Like a juggernaut

After we bought our boat, in 1994, we moored her in the Cambridgshire Fens, near Ramsey. Today, I took the route to Grantham to visit my Niece. As I neared the turn-off for Huntington, I began to feel uneasy and emotional. This was the turning we took towards Ramsey. Alf was getting more and more agitated, so I decided to pull into the Brampton Hut service station to take him for a short walk - a pee stop. As soon as I turned into the Truck Stop, I burst into tears. Eamonn and I used to pull in here if the A1M was busy on our way home on Sunday, after a weekend on the boat. The Truck Stop offered a bottomless teapot for thirsty travellers. 

This was the first time I had travelled this route alone, since Eamonn died. Had it not been for the pandemic, I would probably have made the trip to Grantham a few times and got used to the memories it triggered. But this was the first time - and I had a meltdown. The memories were happy ones, but the emotion is one with which all bereaved people are familiar.

It's not just the loss of the person who was the centre of my world, It's the loss of a shared past only we understood. More importantly, today, it is the loss of a future we will never share. I didn't make it to Grantham. When I'd stopped crying sufficiently to speak, I phoned my Niece and spoke to her husband. He encouraged me to rest before heading back home when I felt sufficiently well enough to drive. 

The whole thing took me completely by surprise. It's as though the past 18 months hadn't happened as raw grief hit me like a juggernaut. I took to my bed an hour ago, with a hot drink and paracetamol and a hot water bottle for my aching muscles.