried various methods: large overdoses of various drugs and badly slashing my wrists, with an old rusty penknife that had escaped the general removal of sharp objects. I was determined to succeed then, especially on one occasion I particularly remember.

I had taken a large overdose of painkillers and cut my wrists badly with the old rusty penknife. I then drank a whole bottle of Martini, lay down in bed, cuddled my favourite teddy bear and waited to die.
Fortunately for me (at the time I thought most unfortunately) my friend Sue arrived shortly afterwards. She was able to let herself in to my house, found I was losing consciousness and called the emergency services.

I was taken to hospital and treated against my will - the doctors just waited until I lost consciousness and then treated me. If euthanasia/assisted suicide had been legal then in the UK, I would have certainly requested it with no hesitation at all and I would have satisfied all the supposedly “strict criteria” which apply in countries where euthanasia/assisted suicide is legal. If it had meant travelling to the “Dignitas” suicide facility in Switzerland, then I know I would have done that.

If writing a Living Will (called an Advance Decision in the UK) had facilitated my death it would have been an easy thing to write one, and I would have had no difficulty in finding a doctor to verify that I was of sound mind (this now strikes me as incredible, but it is true that doctors in countries where euthanasia/assisted suicide is legal do actually make such judgments), that my life expectancy was appropriately short, and that I really did want to die.

In retrospect I think my overwhelming wish to die at that time was probably due to a combination of feeling that I simply couldn’t bear my life as it was, and could see no hope for the future. My mind was still in turmoil from all the problems and difficulties and nothing seemed to make me “feel better.” I would go to bed every night and hope that I wouldn’t wake up in the morning.

My greatest piece of good fortune was that I had friends who did not share my view that my life had no value. It took them, and particularly Colin, now my caregiver and also my closest friend who has shared both my house and my life for the last 23 years, a very long time to help me just “give life another try.”

Those efforts and another trip to India in 1995, during which I visited a small project for disabled children, helped to turn my life around. Seeing these children I felt motivated to do something for them, so Colin and I subsequently set up a charity for them. The night after leaving the project I said to Colin “Do you know, I think I want to live.” It was the first time I had thought that for over ten years.

In retrospect I realise that had euthanasia or “assisted suicide” been legal when I was so desperate I would have missed what turned out to be the best years of my life. And no one would ever have known that the future held such good times, and that the doctors were wrong in thinking I didn’t have long to live.  This is one of the major problems with allowing suffering people the “choice” of an assisted death – it assumes that life could never get any better. Yet mine did, even in spite of continuing and worsening severe pain and suffering.

I wanted to die for over ten years, though my actual attempts to end my life lasted only five years, after which Colin and other friends helped me in every way possible to see a way of facing the future.

Over the years since then, I have taken part in many interviews on TV and radio. I have forgotten all but one of them. That one was on a radio station called Radio Northampton and I remember it for two reasons. First the interviewer was very rude and offensive, and was unwilling to listen to me. Secondly, I was very tired, and spoke badly, not putting over well what I wanted to say.

After the interview I felt very “down” and thought that all the effort had been in vain. Shortly afterwards, however, the programme’s producer phoned me to apologise for what she called the “unacceptable behaviour” of her interviewer. I was slightly placated.

Then less than twenty minutes later she phoned me again. This time she said that she had just had a call from a young man who said his name was John. He had that very day decided to take his own life, but after hearing what I had to say, he had decided that, after all, he would not do so.

This was certainly not due to any merit on my part, as I knew I had spoken very badly. But somehow this desperate young man had heard a message of hope. Somehow my stumbling and inadequate words had been transformed so that John heard something quite different – something that helped him decide to give life another chance. This experience has reoccurred several times since then, though rarely so dramatically.

Often all desperate people, disabled or not, need is to be given hope. What they definitely don’t need is to be told they are right to feel so unhappy and that they would be better off dead. This is simply the equivalent of seeing a person about to jump off a high bridge and giving them a push.

It seems to me that there is a difference I do not understand between the treatment of non-disabled suicidal people, and those who are disabled. The non-disabled suicidal are assumed to be “wrong to want death” and get the benefit of Government and voluntary funded “Suicide Prevention Programmes” in the UK and in other western countries, and great efforts are made to help them change their mind.

