Lessons Learned in a Year

A year later some reflection is called for, I think. The year has taught me some life lessons, things that I hope and expect will change my life and my view of life.

Friends and Family

We could not have got through the last year(s) without all the support that we have had from friends and family. Things that stick in my mind include Oom Wim and Tante Audrey living in our house, looking after Nattie for the best part of a year and, during the last year, staying here & running things when we have been away. The close circle of friends & family who were beside us when Kay died. The flood of people with food who came in the door, this time last year. We (that's a royal "we", to be fair) didn't have to cook for more than a week. And then all the hugs and the love from people who are culturally not usually so demonstrative (or maybe it's just me who is usually not so demonstrative). The 500 balloons that were launched at Kay's memorial on the hockey pitch, implying that way more than 500 people turned up for it. That Kay touched the lives of so many people. Never in my life have I felt the need to be surrounded by others so much, never have I felt so cared for as in the period after Kay's death. These things and many others have touched me deeply and, perhaps, have changed my view on life.

Kay

I can feel that Kay is with me. I can feel a connection to her in my head, just behind my right ear. It's a physical sensation that comes and goes, but right now is so strong that it feels like ear-ache. I have seen her in my mind, communicated with her in a loose and unfocussed way. When I'm not full of grief, she's there, in my head. Grief is a barrier though which she can't reach me. Therefore I try to keep my grief under control. I can't talk with her, I can't hold her, I can't interact with her much beyond sensing simple messages and emotions. But she's there and for me this is a simple but not independently verifiable fact. It's a fact that I have barely started to come to terms with. It has huge, massive implications and I suspect that much of the rest of my life will be about trying to understand what it means. But perhaps the most immediate change is that I'm no longer scared of death. I often think that if something happened to me and I had to fight for my life, I'd just give up and choose to be with Kay.

So far, so good

We have survived so far. We have been (and are still going through) the most difficult times that could possibly happen to a parent. The last two years have been torture, plain and simple. And yet we have got this far. It sounds like an empty statement "we survived", one only has to keep breathing, eating and sleeping to survive. But there's way more to survival than simply still being alive. Firstly, Marion's & my relationship has survived (so far!) stresses that I think would tear many relationships to pieces. This has only happened because we have given each other the space to deal with grief as each of us felt necessary. But also because we're both determined not to lose more than we have already lost, not to colour Lauren's or Nattie's lives unnecessarily. But survival goes further. I have continued to work and have continued to keep a fragile, difficult but extremely promising business running. I have closed two rounds of finance in the last year, which I suppose must be some kind of record in the circumstances. Marion has remained operational even at times when I thought she was about to lose the plot completely. These are not trivial things under the circumstances and although it's difficult to see survival as an achievement and not merely the prevention of something worse, we have done well. These were my words to Marion at 7:20 this morning.

Wealth cannot be measured in money

For ten years I was counted amongst the richest people on the planet. I had three fine children, a loving family. Then I lost a child and 1/3 of my wealth vanished. And only then did I come to appreciate what I had, what I had lost. We all know that wealth cannot be measured by money, but for most of us this is theoretical knowledge. The practical consequences escape us. When I look back now, the most valuable moments of my life were not skiing or flying or windsurfing. They were moments rolling round on the rug, fighting with Kay. Holding her above my head, walking her on the ceiling. Letting her climb up me, on to my shoulders, or to backflip onto her feet. Watching her play hockey. Simple, routine things that we did every day. Now I try to treasure these simple things. Watching Nattie play hockey. Cuddling Lauren. Dancing to Duran, Duran. Fleeting carefree moments, scarcer now that we're less rich and more troubled. But I shall spend the rest of my life trying to appreciate the richness that remains. Sounds simple, but in this materialistic world I think that it is very difficult to keep core values in sight. Health, family and friends: things that are priceless and that we only value when we lose them. But I'm going to try my best to (keep) see(ing) them differently.

I'm sure that there are other things that I should mention, but these are the most fundamental to have penetrated my dense head in the last year.