Finding the hope in a holiday

Just back from a beautiful break in the south-west of France - my first holiday since losing my mum. It's so strange how experiences like that, while still wonderfully life affirming, can also be one of the hardest. Even though it's years, if not decades, since we last went on holiday together, I nonetheless associate her as much with going away as writing my hand-scrawled list of things to take and then invariably realising, as I tick them all off, that there isn't enough space in my suitcase.

Relishing the rituals 

For instance, one of my favourite things about going on holiday was choosing the little gifts that I knew would bring her joy. A labradorite necklace or bracelet from the artisanal market; the vegan treat from a choice chocolaterie; a hand-crafted basket, ceramic dish or a glass paperweight. Or there might be something owl-related - a bird that she loved dearly. To be fair, we probably over-did the owl theme a bit over the years, but to her credit, she always reacted with the greatest of enthusiasm.

Then there'd be the ritual of choosing the postcard. I'd always hung on to that tradition of leafing through the stacks of them on the revolving display, agonising over the best angle of wherever I happened to be, and spending an inordinate amount of time in doing so. Once I'd finally emerged with a whole clutch of cards, I'd sit down somewhere quiet and in my smallest, neatest writing try to create for her what I hoped would be an entertaining summary of things - before realising I'd forgotten to leave space for the stamp.

And, of course, there was always the phone call to tell her that I'd arrived or had got home safely. As I mentioned in my previous post, I've realised that the need to call never goes away and this will always be the default reflex before my brain catches up and remembers that she's gone. And it's in those unexpected moments, caught momentarily unaware, that the grief is at its most potent and clenches at my heart and takes my actual breath away.

Looking for the light

Still, for all of that, two things can be true at once. I know also that she absolutely would not want me to dwell on those memories, treasured though they are, and would instead be telling me in no uncertain times to make the most of every moment. And so that's exactly what I decided to do.

Starting off with the wedding of a dear, dear friend in the Dordogne to visiting equally cherished family in the small city of Agen and then a whole ream of adventures around the region - from a Roman villa with the most magnificent mosaics to the most inctedible cave (I'm a sucker for subterranean spaces) and a sprawling château that we had almost to ourselves - I did my best to immerse myself as fully as possible in every experience.

I know everyone always talks about the importance of disconnecting and forgetting about work on a holiday, but I've never been very good at either of those things. This time, however, I really, really did - and, quelle surprise, I highly recommend it. I've returned to Paris feeling a little more hopeful, a lot more full of story ideas and ready to tackle my editing with renewed vigour.

Helping the healing

And here I am managing to write a new blog post before even resuming work. Anyway, I'm fully aware that I'm not telling anyone anything new here, but for me at least, this was surprising information. It turns out a holiday really is good for the soul - even a slightly broken one.