A year ago today, Friday 13th October 2023 (trust him to choose Friday 13th! his sense of humour, I think), John went shopping, then down to the harbour to help a friend with something on his boat. I was surprised he wasn’t back by lunchtime, but no more than that. Then the police called to tell me he’d collapsed and died after getting into his car. I’m still profoundly grateful it wasn’t when he was driving.
It’s been such a hard year. I’ve learned to do things I never expected to, and been through times I never wanted to. John left everything to his daughter, and the very worst day was when she sold the car - the one he had died in - and I had to watch it being driven away. I used to sit in it, just to feel near to him in his last moments. The house - a wooden self-build - has multiple problems which I’m trying to sort out, and there have been times when I just wanted to give up.
But we survive, because we have to. I want John, wherever he is now, to be proud of me. I feel I can honour him more by continuing to do the things I always did, even though they are now tinged with sadness. I had a book published in April, and I hope he would be proud of that. Though maybe not of the many cooking disasters and cack-handed attempts to Mend Things.
John was a one-off. Brave, stubborn, highly intelligent, fiercely independent, he was a photographer and chef, a film restorer and film archivist, a sailor, carpenter, and so very much more. I will love him for ever, and I won’t move on from his death, because it is always with me. But I will go on with my life, because that’s what he would want. Today I went down to the harbour and sat in the spot he died. Many tears, but there was also a kind of peace in it.
Sorry for a long post.
Kathy