The Reward is the Journey

And so, she is gone.  We have said goodbye to one another in this life.  Sitting beside her in hospital with lines trailing from both her hands, I realised that all that needed to be said had been said.   Death gives clarity to life.  Suddenly all is so wonderfully clear.  Meaning, purpose and passion are everything. Charlotte has always shown me what it is that really matters.  These are the lessons I get to keep for life:  Do what matters.  Every day.  Forget everything else. Life's too short to rush through it.  Pause awhile to stand in the awe of its beauty and get to know those spirits who make the world a beautiful place. I have had the great privilege of getting to know one such woman. Hours after she passed away, swimming came naturally.  Her effortless grace got me to the poolside far earlier that morning than normal.  The water was peaceful and calm.  Those within it, perhaps less so. ...

Time is a strange thing.  We know how long a minute is, and how many minutes are in an hour, and how many hours make up a day, and yet a moment is so intangible.  Time is but a series of moments.  And moments pass at different speeds.  This year feels in some ways to have flown by.  And yet, when I survey it as I have done recently, I can acknowledge how much has happened.  How much has been achieved, and how much growth has occurred.  I wanted to be present with myself and to mark the day in a way that felt right for me, right now.  My feelings showed me the way and guided me as I allowed more moments to unfold, and to envelop and hold me.  I felt peaceful with the reality that it was a whole year ago that we finally said goodbye.  It was a long goodbye and, in many ways, it was last year that I was faced with the biggest loss:  the gap between the mother had known, and the woman I went to visit in those final months. ...

As another month passes, I notice how my mind seeks to organise itself around the grief I will doubtless remain conscious of for a long time yet. It comes and goes, ebbing and flowing. Arising sometimes predictably and at other times, quite without warning. These days, it is a gentle sadness. A recognition that she is no longer. That we will never again greet one another in that old, familiar way.  Life, of course, continues. Change envelops me. And my mind does its best to keep up. My mind, I can now see, is working over time to ensure I stay alive - not in the physical sense, but at an emotional level. My mind is capable of keeping me on track and does this by organising my thoughts now that the shock has subsided and I adjust to the reality of my loss. I no longer think about her morning, noon and night. I recall memories at will, and am pleased to do so. They give me comfort. I am haunted no more. The way the mind manages grief over time means that w...