The Reward is the Journey

I am an outdoor swim enthusiast.  I swim year-round.  Without a wetsuit.  My second home is the water.  I spend a lot of time in its wonderful embrace, be it the English Channel or a vast outdoor (and, importantly, unheated) pool in South London. Swimming is a passion.  But why I swim is about so much more than exercise.  Fresh air and daylight are vital to my wellbeing. A holiday some time ago 'down under' was a swim fest.  Beyond my wildest dreams.  I had read about the beaches, and the pools.  But I got so much more than I bargained for.  I found lakes and reservoirs.  I found peaceful private swimming.  It was joyful.  In the extreme.   A swim is capable of curing so much.  Jet lag for starters.  Fatigue.  Heartbreak.  Disappointment.   The water has yet to let me down.  I take myself to the water.  I find my self in the water. I am a creature of habit.  My four or five swims a week follow largely the same routine.  Of which I never tire.   I come.

I wake up.  It's Saturday.  And she's not here to share the weekend that has yet to happen. This is now a familiar tape that has been playing out most weekends since September.  There have, of course, been exceptions.  The weekends that I've been away.  Those weekends on which I've had work commitments which have taken me out of London.  The break I spent on the other side of the world over New Year.  These times have felt different.  Saturday mornings in London don't yet feel quite right. Something occurs to me.  I think to call her.  I reach for my phone, but before I do, I remember.  Again.  And again.  Her number is no longer available.   I am briefly and repeatedly disorientated.  It feels unfair.  It isn't.  Life isn't.   I am adjusting.  Grief is a process.  A process that is unfolding.  Sometimes quickly.  Often slowly.  I have no say as to its pace, and little way of knowing its direction.  Healing is a journey. This wasn't a jo