Some of you may have seen my post about coming back home, to the mountains, a place I loved to be, and always with T. I was worried about it and shared my anxieties here. I arrived, last Wednesday, to feeling of profound relief.
I felt T’s presence really close and all around me. I made it through the door of the apartment, saw his ski boots, cried and stumbled around - but it was ok. I just felt this relief. This apartment was were we were before he became ill - so was untouched by the horror that we went through.
He came here, after I died, of that I am certain. On Friday, I was invited to drinks on the deck at a bar a short distance away by bus. There was to be a band playing. I wasn’t sure if I could face it, but could hear T very clearly encouraging me to go. So, I went. And reader, your Alps correspondent had rather a lot of rose and danced, with our friends, to the band. The mountains were all around us, beautiful and white. T was there - I am sure.
Yesterday, I went up high to ski. First time without him. I went with an instructor. A perfect blue sky, fresh snow day. And it was lovely. T was in the air around me as I covered runs he and I had skied before. Instead of sadness, I just felt great joy. And I tried a new blue run for the first time. I felt happy, good, glad to be back here, glad to be with T again.
I was dreading coming, but I am so glad I did. I thought there was no hope. I thought my life was over. Now, through T’s gift of this place to me, and his on-going presence and love, my life may just be beginning. Today is a good day.
