I’m walking with bare feet on very soft cool grass. The sun feels warm and so, so bright, almost Australian. Except when I look up I see soaring snow-capped mountains plunging into a massive lake. And there are tulips in flower-boxes, and people chattering in French.
How did this happen? It’s Mary’s 23rd birthday and we have spent the day in a beautiful French town of Annecy with its canals and 400 year old buildings. There is a huge green park, with hundreds of people frolicking in the sunshine by the blue mountain-rimmed lake. Children, families, lovers, dogs, shirtless young men kicking a ball around, young girls sitting in circles on the grass, playing cards. People reading, sunbathing on deck chairs. I counted a total of about 3 people on mobile phones. And I had to look very hard to find them.
It’s a warm spring day in Annecy and the happiness-energy coming off the people around me is palpable. It’s making my head buzz and my heart sing.
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When I wrote that on Mary’s birthday, April 22, we were on the last leg of our epic European adventure. Mary and I had set off across the world, in pursuit of awe, to honour and commemorate the first anniversary of my late husband’s passing. We had planned to spend a week on Lake Como in Northern Italy and a week in Switzerland, with a little bit of London on either end to break the long journey to and from home in Australia. France was an unexpected bonus.
And what an adventure it was… for example, that day we spent in the French town of Annecy (pronounced ‘Ahn-see’) was made possible because I drove there. To France. From Switzerland. (In Australia, it is NOT POSSIBLE to drive to another country. In fact, living in Perth, one has to drive for 4 days just to get to Melbourne).
So with Mary navigating, on that day in April, I drove us from Prangins, the little Swiss village we were staying in, to Nyon, past Geneva, across to Annecy in France. It was about a 4 hour round trip. But let’s just break that down into teeny tiny parts.
Firstly, let me repeat this incredible fact: I drove. In Europe. On the wrong side of the road (in Australia we drive on the left, in Europe, they drive on the right). A car I’d never driven before. (Well, it was my friend’s Mercedez, so I wasn’t exactly roughing it, but still). We had to get petrol. Find a station. Navigate roundabouts. A LOT OF ROUNDABOUTS. And Left turns. Geneva. And freeways, take the correct exits, do the toll booths, (have the right currency), go through little villages, many many more roundabouts, find a parking spot in Annecy, (which was quite hard on a warm spring day near a park in paradise, as everyone else was trying to do the same). Order food in a French restaurant and avoid getting anything with offal or amphibians in it. And then do all of that in reverse and find our way back to the village of Prangins in Switzerland. (AND … our Google maps didn’t work in France!).
Of all the scary things I’ve done, this was possibly the scariest of all.
But when I was still undecided, sitting in my friend’s house in Switzerland, contemplating her kind offer of a car, knowing Mary really wanted to spend her birthday in France, wondering if I could do this, IF I should do this, I heard Greg’s voice urging me on. Clear as a bell.
“You can do this Mal.”
“Really Gregory? But what if I kill us both? On her birthday?”
“You won’t. You can do this. Go do it.”
So I did. It may not seem like much to you, but it was a Big Deal to me. You see, I have trouble reversing things in my head. Rotating things in 3D in my mind. I had imagined that driving in Europe with everything in reverse would be totally impossible for me. If Greg were alive he’d be the one doing it, no question. But the prohibitive cost of rail travel in Switzerland, combined with the willingness of my generous host to lend me her car, and mostly the sheer challenge of doing this – the symbolism of it – somehow got the better of me and I decided that I HAD TO DO IT. On Mary’s birthday, she would have her day in France, dammit! And she would see her mum embrace her fears and do what she thought previously impossible.
So we started off with a smiling photo, one of those Facebook shiney images that didn’t show the fear I felt, and headed off.
There were some tense moments in the beginning, but mostly we had fun. And I could not have done it without Mary beside me to navigate, so the total teamwork became a beautiful metaphor for our lives. We laughed a whole lot and decided we were … well… Awesome. Later on when we got back safely to Switzerland, I told Mary that it was the most terrifying thing I had done in a very long time. That I didn’t tell her how scared I was. And she said,
“Mum, I knew how scared you were, you didn’t need to tell me.”
Darn. Mary’s emotional intelligence makes it almost impossible for me to con her into believing I’m wild and fearless. She knows I’m basically tame and scared shitless.
Our whole journey – four countries, many mountains, stunning lakes, tiny hamlets, heart-melting gardens, ancient vistas, friendships made, friendships renewed – was wildly, extraordinarily beautiful. So much awe and wonder. But that drive to Annecy on Mary’s birthday, our gorgeous day there, and the drive home – that kind of captured the spirit of the whole adventure.
Just as it took a big dollop of courage to make that drive to France, Mary and I had to use a bucket load of bravery just to set off from home and do this journey for Greg. We were rewarded in ways we never imagined. As Mary exclaimed at one point, “Mum, this trip has totally altered my world-view.” And in many ways, I felt the same. It may have been whilst we were lugging suitcases onto a train in Italy, (I may or may not have been weeping from the effort). Or it may have been while struggling to take in the unimaginable beauty of water turning into mist as it cascaded out of a mountain in Switzerland. But something has altered.
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Which brings me to this moment. One year ago on May 16th, Greg Parker, my husband of 28 years, left my side and started his own adventure in the World of Mysteries. I had gotten used to having him next to me for more than half my life. His death, though not unexpected, as he’d been sick for four years, plunged me into an abyss of grief.
