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MORAG LINDSAY: Blessed are the soup-makers – I lost my mum and found so much kindness

Image shows the writer's late mother Jean Lindsay, sitting on a seat in her garden on a sunny day, beside a plate of red soup and a tin of home-made shortbread.
Soup, shortbread and soothing words have comforted Morag since the death of her mum Jean.

I lost my mum last Saturday.

She was lovely. And brave. And maybe one day I’ll write about her here.

But she was also private and allergic to fuss.

So instead I’m going to write about the people whose importance has only been revealed to me as I’ve navigated these seven strange days without her.

I can’t do that without mentioning the Perth and Kinross community nurses, who made it possible for Mum to have the death she wanted – albeit so much sooner than she wished – and whose kindness to her, and us, afterwards is still stopping me in my tracks.

Image shows the writer Morag Lindsay next to a quote: "This week has changed me. In ways I know I still don't fully understand. But I hope it's made me kinder."

They are exceptional. They do more of value in every single shift than I’ll ever achieve in my entire sorry career, and I’ll never forget them.

But the amateurs came through for us too.

Kindness shown in words and deeds

The day after Mum died, I came home to feed my fish and shower, and found a work pal had delivered home-made soup to my door.

She’d known she was sick, and known the rest of us had more important things to think about than feeding ourselves properly, so had done something miraculous with roasted red peppers and driven 80 miles to bring us strength.

Photo shows an open shopping bag on the ground, revealing part of a note which reads: "Morag, Roasted red pepper and tomato, 100% veggie. Pop in micro for 2mins or heat on hob for 5ish."
Soup for the soul – and the note that came with it.

My garden has been a case study in neglect, an unintended rewilding project, this summer.

But my neighbours had come home from a two-week holiday and taken it upon themselves to tie up my roses and sweep the dead leaves, dirt and debris from my steps.

Since then, I’ve had Facebook messages that have left me speechless, along with flowers, cards with Moomins on, a rescue package containing patches for tired eyes (VERY necessary) and a badge that made me burst out laughing and think “Wait til I show this to Alex”, before I realised it was Alex who had sent it.

A fellow dog walker, who noticed me looking like Worzel Gummidge, has arranged for her hairdresser to come and sort me out before the funeral.

And Dad’s neighbours have kept him so well supplied in scones, shortbread and soup – blessed are the soup-makers – that I fear we’ll have to dash to Perth for an emergency bigger black suit on Thursday morning.

Photo shows a plate and knife, with a scone cut in half and spread with butter and jam.
Home-made scones from a neighbour after Morag lost her mum.

If I haven’t mentioned you here, please don’t think it’s because that thing you did didn’t matter.

Five hundred words are not enough to list the kindnesses we’ve been shown.

And 500 years will not be time enough for me to properly express my gratitude.

Send that card, say that thing

It goes without saying this week has changed me. In ways I know I still don’t fully understand.

But I hope it’s made me kinder. Turned me into one of the soup-makers.

And I hope by sharing my good fortune it might make someone else be kinder too.

Because I’ve been in all those people’s shoes.

I’ve known someone who’s been bereaved – a workmate, an acquaintance – and thought “Oh they don’t need me bothering them just now. They’ve got family around them. Their real friends. What’s another card, or WhatsApp message?”

And now I know, those tiny things amount to everything.

We lost my mum, the person who loved us most in all the world, last Saturday.

And that cup will never runneth over again.

But all these people took the time to show they care.

That they still have love, and some to spare.

And every drop they sprinkled our way is carrying us a little closer to healing.

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