On the other hand, all too often disabled people who are suicidal are assumed to be “right to want death” and are given all possible help to achieve their aim of euthanasia/assisted suicide. The dichotomy seems to be based on an assumption that a disabled life is necessarily useless, burdensome (to the disabled person, their families, and/or society) and not worth living, while a non-disabled life is the opposite.

Some years ago I read a booklet by a young British medical doctor, James Casson, who was dying of cancer. He titled his book “Dying: The Greatest Adventure of my Life.”  I think there is also a place for a book entitled “Living: The Greatest Adventure There Is.” My life has been full of pain and suffering, true. But it has also been one long adventure, with great highs and great lows. I think my eventual death will also be an adventure – but for now I’m content to wait for that particular adventure to come naturally, in its own time

Alison Davis - April 2012

Easter Sunday, 31st March 1991

Ali after being received into the Church (31 March 1991)

After today, 31st March 2024,  Easter Sunday will not fall again on 31st March for another 62 years, in 2086.  So today is the last time that I will celebrate Easter Sunday on the same date that Ali was received into the Catholic Church 33 years ago in 1991, on 31st March. 

I have written about that occasion of 31st March 1991 before: here and here.   There had been such obstacles for Ali that being received into the Church had seemed to be an impossibility.  Then the obstacles suddenly lifted, and thanks to Fr John McGrath,  Ali was received into the Catholic Church at  the Church of St John Payne, Greenstead, Colchester.

Ten years on...

Ali in 1995 - radiating joy even when in pain and suffering.

By now, ten years after Ali's death, I really should have been able to produce a decent introduction to her extraordinary life.  If I have any excuse - and I'm not sure that I truly do - it would be that Ali's life was so complex that it isn't easy to write about it.  

I have written previously about the final hours of Ali's life and how she willingly suffered with much joy.  She died as she lived.  Years earlier, in 1997,  Ali had written that she wanted "to suffer until I can be a great martyr for Jesus and the Church."   Ali was not killed for her faith, but was a heroic martyr - a witness - to it.  She accepted suffering willingly, knowing that it could be united to the sufferings of Jesus, and that it therefore contributed to the salvation of souls, and the good of many people.  Her acceptance of suffering was an expression of love for God and other human beings. 

Ali had a relationship with Jesus, Mary and the saints that was entirely different to mine and most  Catholics.   I don't think she realised that she had an exceptional relationship with them.  She would casually tell me what Jesus or Mary or a saint had 'said' to her - as though it would be an ordinary experience of Catholics to see and hear them - and in order to have an accurate account of what Ali told  me I would often ask her to write it down for me.  As a result I have a number of letters from Ali, all of which I kept, which would begin simply with "Dear Colin" and be signed off "Love from Ali and Pooh xxx," with some remarkable content in between. 

Few people would write a letter like the one, reproduced below, that Ali wrote in June 1997.  It is the sort of letter that only a saint would or could write.  It is additionally remarkable in that it was written after a particularly difficult and distressing six months for Ali in 1997.  The local parish church, which she had attended for the previous six years since becoming a Catholic at Easter 1991, became a very inhospitable place for her and she felt marginalised if not rejected by God and the Church.  The letter was written at a rare moment during that period when light illumined the darkness Ali was experiencing.  

Many people are broken by suffering. Many cling on to faith and hope as though by their fingertips.   Many are in darkness and unhappy.  I think Ali's life has much to say to these people, because she experienced suffering, brokeness, darkness and unhappiness in the extreme.  It may be ten years since her death, but I think her main achievements for others are yet to come.

Dear Colin,

After confession today I talked to Jesus for a long time. I thanked Him for the pain because it has brought me closer to him.  I said any suffering is worth it, as long as He is at the end of it.  I thought the same about purgatory. *

I asked Jesus if the souls in purgatory can see him as clearly as we do here, or more clearly or less. I prayed it not be less, for that would be terrible suffering. His answer was to ask me to offer my pain today (or when it's next bad) for the souls in purgatory.  But I don't know a prayer for that which is why I asked you.  But I think maybe just offering it is enough.

I said to Jesus something I've been saying for a few days now (I've been praying each morning, offering in advance the day's suffering to him).  I said it's not enough pain, because there is so very much to use it for and so little pain.  I asked him for more.  In fact, the only thing that would satisfy me now is to suffer as much as He did on the cross.

How I would love to be a martyr and die in pain. That would be the greatest gift I could have...

