The Accident....

On day one ,25th August 2009, of 'The Accident', I opened my eyes and searched around the room for some indication that I was still asleep and therefore having a nightmare. Unfortunately, I was awake and I was waking up in a French hospital in the lovely town of Lisieux, deep within the region of Normandy after about an hours sleep. Next to me was my son, who was drugged up with morphine and looking incredibly ill. He had decided that standing up on a very high slide teasing with the option of jumping, was a good thing to be doing. The startling consequences of this stared back at him when he was laying on the floor crying in torturous pain and were now staring at me.

I lay on a make shift bed shivering with cold desperate for some hot tea, seeking the comfort of it pouring down my throat with an appreciation that can only be felt by the English. The Doctor on duty certainly didn't have any tea nor any comprehension as to why this might be a priority in my ability to cope with the information that was to be given to me. The Eastenders scene all those years ago where Pauline Fowler, upon discovery that her 16 year old daughter was pregnant, suggested calmly that they all have a cup of tea, came flooding back. I'm in a crisis,of course I need a bloody cup of tea! On top of the deprivation of sleep, lack of tea and the vision of my son, was the mental strain of trying to speak fluent 'medical' in French using the only French I had gained at school, the progression of which were lost quickly after the third year after many episodes of bad behaviour in the Languages Department of the girls school! Being able to close the window, order some coffee and say I love you, were just not adequate in these circumstances.

It was while pleading to go to an English hospital that I quickly ascertained that this was not a small injury. He has damaged his liver and ruptured his spleen and he might need surgery to have it removed. They would tell me in the morning. The words echoed around my head and the tears came. We will not be allowed home for one, maybe two, sometimes three weeks. More tears and the constant swimming of jumbled up words that when put together all spelt out 'What the hell am I going to do?'

The Holiday...

This has to be the strangest holiday I have done for a while. Any booking made with a company called Single With Kids is going to be an adventure. We set off very early on Saturday morning driving to Dover, ferrying to Calais and then driving to Normandy. The French drive had been my biggest fear but, dare I say it, the English could learn alot from the French with regard to motorways!

Eleven hours later and with great trepidation, we arrived at what I can only describe as a French upmarket Butlins. It was on the last leg of the journey that it dawned upon me what I had probably signed up for - I was going to be sharing a living space with other families. Me, who likes space, order and tidiness, sharing with potentially a family or two with ADHD children who eat crisps for breakfast and play DS until 3 o'clock in the morning. Ok...so that was the worst possible outcome dominating my imagination.

As it turned out, I am sharing with one family who are really nice, even though the mum clearly needs a holiday alone for a month! In fact, all the families are lovely and incredibly diverse and yet another adventure has been had this Summer. The children play all day while I indulge myself in even more reflection while basking in the sun with my ipod on - I'd say that was a holiday. We've all been eating together in the garden each evening and it certainly beats the isolation felt at holidaying alone with the children, observing cornflake packet families in their little clusters - the women keeping a beady eye on their balding husband for fear that he may stray (well I've news for you ladies....I don't do flabby and bald anyway!) and the men looking irritated any time they are asked to 'put the chair up', 'wipe Johnnys bottom' or 'get some more drinks please love?'.

Well, the sun lounger is calling so for now I am 'Single Mother On The Verge' of what? Of relaxation!!

The timing...

He wants to come home. He wants to come back to his wife. With utter clarity, a heavy heart and teary eyes, I have had to say no. Enough. We make so many decisions in life about every aspect of what we do, how we spend it, who we share our moments with. Decisions are not right or wrong they are just 'a' decision by which we have to stand by and work through and take responsibility for as we make them. He made a decision and now I have made a decision.

At this stage, I know that it would not be right for me to 'go back' regardless of what I have lost. I am mending my heart so it can be shared with another, someone who can love me the way I want to be loved, a search that I seem to have been on for as long as I have been able to love.

I am slowly learning that however hurt I have been, within marriage I learnt the gift of taking care of another and being taken care of. I will remain utterly grateful about that and someone else will surely benefit from that as much as I have. The question is, will I love that way again? Will my heart mend? Will I be that vulnerable again with another? I think so......

The Train

This Summer is a Summer of many journey’s – actual and emotional. Each trip is so different and brings with it such different emotions. Alcala brought with it a journey of self that can only be described of as uplifting, enlightening and hopeful. As I sit on the train returning from Durham, while an enjoyable trip, my reflections of the last couple of days have been filled with sadness, regret and loss. A process of grieving is being undertaken and the manageable days fall into the unbearable days fall into the uplifting days, all without any discussion with me or respect for appropriate timing. Crying in my Auntie’s kitchen was not quite how I would have wanted my visit to be remembered! Recovering from the end of my marriage is going to take far longer than I dare allow it.

The Truth

I am a truth seeker. I have a deep need to be told what is really happening, what has happened, the truth. I don't mind if it hurts, or I don't like it, or it's different to what I believed - but I need it. Living with someone for so long where honesty was a hugely difficult accomplishment, has taken its toll on how I trust people. Living with someone for nearly seven years and their disloyalties, infidelities and general need to tell 'stories' rather than truth, has caused damage that I now have to deal with and work through.

