A Year on - Picking Up The Pieces

It's a year now since my mother died, and it's been the worst year ever. Five months later my father died too. A week after that, we learned Dylan our dog had untreatable cancer. Together they proved devastating. There can't be any hard and fast rule about how soon you should get back to 'normal' after losing someone close, or how you should go about it. I just know that the loss of both parents and Dylan the dog left me wrecked, but maybe slowly I'm beginning to pick the pieces up and start again. Life does go on, even if it's in a completely new shape.

I've completely lost any sense of time. This whole year has passed in a blur. I look around me now, see that summer's over, it's September almost October, and wonder how I got here; much of the last few months is lost in a fog.


For a while, staggering along under a heap of grief, I felt it was necessary to get to a calmer place before re-starting life. There were so many things I wanted to do, places I wanted to go, but the mood never felt right.
I'd managed to make the big decisions - what to do with my parents' house, which of their many possessions to keep, which to give away or to charity shops -  but apart from going walking, I couldn't bring myself to do anything non-essential.

I wanted to go on holiday,
I wanted to get fitter again,
I wanted to stop eating ready meals and start cooking again -
but I wasn't ready to do any of this yet, because things didn't feel right. If I'd waited till they did, I'd never have done anything this year. A bit of external impetus was needed.


While we were wondering if, when, and where we should take a few days away, I heard of a book launch taking place in Norwich - it proved the catalyst to get me moving. We organised our days away, with an evening in Norwich in mind.  A second slightly longer holiday had to be planned around our youngest daughter's holidays. I took my holidays.

The first couple of days away left me exhausted, and I realised that to really enjoy my second break I had to get fitter NOW. Not massively 'run a marathon' fit - just enough to walk round Edinburgh for a couple of days, and then along some forest trails - so I started walking, often going out in the early evening, trying to make that 10,000 step target two or three times a week. I started getting fitter.

The allotment suddenly went into overdrive - producing a huge glut of marrows while we were away, so I had to find ways to use them, and got back to jam-making. Then blackberries, raspberries and runner beans started to crop, and coping with produce became a full time activity, finding interesting ways to serve things rather than just cram everything into the freezer. I ditched the ready meals.

Without these little 'pushes' from outside, I never would have attempted to do anything. I'd still be hoping to find that peaceful place, but getting out and doing things, even when I didn't overly feel like doing them, has helped immensely.


In Norfolk, the sun shone, I went paddling, and something inside started to thaw.
In Scotland, I re-visited favourite places, walked through forests, went swimming, and something healed.
Going out walking regularly, and having to deal with  all the allotment fruit and veg, took me out of myself, gave me something else to focus on.
I'm still often sad and 'down', but I'm no longer completely immersed in grief. This first anniversary seems a good point to start again.

Goodbye Dylan

We've known for several months that Dylan was seriously ill with untreatable cancer, and felt that he was living on borrowed time since the diagnosis. Late last week things took an awful turn for the worse and the vet could do nothing to save him.














He came to us nine years ago from the council dog wardens after a period of living rough on the streets; so thin that his ribs almost showed through his fur despite a week of feeding up by the dog shelter.




























Obviously we had no idea how he'd found himself living wild. He was never the sort of dog to run away when let off the lead, and had been trained to sit, roll over, and shake paws, so presumably cared for properly.  After a chaotic week or so, he settled in here, got over his fear of my husband (probably linked to his previous experiences with men), put on weight and grew a long shaggy collie-style coat, but we never solved the riddle of what breeds may have formed part of his DNA.


























He was an excellent boy, fond of walks, exploring new places and re-visiting old ones (he certainly seemed to recognise a place on second or third visits) He loved cuddles on the sofa and comfy naps, but not going out in the rain, or getting wet.

















Here he is up to some of his favourite things, out on adventures, and chilling out at home.

A photo taken not long after we 'adopted' him, when his fur was shorter and thinner. He 'd already been trained to sit, roll over and shake paws by his previous owner.

Merry Christmas

a day at the seaside

Off in the car to Curious Arts Festival - we went twice, and the second year he definitely remembered his first visit, recognising the walk outside the camping area, down to the sea.

He always seemed strangely at home in the tent, perhaps accepting it as a temporary home because we were there, and was happy to sit and watch the world pass by while he sat on his rug (or the bed)

In Manchester to watch the half-marathon, with a park to run in right outside the AirBnB, croissant for breakfast, and some lazy dinner on the way home

Among the bluebells at Bow Wood







































At Chatsworth - another place he recognised on return visits; approaching in the car, he'd always bark when he first saw the house.

The world seems so empty right now, and life won't be the same without him.