*I meant to say before that I thought six years of the pain to get close to Jesus is so merciful and so little [Ali was writing in 1997, and the particularly acute pain she experienced started in early 1991.]  It made me think even purgatory would be little if Jesus is at the end of it.*

I want to suffer until I can be a great martyr for Jesus and the Church.  But I want no one to know this is what I want because I don't want human sympathy. I want to love Jesus so much my heart breaks open and all the love spills out for Him.  My pain is not enough to do this and that is why I asked for more.

Love from

Ali and Pooh

xxx

Saying "yes" to life

 

Saturday 25th March 2023: A talk about Ali's 'yes' to life.

The first thing I recall as having learnt from Ali was expressed in a mere seven words:  "Mary said 'yes' and saved the world."   Ali said this to me in July 1989 as we returned to England from the shrine of Lourdes in France, a momentous trip which changed both of our lives.  Though raised a Catholic I really didn't understand the role of Mary and her importance, and it was the (then) non-Catholic Ali who taught me.   Yes, Jesus is the Saviour, and he is the sole Saviour of the world.  But if it had not been for Mary's "yes" at the Annunciation, we would not have had a Saviour, and her "yes" was necessary for the salvation of the world.  Those seven words of Ali's made a profound impression on me.  I have always remembered them.

Because of Ali's willingness to say 'yes,' the date of 22nd March, nearly 40 years ago,  became one of special significance for her.  It was a day that Ali always remembered privately as I do today.  There are other things about Ali that were private during her lifetime that she always expected me to make known after her death.    I'll be talking a little about the significance of 22nd March at a talk at St Mary's Church, Helston in Cornwall this coming Saturday 25th March.  It is a privilege to be able to talk about Ali's "yes"  on Saturday's great feast of the Annunciation, when Mary's "yes" is celebrated.

Ali's anniversary and an Indian connection

Ali, pictured with Koteswari in January 2006,
had great love for 'her' children in India.

The ninth anniversary of Ali's death falls, as it does each year, on the feast of the great "Apostle of the Indies," St Francis Xavier.  He died 461 years before Ali, on 3rd December 1552, and the shrine with his incorrupt body is in Goa, India.  

I had hoped to have an Introduction to Ali ready for publication by this ninth anniversary of Ali's passing to eternal life, and I regret that it has still not emerged.  Please God, it will be published before next year's tenth anniversary so that others will become aware of Ali's extraordinary life.  Others will then be able to consider whether Ali, who had a great love for India and its "poorest of the poor" people, might be regarded as exceptional a saint as St Francis Xavier.  

St Francis Xavier was canonised 70 years after his death, in 1622, and today he is known and loved by millions in India and around the world. It is my conviction that Ali is similarly destined to be known and loved by millions, and I think that, just as she was greatly loved by "her" children in India, especially those in Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu, countless numbers of people - in India and throughout the world - will come to know and love her. 

Ali, happy to be with her children in India, in January 2003

A remembrance

A birthday in Sri Lanka

Ali with birthday cards in Colombo, Sri Lanka 8 January 1992

30 years ago Ali celebrated her birthday in Colombo, Sri Lanka - on her last full day there before returning home to England.  

During the past three weeks I have been recalling the trip Ali and I made with our good friend, Ray McGuinness, to India, where we stayed in the cities then known as Calcutta and Madras, before arriving on New Year's Day in Sri Lanka where we visited a few places in the south.  I had hoped to write about aspects of the trip during recent weeks, but computer/scanning problems prevented this.  I have at least been able to scan a couple of photos for now.

The highlight of the trip was meeting Sriyanee, whom Ali had been sponsoring for a few years and was now to meet for the first time.  Ali had learnt Sinhala so that she could converse with and write to Sriyanee.  I hope to write more about Ali's meeting with Sriyanee and about the trip another time.

Ali with Sriyanee 6 January 1992

The 8th vigil

The vigil of 2 Dec 2021

As the weeks of November pass each year, with the nights starting earlier and getting much colder, my thoughts return to those November weeks of 2013. While the anniversary of Ali's passing to eternal life falls on 3 December,  it is the weeks and days before that date that I remember the most, and in particular that last night of 2-3 December. 

During those last days Ali's bedroom was illuminated by candles, rather than the harsher glare of electric light.  And each year since then, on the night of 2-3 December, I keep a candlelight vigil in Ali's bedroom.  It is a time for memories, reflection and prayer.

