Wednesday, 26 August 2020

Nothing makes sense without him

 

foraging




At the weekend, I took Alf on a foraging walk picking blackberries. There were still some large ones on the bushes. A man I met on-route to the Greenway, told me he had been out picking for the past three weeks. I reminded him to leave some for the wildlife and we both continued on our way in opposite diections. Along with the blackberries, the sloes were out in smaller numbers. The large blue berries are almost hidden in the shade at the top of this picture.





apples






Just before we turned onto the footpath that would lead us along the rear of the Garden Centre and Harkness Roses, we came across some wild apple trees. I'm not fond of crab apples so we passed by and made our way slowly up the hill.






There were a lot of ripe berries in the hedgerow - blackberries, hawthorn berries, rose hips, elderberries, and slow berries among them. I've been fairly confident about letting Alf of the lead on this stretch as there is no evidence of foxes or other wildlife in the copse. This day, however, something caught Alf's attention. He regularly darted into the trees, following a scent, and I began to worry he would go AWAL. I decided to use the blackberries as a reward for his return. It was a great success and almost turned into a game. I have never known a dog who actively joins in the foraging for berries, until Alf.


view

We scoured both sides of the hedge and, as my watch was telling me we had already been out for 30 minutes, I decided to head for home. It was then that I experienced sudden dissociation. I paused and gazed across the hill of ripe wheat. The view continued westwards, over Bedfordshire, for miles under a typical English summer sky. 


Normally, I would feel a great surge of pleasure at such beauty so close to home. But, I didn't. Logically, I acknowledged how lucky I am to lived so close to the countryside of Hertforshire and Bedfordshire - barely five minutes walk from the house. But I felt empty and at one remove from what I was seeing. Everything was flat, like a photograph.


I've felt like this before. For a long time after my father died, I couldn't connect with life or the world around me. It was Eamonn who guided me back into the land of the living and helped me enjoy life again. He wrote that he was waiting patiently for me to return. It struck me hard then, for the first time; the reality was that Eamonn wasn't coming home. Over the decades, I used Eamonn's various trips away from home to complete a home project that I felt guilty about doing when he was with me. Time spent together was precious. Is that what I've been doing these past ten months? Various projects undertaken in the unconscious expectation that Eamonn would be home soon? 



I found a photograph of a wall in the Sanctuary when I was decorating it back in August last year. Between two collages of photos of us in Paris, was a decal. It read "come back home". I removed it when Eamonn was in hospital in late October. I didn't want to jinx his 'recovery'. That was the last time he did come home. 

As I walked down the street towards home, my concentration was elsewhere, trying to come to terms with my denial. I stumbled on the pavement and hit the ground - hard. As I lay there wondering if there was anything broken, I  noticed a couple talking beside a car that was parked across the road from me. They turned to look at me as I fell, but then continued with their conversation. This really shook me, more so than the fall. During lock-down, there was a great feeling of community on the Rosehill estate. Neighbours helped one another. Had it been very different before lock-down? Was the world returning to its insular ways now that everything was getting back to normal? I picked myself up and hobbled to a friend's house, crying as I went. Crying for my loss of Eamonn, crying for my loss of confidence at walking alone in future, but also crying for the world that has forgotten so soon what it was like to live in fear of a deadly, common, unseen, threat and to be kind and supportive of others.

My friends took one look at me and ushered me inside for tea and biscuits and lots of TLC. Only when they were sure that I was able to make my way home (across the road and round the corner) did they let me go. It was a hard lesson and a painful one. I'm bruised and stiff and bereft. Eamonn isn't coming home.

fruit



The foraging was fruitful, despite the aftermath. I dined on the last of the strawberries and some of the blackberries for tea. I couldn't face cooking. Nothing makes sense without him.











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