Death's Lesson is: Live!

Nothing prepares you for the death of a loved one. It's been three weeks since my father-in-law died so unexpectedly and I still don't really believe he's gone.

I'm heading home from Colombia tomorrow. I want to slide under soft sheets and sleep until the New Year. But the universe has made this impossible by presenting me with an innovative writing project which involves deadlines and actual payment. Life it seems, must go on, however unbearable it seems to those grieving. 

My father-in-law's passing has shaken me. He was only 73. My grandfather, who died in February, lived to 91. My grandmother celebrated her 92nd birthday with us in Mallorca a couple of months ago, and laughs like she'll live forever. I always assumed everyone I loved would live at least to their nineties.

In September the four of us, my husband and my parents-in-law, spent a wonderful month together in Spain. In Mallorca we swam in the sea, ate delicious food every day and made up for all the distance that had been separating us. In Jerez we became experts in sherry; in Seville we caught a rare peek of street Flamenco.

Everyone tells us now how happy my father-in-law had been after that trip. He returned home renewed and with a fresh enthusiasm to travel and enjoy life. He told his wife, my brilliant mother-in-law, that she should give up work and that they should spend their next years together having fun.  How cruel it seems. The only comfort is that his death was swift and painless, and he was a healthy man until the end.  

I miss my father-in-law. He was a kind man. A calm man, who didn't fuss or stress. He was curious about life and always learning; interested in what you were doing and supportive. If you didn't know something, he would be straight on Google! 

Like my husband, he always seemed to weave his way through the bureaucracy of daily life without getting flustered or angry. 

Patient. The only thing that threatened his calm was Bogota traffic, but after experiencing Bogota traffic, you would sympathise. He was better at organising a trip than any travel agency. He knew that life was for living and he lived it with a great appetite. All these qualities, he's passed onto my husband, for which I'm so grateful.

I look at my husband now and I want to engrave each moment in eternity.

If my father-in-law's death has taught me anything, it's that we must live life fully now. Enjoy it. Don't waste it all thinking and planning for the future. Choose experience over possessions! Don't wait until you're retired to embark on the life you dream of. Don't put off what you could be doing today if it's something important to you.  

It seems to me that the lesson of death is to live. To live with all your heart.

Rest in Peace my dear father-in-law

Marriage is...

"Marriage is so patriarchal," someone was saying on the television.

I looked up from my laptop. "Eh?"

The debate continued.

"Marriage comes with so much historical baggage..."

A couple, who'd been together five years, were waiting for the civil partnership bill to pass for straight couples, because 'marriage didn't reflect their values.'  I admit it came as a surprise to me that marriage should be such a complicated issue.

I suppose it comes down to how we've each been brought up. My parents have been married over thirty five years, my husband's over forty. I don't think we ever considered we wouldn't get married at some point in our lives.

Some people say it's just a piece of paper, but to me it feels a lot more than that. We vowed to love each other  through the best times and the worst times until 'death did us part'. I don't think either of us were joking, which considering how long people live nowadays is quite... optimistic? So far, so good.

I love being married and, feeling certain I wasn't the only one, I asked people to send me their thoughts on what marriage meant to them. This is what they said:

 

John and Paula -
September 2005 Berkshire UK 

"On the day I got married, the world came into focus. Gone were the awkward steps in different directions, the searching for something , but not knowing what. I finally knew what it was to be whole. John and I are part of the same - to pinch the words of the Beautiful South, "we are each other".

- Paula McMullen 

Alwyn and Troy -
December 2011 Australia

"To me marriage is all about team work, helping and supporting each other to become the best individuals you can be. Marriage is having a best friend who loves and supports you through everything and who doesn't walk away when things get tough. Having been with Troy for 11 years in a marriage like relationship prior to getting married, nothing much has changed in our relationship since marrying. Even though I don't see much of a difference between marriage and a defacto relationship, I believe in everyone's right to enter into marriage. Go team McNamara! - Alwyn McNamara

William Glanville and Berenice -
October 1946 - Cwmparc - Wales  

"Marriage between two people should be special and that you know in your heart that the person is the one you want to spend the rest of your life with. You should never go to bed without making up after a quarrel, which naturally you will have. Nobody is perfect. There's a lot of give and take in a marriage. You always love them and yet sometimes you don't even like them!" - Bun & Glan

 

Thommy and Emma
- Nov 2012- Cambridgeshire UK

"For a man like me, a man with a particular view of the world, this is an important thing. When you marry someone, you’re really saying that it’s you and this one other person against the world because, when shit hits the fan, this is the individual you’re expecting to stand by you and face down the zombies. We all have family and close friends, but a marriage is something special. It’s a partnership of two (hopefully) like-minded people who share a value system, at least on some level. How could it be otherwise? Your spouse should be the person with whom you are the best version of yourself at all times. You can be angry, you can be miserable, you can be sardonic or even hateful, but you should always present them with the truth, as far as is practicable. I’m not saying always unflinchingly tell the truth to them: white lies make socialisation with other humans possible, but you should always approach your spouse, your partner in this crazy life, as honestly as you hope to approach yourself." - Thommy Heasman-Hunt

 

This is an extract from a blog post Thommy wrote on his First Anniversary. You can read the full post here.