I'm conscious that this blog has said very little about Ali, even though it is now eight years since she died.  Please God, by this time next year, an introduction to Ali, describing what was so extraordinary about her will have been published.  For now, I will just reproduce what I said about Ali's heroic death in a presentation I gave the year after she died.  

Ali died at home on the morning of Tuesday 3 December.  She lost her swallow reflex on the Sunday night.  So from then, she could no longer take even small drops of liquid to drink; or liquid morphine for pain.  She would generally wake up for short periods, with pain coming soon after she was awake.  

About 8pm on the Monday night, after being awake for an hour or so, the pain was so extreme she wanted me to call the out-of-hours doctor.  It was known that if she called the out-of-hours service, Ali would receive an injection of diamorphine which she duly received and it zonked her out in seconds.  Knowing that she hadn’t had liquids for nearly 24 hours, and expecting that the diamorphine would last some time, it seemed to me that Ali might die without waking up again.

I was surprised, then, when Ali woke up at 1am.   She could say little – a few words at a time.  Often she would respond just 'yes' or 'no' to my questions.   It was soon clear that she was in pain. 

-  Do you have pain? "Yes."  -  Is it very bad?  "Yes." - Do you want me to call the doctor to give you something?  "No."   I frequently asked her if she wanted me to call the doctor to help with the pain. She always said "no".  I would ask:  - Are you happy?  She always said, and you could read it in her eyes: "Yes!" 

Ali once said that our life in the world is like that of an unborn child.   In a way ,we are unborn.  The unborn child knows only the womb.  He or she doesn’t know the marvellous world that lies beyond the womb. The suffering of his mother accompanies the child into the world – and it is traumatic for the child.  The world, Ali said, is like a mother’s womb.  It is a preparation for what lies beyond.  What lies beyond is so much beyond our imagination, just as the world is beyond the imagination of a child in the womb.  Just as suffering accompanies our entrance into the world, so it is fitting that it accompanies our exit from the world.  We prepare for what lies beyond.

I am convinced that Ali didn’t ask me to call the out-of-hours doctor again, because she knew that if she received another injection of diamorphine she would be zonked out for the rest of her journey into the next world.  She didn’t want that.   She wasn’t clinging on to life, afraid to let go – the sentence she said more than any other in her last weeks and days  was “I want to go home.”  She was anticipating her eternal destiny – but she knew she wanted to take with her as much as she could.  And what can we take with us?  Not material goods – but  the treasures of our good actions, our prayers, our suffering,  our love.

How precious were those last hours of Ali's life!  The good deed she performed then, contributing to the treasures she took with her, was a final lesson to me - and, through me, to you and others - how to die with real dignity and courage.  She prayed - expressing sorrow for the things she got wrong in life - and offered up her suffering to God, in loving gratitude for the life she had been given, and for  all His love and mercies. 

Ali amassed all the treasures she could of good deeds, prayers, suffering and love - while she had the opportunity to do so.  And for some silly reason she loved me and wanted to spend as much time as she could with me. 

 So she didn’t want me to call the doctor to zonk her out. She wanted to be sat upright in the bed – which ensured that she would live longer – and for me to hold her.  I encouraged her as best I could. We prayed.  Her body gradually wound down in a way I had never experienced before and eventually she lost all ability to communicate.. I believe though that she remained conscious, and could hear the ongoing encouragement and prayers, until the end.   Ali died at 8:40 in the morning.

She could have died easily and painlessly, but chose a far happier death of suffering with great love.

As I said [earlier in the talk], I’m a wimp.  But I hope I can learn from Ali to be willing to suffer lovingly during life and especially at the end of my life.

Ali was small - four foot something and getting smaller as her spine collapsed. But she walked head and shoulders above us all.

Claire Costa before she was 18

Ali with 6 year old Claire Costa in 2009

It is thanks to her Auntie Linda that Claire Costa got to know Ali.  On a trip to the United States in the 1970s Ali met and subsequently developed a close friendship with Linda Singleton who, like Ali, was born with spina bifida.  

Ali (right) with Linda (left) and her mom, Carolyn, and sister, Carol, behind.

Linda's early death in 1984 was a great loss for Ali and she was pleased to keep in touch with Linda's mom, Carolyn.   Some time after Carolyn's death in 1993 Ali very happily renewed contact with Linda's younger sister, Carol, who was to marry Christopher Costa and in due course give birth to Claire on that happy day 18 years ago today. 

