Winter is here

Another Chapter in my Father's Journey

I know from many responses to these posts that there are those amongst you that are going through, or have gone through, similar experience to mine. I know that at times the experience can be overwhelming. For all of you I thought I would offer an epilogue of my story to date.

My Mother died of cancer on July 18 last year in the UK with my Father and Sister at her side. I've written before about making the best you can of the time you have and we did our best to achieve that in the 10 months we had from diagnosis. For us, it seemed right that less time went into thinking about the time after than the time you still have. There were however, many quiet conversations between my Mother and Father in the wee small hours and a few that I had when I was staying with them and keeping my Mother company through the night.

At least at some level my Father had shared plans with my Mother to get a mini recreational vehicle (a "bongo" to be UK precise), and to travel with Rogue (their dog) to highest points of all the parts in England that he had yet to reach. I'm not sure if he shared another aspect of the plan that included travelling with her ashes in a jar in the bongo - it's hard to imagine how that would work in conversation - but then these situations make possible what would otherwise be impossible conversations. In years gone by he'd ticked off similar lists of all the Wainwright Hills (England's Lake District mostly), all the Scottish Hills (over 4000ft) and (I think) the same is true of the Welsh Hills. So this felt about as right as any plan could in the circumstances.

The last 12 months since July 18 have been up and down, or more accurately very down and now more up. Over the months he's gradually built a new life that he never expected to have, or to have to do. Along the way he's managed to connect with old and new friends and each has rallied round. Now in our video calls he tells me of his busy social calendar with Jazz on a Wednesday, rambling with a large group (50 or so apparently), swimming with his school friend Peter, and this week catching up with Burt and his new partner. Burt has been a great comfort to my Father, both as a friend of some 40 years and as an example of someone who also lost their wife to illness and after time re-found a life and eventually a new partner. Burt's undiminished passion for life, the hills, great beer and even greater curries has been an inspiration, so much so that my father was complaining about a hangover on our last call.

At times grief can seem insurmountable and overwhelming, it can stretch into achingly empty and unending hours, days and weeks. As Joan Didion wrote

"Grief, when it comes, is nothing like we expect it to be. … Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life. Virtually everyone who has ever experienced grief mentions this phenomenon of “waves.”

It took time for my Father to start to come to terms with his new life, and no doubt will take more. Life for my Father won't be the same again, but he is gradually opening and writing the next chapter of his life as my Sister and I are with ours.

It is a humanist principle that we each have a responsibility to live a good life, and the freedom and obligation to decide what that good life should be.

I hope that you and those you love get to make chance to make the best choices that you can.

Here's the Bongo:

[Venskab means friendship in Danish and was the name of the barn my parents converted]

... and this is Rogue, a lurcher, on Brown Willy, Dartmoor

... Rogue on another Tor in Devon

A bit about cycling in the cold

Winter in Melbourne is nowhere near as harsh as the Northern climes of my youth. Cycling the 4km to school in Kirkcaldy during winter was far harsher than anything Melbourne has to offer. It was usually frosty, occasionally icy and every winter would offer several days of snow to contend with. Back then of course, I thought my steel 10-speed road bike was the bees knees, and I had no thought of aerodynamics or drag with my large winter coat and tucked in trousers catching more air than Kelly Slater.

The years that I've now spent in Australia have seen me adjust to the climate, at least in terms of expectations. Right now the average Melbourne minimum of 7C and average maximum of 14C feel pretty chilly. Kirkcaldy's numbers are 0C and 5.8C by the way. People in Kirkcaldy were tough, they too would wear a vest as their only top as some do here in Melbourne, but there was no-way that was going to get them a sun tan. Hypothermia maybe, sun tan no.

Here in Melbourne's winter I join other skinny lycra clad cyclists in complaining about the cold, dark weather. On a recent ride Grant and I watched the temperature reading drop down to 1.2C as we rode through the morning frost towards the Dandenongs. Not for the first time this winter, we found that the temperature rose as we rode up the hills to Sassafrass and out of the cold air that had sunk into the valley. Basically it's all a question of getting the clothing right - even then though its hard to get it right on the way up and the way down. You get hot on the way up, and super chilled on the way down. On several descents I've got so cold that my violent shivers make handling the bike very difficult and threaten to take me off the road. To which the real cyclists would just shrug and say "harden up" [there is a longer phrase in use, refer to Rule #5].

Where am I in my journey to this year's RTCC?

Thanks to those that have already donated I am at about 80% of my target so I'm still very keen to receive any donations that others may be planning to make.

As an incentive (and a test to see if anyone reads to the end of these posts), I could re-instate the "will shave legs for charity donation" offer. Last time I did this it raised several hundred dollars and I discovered that shaved legs made me no faster, but did make trousers feel weird and gave me no purchase on the duvet when Sandra pulled it to her side. But I'll do it again for this cause!

Until the next time,

John.