My time in Suffolk is coming to an end. Not sure when I’ll be back again but I do know that the reason to return seems greater than before. It’s been an incredibly sad time and impossible to blog about and quite possibly hugely inappropriate to do so anyway. I certainly haven’t felt like sharing my thoughts or experiences with the world in general, about anything, least of all the Biggest things. At times like these it can be difficult even to share with those very close to you. We all respond differently in times of grief as our various coping mechanisms kick in to keep us functioning. If we are very lucky, our individual strategies work in harmony with those close to us so that we are at least able to support each other through such challenging times. Ultimately though, it feels as if we are alone in our grief, with our individual thoughts. Our individual memories. Surely only we as individuals can learn how best to navigate our own emotions and how to come to terms with the radical changes that have been made for us, without our consent or approval.
As my time here passes and I now dare to look ahead to my own future and my next physical destination, it is clear to me that I would now like to bring this difficult chapter, at least the written chapter, to an appropriate close. To not write anything about this time, to pretend on paper that it never happened, seems odd. Wrong. Like I am in denial about what has happened. My blog has been my witness to many things during this past year; thankfully most of them positive or at least new and exciting so it seems only fair to allow it to also be witness to the sad times.
So finally, I return to blogging and hope that it will help me as it has before, to process things. When you lose someone instrumental in your upbringing, someone who has become a part of you and who has helped shape the person you are today, it goes without saying that it takes time to recover. Who knows how much time...we are all different so it will be different for all of us. We should not judge ourselves or others but allow ourselves whatever time we need to come through the other side.
For me though, as another step in my personal letting go, I chose to share these words and trust that is OK with those close to me to do so.
I was 4 when we met.
A shy little girl, not accustomed to meeting tall, dark, handsome men…
He was introduced to me as Jim, and so that is was I called him
Mum and I used to watch him from our window high above the road each morning as he drove off to work in his little yellow car
And then at the weekends he would take us out with him, often with the top down, and he would drive fast down small and windy country lanes
I would sit on the back shelf, holding on to the passenger seats in front of me
I think I might have complained about this rather undignified arrangement at the time, although my memories tell me that I loved every minute of this new adventure
Jim loved the countryside so I’m glad that some of my best early memories took place in some of his favourite places
Mum would pack picnics for us to share in far away welsh fields
We would walk in the woods and he’d give me piggy-back rides that made me giggle with delight
Sunday lunchtimes were often spent in country pub gardens...the 3 of us and usually a doll or two to keep me occupied
Of course I didn’t understand at the time, but looking back now I realise that these were his courtship days and my respect deepens further for the man who not only made my mum happy and gave me two wonderful brothers, but who welcomed this little girl so readily into his life and treated her as his own.
I may have called him Jim, but he was my Dad.