In June 2009, just a few weeks after Claire's 6th birthday, Ali and I were able to spend a few days with Carol, Christopher and Claire while visiting their home town of Colorado Springs. 

Ali with Christopher and Carol Costa and six year old Claire

Carol with Ali

Ali had not seen Carol for some years and it meant much to her to see her again.  Given her relationship with Linda, Carol was like a younger sister to Ali and she looked forward to meeting Christopher and Claire, who was especially delightful. 

One day, we took a trip together to Pikes Peak, which is the highest summit of the southern Front Range of the Rocky Mountains, and a place of spectacular views.  It is usually mild weather in June, but on that day (5th June 2009) it was exceptionally cold, with more snow than is usually found in January or February,  as the media reported.  It was quite treacherous underfoot and Ali wasn't the only one to stay in the car.  But Claire and I were determined to have our photo taken at the Pikes Peak sign!

Ali, with Claire and Christopher visible, at Pikes Peak

Claire and Colin freezing at the summit (5 June 2009)

Ali was always keen to hear how Claire was getting on and would have been pleased to see the fine young woman she is today.  Happy 18th birthday Claire! 

Photo taken at (almost) 18.  Happy Birthday Claire!

"Such sweet joy and consolation"

Easter Sunday morning 1991:  Ali with Richard McIlkenny

30 years ago, on Easter Sunday morning (31 March) 1991, Ali became a Catholic after a journey of faith that she described as "long and tortuous." 

When we arrived early at the Church of St John Payne, Greenstead, Colchester, Ali was feeling very nervous, but said afterwards that her nerves suddenly disappeared when she had the surprise and "overwhelming joy" of seeing someone she had not anticipated seeing on that day: Richard McIlkenny, who was  one of the "Birmingham Six,"  and spent more than 16 years in prison after being wrongly convicted of an IRA pub bombing that killed 21 people and injured 182. He and the other five wrongly imprisoned men, had had their convictions overturned and gained their freedom just two weeks earlier on 14 March 1991. 

Ali got to know Richard in 1987-88, after she wrote in response to a letter of his, published in a newspaper, in which he had said that while he was unjustly imprisoned, the injustice against him did not compare with the injustice against the unborn whose lives are taken by abortion. They then corresponded frequently and Ali met Richard several times in prison.  Ali had told him that she was being received into the Church that morning, but had no expectation whatsoever that he would turn up - an extraordinary act of generosity on his first Easter of freedom since 1974. 

Ali with Richard and friends Brian Collins (left) and Ray McGuinness

The next day Ali wrote about her reception into the Church on that Easter Sunday morning, when she was confirmed and made her First Holy Communion:

"The service itself I remember clearly, but I was in a kind of daze.  I recall being so near Jesus my prayers stopped using words and became simply a looking at and adoring of Jesus.

When I was confirmed I felt somehow that I was nothing but a soul (rather a devastating transformation for one who only a few years ago believed she had been conceived without a soul). I thought of it maybe like when [a priest] gives a blessing, but a blessing the touch of which is permanently imprinted upon one's soul, giving it a "character" which cannot be effaced....

Now I should go on to describe taking communion, but I find that just as I need words most they desert me! Maybe there are no words because it's beyond words, beyond feelings, maybe even beyond knowledge as such.  Sometimes thanks seem inadequate even for earthly gifts - how much more so for this ultimate gift.  As in Lourdes, maybe the closest I can get is to explain that I was no longer praying but rather I became a prayer....

I am a Catholic now; such sweet joy and consolation....."

Easter Sunday morning (4 April) 2021

The most joyful day

Ali at Boars Hill, Oxford, March 1991

Nine days before she was received into the Church at Easter 1991,  Ali made her her first confession - while on an 8-day retreat at the Carmelite Priory in Boars Hill, Oxford.  

On the way to Oxford, on 17 March 1991,  Ali developed a tummy ache, which persisted during the week, at times causing acute pain.  It was a pain that she then had for the rest of her life, the cause of which was never properly established even after various tests and surgical explorations.  The assumption was that it was referred pain from her spine,  and it became more severe and debilitating as the years passed.

On that evening of 22 March 1991 Ali wrote:

"This has been such a joyful day.  Probably the most joyful of my whole life - because I have been set free from my sins...

