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.