Christine Hopper: 9/12/1958—14/08/2023

by

Shernaz Dinshaw

---

My darling friend Christine.

I could not tell you how long I have known her—perhaps as long as I have lived in Whitstable.

You see a familiar face over and again about the town and one day that familiar face walks into your shop and so begins a friendship or not.

In our case it did.

Slowly.

It was clear from the beginning that we were both strong willed and determined and very much our own people and our friendship would not be an easy one as we were no spring chickens but women of a certain age and character.

I think that was established in our very first encounter or transaction as it were.

It involved a white shirt that was in a sale that she loved and bought and then didn’t love and wanted to return (strict policy of no return on sale items) but of course not for Christine.

I made an exception as it was just easier to not argue with her over something as mundane as a darn shirt anyway, we were to argue over many more profound things in the years to come. I must have known then, I must have known.

So that I guess was to be in some ways the template of our friendship—it would be joyous and then get sticky and even contentious and exasperating—yes, we loved, we sometimes fought, we were estranged, we made up—all was acceptable it seemed and we were able to sustain our somewhat haphazard friendship over time and place. In bits and pieces.

One winter I recall we both decided we would walk every evening come rain or storm. I was getting too fat and she said her belly could do with shedding a few inches. I can remember the darkest and rainiest of winter evenings when no fool would venture out unless they really had to when we set off around 7 pm through rain that was like sharp needles on our faces. Utterly mad.

We battled the slopes of Tankerton with just sheer determination and plenty of laughter as we fought the elements as if we were fighting life itself, each tricky weathered step a sign of our determination and courage. We spoke of our battles with our bodies, we shouted about those in our minds; we tut tutted about our children, about all our loves and losses; we spoke with rancour and frustration, through tears and smiles. And we walked.

It was only on Tuesday evening when I went to her house because some of our common Tai Chi friends said she hadn’t shown up for class and were concerned as they couldn’t reach her either that I went to see—and that I heard from her daughters boyfriend with utter choking sadness that she had a stroke the Friday night gone and that she was in hospital fighting for her life.

I gasped.

She had spent the day with her dear girlfriend Carrie I found out that Friday and was staying the night too so when Carrie heard a scream in the middle of the night from Christine’s bedroom she was able to see and recognise at once what had happened and call an ambulance.

Unfortunately the ambulance took over 2 hours to get there and we know all about the golden hour and strokes. Sadly whilst in hospital she suffered another stroke and damage was to the middle of the brain stem and Pons with devastating consequences. She was at once Locked in.

Deep sigh. Loud scream. On no. I rushed to the hospital as soon as I could that very evening. It was late but they allowed me in as she was already in a palliative unit as it was the humane thing to do they said.

My darling friend lay there unmoving and gasping for her breath. I stroked and held her. Comforted her as best I could, and said I would advocate for her and be there every day for her and fight to make her live if it was possible.

Alas it could not be.

I have many stories about Christine. They all come flooding back as I spend the next few days and nights stealing hours from my day to sit with her, advocate for her, assure her—I write them all down as I hear her struggle with her breath more and more as her body tries to shut down. Night after night. It is tragic and unbearable that my friend who was so full of life is suddenly dying. Just like that. How cruel.

One night by her hospital bed I stroke her feet. Strong, large feet that had stood her well but not well enough. Taking her here and there—she was off to Canterbury she said or Ashford or to see her friend who lived in the woods or to Paris to see her analyst when she was studying or her friend near Ash.

Still looking strong and shapely and still warm—Even as life ebbs away. The human body is indeed an amazing thing. Fragile yet strong.

Crazy lady. Oh she was.

She loved moving her furniture in her home around regularly—not just tables and chairs but an upright piano too—yes you read that right—and all by herself. Her strength astounded me—from one day to the next her rooms would be completely changed around. I had to forbid her from hefting and shoving that piano around. But you couldn’t say anything to her. If she was determined to move it, all the instruction not to would fall on deaf ears and she would pay no heed whatever. She was so determined. And yes, crazy I did say.

