Adieu France

02/12/12

Someone far wiser than me said something along the lines of it's only when you're leaving that a country truly reveals itself to you. Well, it's not quite true, but the sentiment's pretty cool, eh?

It's only as I'm leaving that I am revealed to myself. There are things about me I've found out while I've been a stranger in a strange land which I'm not entirely pleased about. Things I need to consider and indeed change. Will travelling change me? I really hope so. In fact, with some thought, there are some things about me I actually find abhorrent and am slightly ashamed of. I thought I was better than that. Humbled a little by this revelation.

And in some weird way, today I am Cobalt whereas yesterday I was Turquoise. I'm beautiful, I have depth, and warmth and solitude. I am Cobalt, see me smile. I'm finally rediscovering reading. Happy with a book, a blanket and a never ending supply of coffee and Carrefour mint & eucalyptus sweeties. I'm reading, finally. I used to be a heavy reader, but with Dave's death my ability to focus on books left me. Truly, as a teenager during summer holidays I could happily withdraw six books from the library every other day, walking the mile and a half journey there and then back again to do so. Funny how loss changes you. My concentration powers left me, and I lost books for a long time.

Funny too how more meandering through war relics has affected me. Pondering the loss of life, 2000 men at one point injured or dying on the beaches. And suddenly I was saying to myself, Alison, this really terrible thing happened to you. Dave died, loving you right to the end, he died, he got a brain tumour, went through nine months of living on earth hell, and he died. That was a terrible thing that happened, and it wasn't just to him, it was to you. Someone you still love and who loved you until the end died. It was terrible. And it was. Terrible. I used to confine myself to thinking it was something terrible which had happened to Dave. I blocked out me. Everything was all about him during those months. Oh, and it was my living hell as well as his. I don't often admit that, not just to other folk, but not even to me. But death of loved ones is brutal and horrific and life ending, and it changes you.

I've realised even with time away, I can't miss people. I don't miss people. Because they haven't died, they are still there and will still be there. That gaping bloody gasping vacuum of loss just doesn't figure when people inhabit the same sphere as you. And if I let it, it does still suck me into its jagged void because the pain of missing Dave dwells under my surface. A terrible thing happened to me. It did.

And I have somehow come full circle from the Scottish beach where I realised I don't have to run any more. Now I'm on a French beach, the sun has set and the lights are twinkling on the other side of the harbour. And I'm not running. And it's a fitting farewell to France.