While taking responsibility for working through this damage so as not to inflict insecurites on to other people, do other people have a duty to learn how to be honest? Am I asking to much of people for them to just be honest? I don't want 'protecting' through un-truths. I don't want 'stories'. Is this to demanding? Am I asking for something that essentially most people can't give? Is it fair to want it just because I need it? Can I be cross with friends when I don't get it? Will I ever be able to trust in a relationship again? Am I being naive in thinking that truth is something that is wanted by all?

Where did I go?

I had no idea that I had lost so much of myself in the constraints and confines of my marriage. Discovering another side of myself, the side that could be be married, meant giving up a part of myslef that I have missed so much. The part of me that felt creative and idealistic and free and excitable and open to what is available to us. To find that part of me again and learn that there is even more within me than I had left behind is so exhilirating and helps me to feel closer to my younger self.

My journey to Alcala has afforded me the luxury of reflection in the most beautiful of settings. If only I could travel the globe and dream endlessly, concluding very little but in complete synchronisation with the idea that the journey is of equal importance to arriving at the destination.

One conclusion that I have made though, is that to truly feel the sensation of completeness with life, there needs to be three things preceding each day before we get up - spontaneity, synchronicity and appreciation. Approaching the day with this in mind, seems to me to bring about the most amazing rewards.

The reason....

I shall refer to him as VM, the reason for my trip to Alcala. He was playing in a music festival in an ancient church upon the steep hill, where the players filled the room with the sweet and penetrating sound that comes from the violin. Played just for me, it seemed, piercing through each layer of skin and muscle until landing softly on my heart. The atmospheric insense provided by the venue, the location and the music allowed an intoxicating sensation to flow through me.

To have got to nearly 40 and to have never heard, really heard, this genre of music before, seems an utter tragedy. To have been given so much in such a short space of time, to have ventured into new buildings, near and far, to have felt so many new and breathtaking emotional responses, all seems like a scene from a Salividor Dali painting. Once again, I am alerted to the endless possibilites, adventures and experiences that life offers up to us every day, when we see, really see, and listen, really listen.

Getting there....

If ever there was a journey worth making for a day and half, it was the one I just made to Alcala - a small Spanish village situated upon a hill, only to be reached by clambering up steep, cobbled , twisty streets.

The day had started in the Ryan Air queue at Stanstead Airport whereby I entered into a wonderful discussion with a Psycho Analyst from Oxford who, after overhearing my conversation, obvioulsy felt compelled to communicate with my inner psyche. It must have been clear to her that there was much material to analyse!

Finally, once we'd actually been allowed to get onto the plane, I learnt with great clarity the concept of 'no frills'. I was almost surprised that there were even seats upon which I could rest my tired buttocks and doing a quick look round the plane, would have felt unsurprised had there been a sign saying 'standing room only'! The £2.70 cup of tea served as a reminder that I ought to bring my own tea bag next time and just ask for a cup of boiling water to drink.

The gorgeous sensation of hot air greeted us off the plane like a warm hair dryer serving as a signal to all English people to look at each like long lost friends comforted and connected by the knowledge that the sun really does exist and we would travel endlessly to feel its rays on our skin.

Labels...

I seem to have accidently found myself in the arms of another man. I wasn't looking. I didn't want it. I certainly didn't want to like it! We all seem to spend so much of our time putting labels on everything or placing things in 'boxes' while we try and make sense of our behaviour that it started to make me think; at what point do we label an encounter? Is it rebound? Is it a fling? It's definately not a one night thing. Is it going to be a relationship? Is it to soon? Am I supposed to like it? Having bored myself stupid pondering these imponderables, I had to conclude that I can no longer justify labels in my life. I have spent so long trying to fit in to some sort of model of life that I somehow gleaned from living in this society was something to aspire to, only to find that I don't want it anyway. The freedom given to me by my husband leaving can only be gratefully received. So many aspects of my soul have been squashed in this 'ideal' exsistence, in this thing called marriage and whatever the man who has wandered into my life is, how ever long he stays, he has opened up that part of me again, the part of me that was suppressed for so long. The part of me that wants to sing and dance and write and, most importantly of all, be myself.

Whatever each person or encounter brings into our lives, they are holding up a mirror to us and our needs and what I need is to be free. Freeing up the possibility of continuing the best relationship of all - the one we have with ourselves.

The Beginning...

The rain is throwing itself to the ground like an angry child protesting about the world in general. But I am not. I am sitting comfortably in my armchair and I am celebrating; celebrating the end, or is it the beginning? Both are the same in fact. Both require resolution, determination, submission and eventually, acceptance. The end of a marriage, the beginning of singledom! As far as I can establish after endless discussions, is that there are many wonderful things about being married.

But there are even more wonderful things about being single. First, I have to say, must be the endless hours I can spend reading books such as 'Life's to ****ing Short', 'Life Begins', 'It's a Break Up not a Breakdown' and of course 'Single Mother on the Verge'. Fantastic reading filled with the hilarity of the minutiae that is life. Secondly, another great favourite aspect of singledom, has to be dating. I can go out with who I want, when I want and I can kiss them endlessly (if I want)! Thirdly, domesticity generally, lacks the debris that comes with a man. What goes in the fridge, stays in the fridge. Washing can be reduced to two washes a week. The bed takes longer to smell. I don't need to have half a lambs body taking up an entire shelf in the fridge. Have I mentioned the endless kissing bit.....yum!

So this particular beginning is rather delicious, filled with anticipation, excitement and longing. In the meantime, I shall kick off my shoes, eat my homemade chocolate brownies and play Nelly Fertado as loud as I want to!