That same determination revealed in her passing. So many days with no food or water yet she hangs in there. Her resolute strength to live hasn’t left yet. A fighter.

She was also very kind. She befriended my darling grand children one summer and swam with them in the sea, taught them Tai Chi, loved and instructed them so gently and joined us for many meals in my garden together. They loved having her there—“Is Christina coming?” they would say and would be disappointed if she was not. Oh she will be missed.

She passed early this morning. A blessed release indeed. I could not have heard her struggling to breathe for much longer.

I cannot imagine not seeing her either in passing or to pop in to the shop ever again—how strange that seems entirely.

The town will just not be the same again without her in it. It can’t and won’t. Yet it is.

Oh how she chastised me for taking my Covid vaccines and we fell out for some time about that as I insisted I had thought about my decision but she just wasn’t having it—she didn’t want me to die she insisted and here I was sitting by her bedside watching her life ebb away from her slowly. Oh the irony.

Of course there’s nothing to say I could be gone myself in the next few seconds or hours or weeks even—we don’t live our lives thinking we are going to die anytime soon do we, that’s not how we are designed. We are designed to live and live we must until one day we die.

But so unprepared we are really for it all. No instruction about our death, no speak or little anyway, mostly just fear.

We often live in fear and die the same way.

Yet as sure as we must live we must die and I am hoping that when we are confronted with our own inevitable demise we must and will all find a way to face it. Each one come to our own release, acceptance and understanding. I believe this came for my friend after days of anger, frustration and fear.

And so I say as I sit vigil by my friends hospital bed knowing this inevitability, I say live good lives, take some risks even, hold your friends and loved ones close and dear, make reparations if it’s at all possible, try not to hold grudges, get pissed or stoned but not too often, hold hands even when you are not lovers, hug a lot, laugh, cultivate a hobby, learn to play a musical instrument or start playing again one you gave up, travel even if it’s for a day, stop to smell roses as you walk, greet and talk to strangers for no good reason and don’t ever get tired at gasping in delight at beautiful sunsets and magical skies even if they are on your doorstep and yes always say please and thank you.

Thank you Christine for your friendship. My life would not be the same without it. You enhanced, enraged and were a really good friend when I needed you most and I hope I was the same most of the time for you.

Am sorry I did not say I love you enough but I think you knew and felt it enough .

Go away from the troubles of your Earth life and fly high above the clouds and one day I hope we will walk in the rain again—our souls cackling with laughter at the things we could not know when we walked the Earth.

You will live on in my heart and mind and I will still look for you around corners and streets of that I am sure. You leave a Christine shaped hole in my life. A bit jagged in places but one I wouldn’t be without.

Thanks you Ma Cherie, non merçi.

Christine Hopper

9/12/1958—14/08/2023

French. Honorary Whitstablian. Tai Chi Teacher. Psychoanalyst. Mother. Wonderful Woman.

We will be doing a collection for her funeral and wake/celebration as her finances were precarious at the best of times so any who have known her and wish to contribute please be in touch and thank you. Contact me via Mosaic here: https://www.facebook.com/mosaicwhit/

---

Read about Shernaz here (second story):

Three Stories from the Whitstable Whistler

---

Whitstable Views: How You Can Help

1. Make sure you share and like our articles on Facebook and Twitter, and whatever other social-media platforms you use.
2. Follow the site to get regular updates about new articles when they appear. Press the “Follow” icon in the bottom right hand corner of your screen and that will take you to the option to sign up. (It disappears as you move the text down, then reappears as you move it back up again!)
3. Leave comments on the site rather than on Facebook. Let’s get a debate going. All of our contributors are willing to engage with you if you leave a comment.
4. To all writers out there, we would LOVE you to make a contribution. Read our submissions page for details on how to go about that: https://whitstableviews.com/submissions/
5. Finally you can donate. As little as £1 would help. Details on the donations page here: https://whitstableviews.com/donate/