As the priest said the words of absolution I felt myself being literally "filled with grace."  My body has had pain this last week, but now my soul has been set free I find myself quite happy to accept it and whatever consequence may come from it.  I feel it is my gift to [Ali mentioned three people for whom she was particularly offering up her suffering].  It is good to be able to give when I have  received so much that I really understood today the meaning of 'my cup runneth over'.

Ali at Boars Hill, Oxford, March 1991

22 March 2021

22 March 2021

First birthday in India

Ongole, India: 8 January 2001

Ali's first birthday in India was on this day 20 years ago.   In the previous 2-3 years we had been raising funds to construct a home for disabled girls in Ongole, Andhra Pradesh, that would be named after Ali - the Alison Davis Home for Disabled Children.

The children were excited that "Mummy Alison" would be with them for her birthday, and that the festivities for the opening of their new home would be on this day.  The children had been practising dances, songs and dramas for many weeks, and it was a joyful climax to all their preparations.  In truth, Ali found the focus on her somewhat overwhelming, but was happy that the celebrations brought so much joy to the children.  

January 2001: Ali with some of the residents of the new home

Ali and I had happy visits to India each January until 2006, monitoring the projects funded by the charity we had founded, Enable (Working in India).  Shortly after the 2006 visit we discovered that the Director of our partner organisation in India had embezzled a large sum of money. Rather than let us entrust the work for disabled children to others, he made it impossible for us to continue, and he abandoned the children we had been supporting.  It was heartbreaking for all involved in Enable, but especially for Ali.

January 2001: Ali with some of the girls from the Alison Davis Home

Ali was in England for the seven birthdays between 2007 and 2013.   She would have surely remembered "her children" on those birthdays -  because I cannot imagine there was any day of the year when she did not.

January 2001:  Ali was always surrounded by "her children."

January 2001:  Ali and the girls havng their hands dyed with henna

Alison Davis Home for Disabled Children opened on 8 January 2001

Seven

Two "seven year olds" - Ali and the delightful Maria Brennan (in March 1995)

Seven years ago today Ali passed to eternal life. 

Ali recognised the significance of numbers, in particular the number of perfection: seven. From the creation of the world in seven days in the Book of Genesis, through to the seven Churches addressed in the Book of Revelation, the Bible frequently highlights the number seven.  Catholic doctrine embraces such things as the seven virtues, seven deadly sins, seven corporal acts of mercy, seven spiritual acts of mercy, seven sorrows of the Mary, seven sacraments, seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. 

Ali often spoke of seven as being the perfect age for a child, an age at which, even as an adult with an incisive mind, engaged in serious pursuits, she aspired to live.  Her profound appreciation of what lay at the heart of Catholicism and the pro-life movement was, I believe, because she was able to be so very childlike.  Not childish - far from it.  But very childlike.

On the evening of Ali's death, Tuesday 13 December 2013,  I went to Mass and the Gospel reading for that day - the first Tuesday of Advent -  was so apt:

Filled with joy by the Holy Spirit, Jesus said:  'I bless you, Father, Lord of heaven and of earth, for hiding these things from the learned and the clever and revealing them to mere children.  Yes, Father, for that is what it pleased you to do.' (Luke 10: 21-22)

Ali accepted the truth that each and every unborn child is precious and deserves to be protected from harm, and that it is never acceptable to cause the death of people who feel life has nothing more to offer on account of suffering or old age or disability, because she rejected the foolishness of the so-called 'learned' and 'clever' people who say otherwise.   She was happier spending time with her young friend, Maria Brennan, than with the 'clever' people.  Ali accepted the totality of the teaching of the Catholic Church because she had the simplicity of a child to recognise and accept its truth.

I'm sure Ali enjoyed the story as much as Maria!

Many of Ali's friends recognised her simple, childlike spirit - how, even though at one moment she might be discussing the finer points of embryology and stem cell research, she could happily switch to talking about her favourite teddy bears, or tell stories about the family of wolves who lived in the garden, and also of an assortment of other nearby residents - Idris the dragon, Vincent the vole,  Clyde the crocodile, to name but a few.  She fitted more into a working day than I would hope to achieve in a week, yet she would have time for the 'silly' things in life when it truly did seem that she was just 'seven'.

On one such occasion, in October 1989, Ali was quiet for a while and I asked what was on her mind. I'm grateful for having recorded the conversation:

"A strange thought.  God is younger than we are.  We only grow old because we have sinned."

-  How do you mean?  "He doesn't grow old."