Grief is a singular emotion. It leaves little room for anything else. But removing most of the other confusing emotions one feels in normal life also gave me a kind of clarity that I had never experienced. And so Grief itself became an unexpected Gift.
What followed in this past year since that day has taken me completely by surprise.
I didn’t know that I would form a bond with Greg that was stronger than anything we had in our physical lives together. I didn’t know that joy and happiness can co-exist with grief. I didn’t know that the experience of bereavement is a universal one that links you with others in a unique way. That I would be the recipient of so much kindness from others. That my heart would expand to receive new friendships and love. That my students would return in droves, filling my classes with their creativity and my heart with hope. That my beautiful extended family would share my life and home. That our grief and tears and laughter and memories would mingle and make so many new memories. That Greg’s daughters would step into his humour and peculiar wisdom and zaniness and talent, so that all of his qualities would live on, long after his physical body left my side. That only a daily basis, I could feel peaceful and happy, yet strangely sad all at the same time.
That I would travel nearly 50,000km in one year, and experience more awe and wonder than my heart my could hold.
That getting more lost than I have ever been would help me find my way home.
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“Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me … Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.” ― Shel Silverstein
Comments 29
Love everything about this blog. You are so talented and the photos are superb
Thanks for sharing
Author
Thank you Ivana! that is so kind of you. I’m glad you stopped by 🙂
x M
Breathtaking xx
Author
YOU are breathtaking my magical niece. Thank you for sharing the past year. It has been unforgettable. xox
WOW! Was going to say just that one word, but then realised I have to compliment Mary (as I am sure it’s her work) on the fantabuous photography.- which is a second WOW!
Author
haha Robin! Actually the photography is mostly mine, unless I’m in the shot 🙂 But we both thank you! xox
How apt that I’m reading this now as it has just ticked 7 minutes into May 16 (well here in Israel at least). What a beautiful post–I’m so glad you were able to have this adventure and share these precious moments together. Also, you’re very brave–well done on taking the car challenge (and just casually driving to another country)!!
Author
yes, that was me… casually driving into another country (while PANICKING!!). Thank you Melly. This day would be so much better if you were here. xox
what beautiful words Malini. So well written. Yes you are indeed a very bright and talented little star. And you certainly felt the fear but did it anyway. It must feel so good. I’m thinking of you today and look forward to seeing you very soon. Much love and a big hug from me to you.
Author
thank you my dear friend Fidi. You are no stranger to ‘feeling the fear and doing it anyway’ 🙂 I’m looking forward to seeing you too! xox
As I started reading this I thought ‘Malini you have such Courage!’ As I continued to read, this thought deepened and became intermingled with seeing your Love for Mary, Greg, family, your students and friends. Then your photos rolled into view and your eye for Beauty became evident. You personify Courage, Love and Beauty.
Author
oh my goodness. That is a little overwhelming Lindi. Thank you for the kind words, I am deeply touched. much love to you. xox
So glad you and Mary are able to make the trip and memories together.Such
fantastic pictures that filled me too with awe and wonder. Your description of grief is so apt and deep and the same time beautiful. You paint emotions with words, photo’s and colours so well. Applause!
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I appreciate your warm words Jessie. Thank you so much! much love to you xox
Malini – you leave me in Awe with your insights, creativity and courage. Greg must be soooo incredibly proud of you!
Author
Bryn my old friend. Thank you for stopping by and sharing the journey.
This is such a beautiful, poignant, uplifting journey you have shared. I enjoyed your story and admire your courage.
Author
Janis, it warms my heart to read your words, and I’m grateful that you took the time to share my journey 🙂 xox
You are so incredibly beautiful Malini Parker. May your heart continue to be blessed and be filled with awe and wonder on this journey through life. Blessings!!
Author
Aw, Suzanne, what a lovely thing to say. I wish your warm heart so much joy also. Thank you xxx
Strikingly raw, beautiful and inspiring. Thank you for sharing your journey, and being a shining light on the path of grief❤️
Author
I am touched by these words, Vicki. What an honour to shine light on anything, let alone the path of grief. Thank you so much for reading my post, and sharing your thoughts. Much love x
Your honesty, love, wisdom and beauty is just radiating from your words and pictures. Thank you for taking us with you x
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Thank you Sue. Your words are kind, and I am touched that you stopped by. x
As always Malini, I read your post and look for clues on how to work my way through my own grief and loss. I don’t talk about it much with anyone now. But I’m still quietly working on it.. and your beauty and wisdom and grace help that journey. Thanks.
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I’m so sorry Gina… but glad to know that somehow my own journey may help you with yours. It’s a personal and tricky one, this process. We can only do our best and rely on our creativity and love to carry us through the dodgy, difficult, bumpy bits. Thank you for stopping by xxx
Love the story. Love the quote. And love the photos. Beautifully written. So happy for you and where you are at in your journey. Your joy gives me hope that I will find mine again. Thank you. Jo
Author
I’ve found that joy and grief can sit side by side, it’s a curious thing. Much love to you, Jo. x
Hi Malini,
Reading your post has made me feel even more excited to attend your “Finding your way Home” workshop this weekend and to be in the vicinity of your warmth and energy. I look forward to meeting you.
Wendy x