Jerome Phelps (LDSG coordinator): sitting in a room, doing something important
Everyone who knew Ester seems to have a clear idea of her. Those who knew her include many people who only spoke to her once. She made a difference to many lives.
I know Ester as her manager and as her friend, from her work at London Detainee Support Group. She volunteered for us for a long time, offering support and friendship to people held in detention at Heathrow Airport. Later she supported large numbers of volunteers in their difficult and sometimes traumatic work visiting the detention centres. We met on Wednesday to share our memories, and how much we will miss her.
When someone we care about dies suddenly, we are confronted with the terrible fragility of life. And the person retrospectively seems so fragile. But the Ester I know was not fragile, she was no-one’s victim. I will remember her how strong she was. She was small, even in big boots, but she carried many people. She carried many of us, at various points. And she carried many hundreds of people in detention, who called us in moments of desperation and hopelessness. Some would say that they got through because of her help, although she would argue that they did it themselves.
Ester had an extraordinary talent for listening. It was all the more remarkable because she was I think a basically impatient person. Her rants were legendary, and she had a furious intolerance for hypocrisy amongst those in positions of power. But when she was speaking to someone who was weak or suffering, her patience was without limits. She had a way of listening that made people feel understood and forgiven and accepted entirely.
Although I suppose it must have been an effort for her to take so much on her shoulders, and tolerate so many injustices around her, she never seemed worn down. She had an absolute inner conviction that was impervious to the sad or terrible things she witnessed. The longer she worked with people in detention, the stronger she seemed. She had a joy in her work, perhaps from doing something that was fundamental to her on a deep level. And doing it so, so well.
When someone we care about dies suddenly, we try to make sense of it. But there is no way to reconcile losing Ester now, like this. It is intolerable that she is no longer out there in the world, doing the many wonderful things she did, with so many different people. It is intolerable, and it will go on being intolerable. But Ester means so much not because she died, but because she was alive. I feel privileged to have shared some of her precious time, doing work that was special to her. And that seems more special because of her. I have no sad or painful memories of Ester. Only laughter.
Jerome
I know Ester as her manager and as her friend, from her work at London Detainee Support Group. She volunteered for us for a long time, offering support and friendship to people held in detention at Heathrow Airport. Later she supported large numbers of volunteers in their difficult and sometimes traumatic work visiting the detention centres. We met on Wednesday to share our memories, and how much we will miss her.
When someone we care about dies suddenly, we are confronted with the terrible fragility of life. And the person retrospectively seems so fragile. But the Ester I know was not fragile, she was no-one’s victim. I will remember her how strong she was. She was small, even in big boots, but she carried many people. She carried many of us, at various points. And she carried many hundreds of people in detention, who called us in moments of desperation and hopelessness. Some would say that they got through because of her help, although she would argue that they did it themselves.
Ester had an extraordinary talent for listening. It was all the more remarkable because she was I think a basically impatient person. Her rants were legendary, and she had a furious intolerance for hypocrisy amongst those in positions of power. But when she was speaking to someone who was weak or suffering, her patience was without limits. She had a way of listening that made people feel understood and forgiven and accepted entirely.
Although I suppose it must have been an effort for her to take so much on her shoulders, and tolerate so many injustices around her, she never seemed worn down. She had an absolute inner conviction that was impervious to the sad or terrible things she witnessed. The longer she worked with people in detention, the stronger she seemed. She had a joy in her work, perhaps from doing something that was fundamental to her on a deep level. And doing it so, so well.
When someone we care about dies suddenly, we try to make sense of it. But there is no way to reconcile losing Ester now, like this. It is intolerable that she is no longer out there in the world, doing the many wonderful things she did, with so many different people. It is intolerable, and it will go on being intolerable. But Ester means so much not because she died, but because she was alive. I feel privileged to have shared some of her precious time, doing work that was special to her. And that seems more special because of her. I have no sad or painful memories of Ester. Only laughter.
Jerome
posted by Ester memories at 11:35 am
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