- How have we sinned?  "We separated ourselves from eternal innocence.  Innocence doesn't get bored whereas as we get old, we get bored.  We lose wonder of things.  Like, we aren't surprised that leopards have spots - it's just a 'fact' - but a child is full of wonder that any leopard has spots or that an elephant has a trunk, etc.

"God is perpetual innocence which is love so he never gets tired of telling the sun to rise again every day or the moon to rise.  He doesn't get bored of telling them:  every day it's new.

"We feel old and experienced but spring is young.  It's a statement of perpetual innocence.  So it's younger than we are. Like, every blade of grass he makes, God kind of says, 'Why didn't I think of that before?' like it's new, like you can read the same story 100 times to a child.  We [i.e., adults] can brush past a field without noticing.

"If God thinks that about each blade of grass, imagine what he thinks about each person."

At a different time, also in 1989, Ali spoke of an occasion when she was about seven.

"I can remember being at home in bed - I was ill quite a lot - and everybody was out and I was just looking out the window and I kept saying, I wanted to know what forever and ever was.  And I kind of got a glimpse of eternity just as I was saying the words and asking Jesus.  I was afraid of "forever and ever" because it seemed the most terrifying concept, which I suppose at that age it is... I just felt that "forever and ever" would be bearable if Jesus was there."

Ali has a better appreciation now of "forever and ever."  

We don't have a true understanding of the requirements of the present moment if we neglect a childlike contemplation of "forever and ever."  Even in the midst of great suffering and distress Ali was able to appreciate the present moment, with the simplicity of a seven-year old, because she recognised the calling to share eternity with "perpetual innocence" and the preparation this requires of us.

Ali with her good friends, Mary (left) and Chris Brennan (hidden behind Ali)  and some of their family.

A happy day

22 March 1990 - Ali on the Isle of Wight with Pooh Bear (right) and Linden Lee (left)

On this day 30 years ago, Ali and I went for the day to the Isle of Wight.  I think it was our only visit to the island and it was an exceptionally happy day for Ali.

Just over a year later she would be received into the Catholic Church, but at that time Ali felt totally unwelcome in and excluded from the Church.  We didn't go to Church as she felt there was no place for her.  Ali often said she wished there were in Churches a "leper place" - where the lepers would be tolerated - where she could sit, if not welcome at least not shunned.

On the Isle of Wight we found ourselves passing Quarr Abbey, and for the first time in some months Ali entered a Catholic Church, though with some trepidation.  We arrived a little late (perhaps helpfully late) for Vespers.  Ali wrote to  me later that day:

"We were late (not by accident, I think) and no one noticed us at all.  In a funny way I felt as relaxed as if I had found a spiritual "leper place" where I could be unnoticed and easily, happily with Mama and Jesus - cradled, loved, accepted, really who I am. You being by my side bore me to Mama and Jesus.  You took me to the place and "carried" me in.  I felt fully alive...It was a special present just for today.  It's not yet time for the Church to accept me or learn to love my brokenness.  We must await that in patient hope." 

The age of retirement

In the earlier years of Ali's employment for SPUC - about 1991.

Today, on her 65th birthday, Ali would have reached retirement age and qualified for her state pension.  For most of her working years, Ali was employed by the Society for the Protection of Unborn Children (SPUC), defending the right to life of the most vulnerable from conception until natural death.  Whether or not Ali would have continued in paid employment, had she lived until now, it is not possible to believe that she would have ever ended her efforts to defend the most vulnerable.

Ali's pro-life work was achieved at much personal cost. She could not help but be deeply affected by having to read and hear on a daily basis how people like her were "better off dead" and thus denied the chance to even be born, or so "undignified" in their suffering with chronic disability or illness that they should have the option of ending their lives.  I don't think many people understood the damaging effect on Ali's own self-esteem, effectively to have to justify daily her own right to even exist in this world.

The walls of Ali's study varied over the years but the one constancy was that they were covered with photos of dear friends and loved ones, including many who were especially vulnerable.  The photos of these individuals helped to motivate Ali. I'm sure that if Ali had been merely concerned with establishing her own right to live she would not have been able to work for SPUC for as long as she did.  It was her love not only for God but also for others, which spurred her on to persevere in her very important work. 

Ali's study wall in Sept 1992

Ali's study wall in May 1995 

Feb 2003:  Ali in her study

Part of Ali's study wall in Nov-Dec 2006