Surf's up

A couple of weekends ago I had a reunion with five of the people I met on the Flying Kiwi trip. We went to Croyde in Devon for a weekend of camping and surfing. It was awesome! It was so nice seeing those people again - one had flown over from Dublin and another had biked there from Italy, the rest of us are UK-based. Everything was so easy and we just picked up where we left off when we last saw each other in March. Amazing really, that we know relatively little about each other yet have become firm friends, with our NZ adventure binding us together.

I loved being under canvas again and managed to sleep well on both nights, which is always a bonus when camping. The mattress, proper pillow, alcohol and sleeping tablet combo worked a treat. And surfing was really good fun. I didn't think it'd be for me, but I surprised myself and even booked into surf school again on the Sunday. Just goes to show (once again) how futile it is to worry about things before they happen. You just need to suck these things and see. I managed to stand up quite a few times. My problem was that once I stood up I was so chuffed with myself that I started celebrating - hands in the air, knees definitely not bent, screaming and shouting and laughing. That's not really surfing. I then normally jumped off the board to avoid falling in. But I think I've got to grips with the basics now; just need to perfect my technique. Lots of practice required...

T would be astounded that I even tried surfing. I'm a bit scared of the open sea and certainly don't like a) waves going over my head and b) going underwater unexpectedly, both of which are hard to avoid when you surf. I definitely think a bit of T jumped into me that night last July, before he faded away. I can't explain it any other way. If that's what happened then I'm pleased and very grateful to him. I'm seeing the world with new eyes. With T eyes. And it's a great view.

There was a really clear sky on the Saturday night with very little light pollution, so as we staggered back from the pub we did a bit of meteor spotting. It's the time of year to see them. I vividly remember seeing the meteor showers at the same time last year in the dark Northumbrian skies. They will forever remind me of T.

Well, I'm back from my latest escape: a long weekend in Spain with my sister. It was wonderful. Fabulous weather, lots of swimming in the sea, great company, delicious food, a night in Barcelona - my favouritist of cities - some delicious mojitos, a whole row to myself on the easyjet flight home (unheard of, although there was the obligatory EJ delay to contend with before that). But no T.

T and I had booked to go to Spain for our summer holiday in August. But we never got there. We'd spent months planning a holiday to Croatia. Even bought the guide book. Then decided at the last minute that it wasn't coming together and opted for Spain instead. We were going to spend some time in the mountains, a week by the sea and a few days in Barcelona - a city I'd told T all about but that he'd never visited. It was going to be my opportunity to show him why I love that place so much. And a chance for him to fall in love with it himself. I think it would have been the perfect holiday; a good balance of all the things we enjoy. And a chance for us to start trying for a baby.

Although I've done more than my fair share of travelling since T died, I found elements of this break particularly hard. Going to Gatwick as we'd done many times before when heading off on our summer holiday, queuing up alongside the couples and families heading off on their long-anticipated annual break: it was all so familiar. Yet so bloody alien. I could picture T beside me. The usual pre-holiday stresses causing some unnecessary tension and bickering between us - are you sure you packed the passports? I can't believe you forgot to pack X, Y or Z. Why did you have to finish work so late, knowing we had to get to the airport to catch our flight? Did we definitely lock the front door? etc etc. Then the relief of making it through to the departure lounge and onto the flight. Time to relax. Time to start enjoying the break. Time to make the most of it as we'd be back at work before we knew it. That holiday feeling. Bliss. Holding hands as the plane took off. Watching London disappear through the cloud. A snooze on the flight to make up for the late night packing the night before. Then the wall of heat hitting you as you stepped off the plane at the other side. Deep breath. And relax...

After 13 years together, we had our little holiday routines. It was hard being on a more traditional holiday without T there beside me. Hard seeing other couples acting out exactly what it would have been like to be there with T, in front of my very eyes. Hard being in the place where T and I should have been holidaying this time last year. Hard being in Barcelona, knowing that T will now never have the chance to go. Just hard not having him there with me.

Don't get me wrong. It was great being away with my sister. We had the best time, lots of laughs and I'm very grateful that she was able to come with me. We've got some great memories of our holiday and I hope to go back to both Sitges and Barcelona very soon (city break anyone??). It's just hard getting used to doing things without T. Yes, I've been away without him in the past. But then I'd be sending him postcards, calling him every day and picking out a little souvenir to take home to him from my trip. Now there's none of that. Just that gaping hole again. It's proving to be a bloody big place that hole.

Survival of the fittest

So, I arrived back home today from my little séjour in France and was finally able to turn the calendar over from July to August. It was a very symbolic gesture. The July anniversary had been lurking in the back of my mind for a while, without me realising quite how much it was bothering me. I feel relieved it's now passed and I've survived yet another first.

The 30th July - the date of T's accident - dawned warm and sunny in France. I had my friend Graeme's three extremely loving and caring children to distract me from the minute I woke up until they went to bed that evening. With an honesty that only children have (and with my full consent, incidentally), the girls asked me lots and lots of questions about T, his accident, and my feelings about it all, as and when the questions occured to them over the course of the day. The questions varied from specifics like, 'How much blood did T have on him when you saw him in hospital?', to 'Can I please try T's wedding ring on?', to 'Where do you think T is now?' (I was told by the girls that T would always be right beside me - they indicated to the space beside my right shoulder - and always in my heart. They are wise little things.) Because I didn't want to get upset in front of them but also because I wanted to answer their questions as honestly yet sensitively as possible, I found myself answering these ordinarily horrendous questions very factually. It felt a bit like a kind of therapy.

As well as the accident-related discussions, we also did lots of ordinary things like a grocery shop, an ice-cream run and some playing in the garden in the sunshine followed by a BBQ. I was quite happy having my hair done and being spoilt by the girls who looked after me very well. They made me feel loved and less alone at a difficult time. There was lots and lots of laughter, fun and raucous giggling. And no time to stop and check the time. Which meant no reliving those 'this time last year' moments that I thought would form a significant part of the day. With the benefit of hindsight, I'm so pleased they didn't. Yes, there were difficult moments and tears and lots of sadness, but that didn't dictate the tone of the day; I actually ended up having a really nice day. Which isn't how I thought I'd be describing T's first anniversary. But I'm so so grateful it worked out that way. It's what T would have wanted, I think. He wouldn't have wanted me to be too sad, or morbid or consumed once again by grief. He would have approved of my choice of company. Of our excessive wine and whisky consumption in his memory. Of the sky lantern we released. Of our sitting out in the garden until 3.30am putting the world to rights. Fittingly and unintentionally, it was a very T day.

I know now that spending T's anniversary in France with G was the best thing I could have done. I can't remember laughing as much as I have over the past week for a very long time. I've eaten well. And woken up with a hangover on more than one occasion. I've met people that I've never met before but who had met T. I feel once again like I've come back from one of my safe havens a slightly different person.