The brightness of the day gave way to shade as I entered the wood, instinctively parking redundant sunglasses on top of my head. The rain of the previous day had dried but a fresh coolness remained and the dust had settled to create a sweet and liquid air. It was surprisingly windy with a tidal fetch of breezes pulling at the trees, and there was always the distant threat of the warmth of the day suddenly succumbing to a sharp delivery of warm rain.
I followed the path through the woods toward the bench and shelter a local nature group had built in the middle of the trees. Karin had wanted to go there when she was too weak to get up the hill without help; she pondered how we could somehow get a lift or something so we could sit there and drink a bottle of something, probably prosecco. I think this was her plan for my birthday, I can't really remember. It never happened though as the weaker she got the harder it was to consider anyway of getting her up that steep incline. It never happened, and now it never will.
But today was the 11th July, exactly one year since I last had contact with her. Exactly, to the minute; four fifteen in the afternoon. So I wanted to sit and achieve that time on the bench we never managed - less concerned with the prosecco and more concerned with time away from people. More concerned with considering this last year and the afternoon on the previous 11th July.
The bench was sat in a slight clearing and was just about resisting the encroaching of the brambles. One sharp tendril had reached out and over the end of the bench, stretching along and around; another year of unchecked growth and it would threaten the bench to the point of loss. Parts of the shelter had broken off and the whole assembly was starting to look like a stand of log spars rather than a structure. I dusted off a seat and sat down. Two buckled beer cans lay on the table section so I picked them up and put them on the end away from my line of vision, I didn't want those clean, made lines to disturb the natural complexity and disorder of the leaves.
One year, 365 days.
Just about 360, a full circle; the full circle I spoke out loud as I gripped her passive hand in the hospice a year ago. This circle now contained her, her life, our life, and all the past between us. Our memories. I have spent the year looking back, daring to look forward at times but unsure about what was to be seen there. Back was easier.
But now, the year is complete and this was my last Monday. Time for life to bolt itself back together again and get going. By all means take the circle along but don't let it dictate what happens.
33 years is a long time to know someone. A long time to share a life, to be incorporated into each other's strata, to be deeply imbued in another person as well as have them permeated through you. We created experiences, history, future. Karin was part of change, and part of stability and permanence and we shared and enjoyed life. And for this, I am profoundly grateful.
Karin loved these woods. The craggy rocks that sit under the soil provide an angular and inconsistent surface and also contribute beauty in terms of shapes. The trees are rich and vigorous and the air is endlessly filled with insects and birdsong. And the woods change too, with new paths forming; old ones layered over with brambles, nettles and shade until they are gone. The tree with the woodpeckers nest in has gone, the dip in the path next to it is still there but it has changed. Everything has changed.
I sat waiting, unsure when to leave. The clearing was rich with balsam plants that relished damp sunny patches, and the path was punctuated with plantains with their carved seed heads poking up into the sky. A blackbird sang out; not the panicky alert pushed out in our garden with its threat of cats, but a floating relaxed song, carried out by the tide of the breeze. Suddenly I stood up, unsure how I knew it was the end of my sit but knowing I wanted to get back to the house. I dropped down the hill a different way though, a way I hadn't been before - a new landscape. New history.
Those layers of change in the woods, the overlay of newness that covers up things from the past, we all live in the same way. New experiences build on old ones, with the older experiences shaping how we approach change. In this way Karin is still here with all of us: we are all changed but retain shapes and shadows.
I sat in the spare bedroom, looking across to hills on the other side of the house. The next week started to form itself in my mind, but based on the previous week. Prosaic reality poking into my meditations.
Things will never be the same again. Things are never the same. Everything is the same. Nothing is the same. Full circle.
This blog is now complete - there will be no more entries.