 

 

 

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Thanks to the couples who contributed to this blog post!

 

 

 

 

Lazy Bride?

My wedding planning has been going very smoothly.
Mostly because I haven’t done any.
I don’t think I really like it.
Now I bet you’re wondering if I’ve got cold feet.
I haven’t.
My feet are under a cosy duvet because I’m in bed early.
Early because I’d rather snooze than examine the wedding menu that’s just been sent to me.
I catch myself worrying that I’m not obsessing enough about my big day.
I think I should be doodling designs for place names, gluing crystals to table decorations, flicking through catalogues of colossal cakes.
But I just picture all my friends and family eating outside in the sun and I feel satisfied.
The problem is they won’t be eating if I don’t sort out the food.
At least I have a venue and a church.
I even have a dress.
I walked into the shop, tried on four, and bought one.
Done and dusted far too efficiently. Even though it’s the perfect dress, surely I should’ve been traipsing around London for months looking for it.
This evening I told myself that wedding planning is like packing for a holiday.
I’m obviously excited about the holiday but I’m much less enthusiastic about the hard bit, the
choosing what to wear for more than one day in a row or in this case, deciding what menu, flowers, ribbons, readings perfectly reflect our true characters.
Then there’s the music.
I’ve just received a reply from a band which I contacted about playing at the wedding.
I press play and it’s like I switch on again.
I feel the enthusiasm tickling my toes.
The sun is setting over the coast and my family, who have finished eating the food that did arrive, are getting up to dance.
Panic over.
I’ve still got time to obsess.

What a Sight!

Laser eye surgery... how do you imagine it?

I imagined a huge green laser beam ready to burn off my eyebrows if I moved a hair.

Not so.

It’s incredible.

Incredibly quick.

Five minutes an eye.

It’s not pleasant. There’s glaring lights, the sensation of a sticky plaster being pressed over your eye, the sound of an electric drill which turns out to be a gentle dryer.

Later you spend three hours with your eyelids taped closed and your eyes stinging.

But it’s still not as awful as that wax I once had in Peru.

Because of my surgery, I have been off the computer for a few days and I haven’t been able to share last week’s special event: Our official engagement party (Colombian style).

It was only fair to celebrate our commitment to each other in each country and include all our friends and family.

Our party began at 7.30am with the Fiancé and I sticking single flower stems into a sandpit in the drizzle.

We were in the finca, the house in the countryside belonging to my sister-in-law and her family, and it had never been so cloudy.

“Look, the sun,” my father-in-law said, pointing at a tiny spec of white amidst all the grey. “It will clear.”

As the rain increased and our dream of an outdoor celebration looked like it wasn’t to be, we began emptying the house and preparing to move all the tables indoors.

But a few hours later, while the guest started to arrive, the sun made a miraculous appearance.

The simple and beautiful ceremony was held outside as planned with a reading by the local priest and a blessing of our rings.

“I never thought I’d ever say ‘yes’ to a man before I’d met his mother,” I began my speech.

It meant a lot to me to be able to address all these people that had come to share our special day. Many of them I’d never met while others I’d still not got to know fully.

My sister-in-law made the occasion feel particularly complete.

She had researched different wedding traditions from all over the world.

I stepped on an egg, my fiancé on a glass, my father-in-law threw acorns over my head while my mother-in-law held up a green leaf to show her approval.

I can’t match the countries with the traditions now, except the Polish one, where we tasted bread (‘may you never go hungry’), salt (‘may you overcome all bitterness’) and wine (‘may you enjoy the sweetness in life’).

The local band, la papayera, burst into a chaotic melee of drums and trumpets as we finished off a rodizio (rotation) of succulent meat.

Then came the Mariachis to woo us in the night.

All our guests had come to enjoy themselves and there was no holding back as the music played.

I danced all night, exchanging my heels for flip flops and best of all, barefoot.

As it grew colder, the party moved inside beside a roaring fire.

The Fiancé and I were the last ones standing.

When I felt my eyes starting to close, he took my hand and we went outside.

Amidst the eucalyptus trees we sat and watched big, blurry stars.

It was a perfect day and a perfect way to bring to a close my time in Colombia.

I can’t thank my new family enough for taking me in with such an open heart.

The Full Story (of how the Date became the Fiancé)

Thank you Date, with your one guest post you’ve managed to double my readership.

Oops, did I say Date?

I meant Fiancé.

Because it wasn’t a publicity stunt to get more readers.

Shop Girl and the Date are officially engaged!

“Holy Sh*t,” my brother said, when I told him.

I’m only just starting to believe it myself and that’s partly because I have proof.

The Fiancé once said he didn’t believe in engagement rings.

He obviously changed his mind.

In the restaurant, after reading his blog post out loud, I turned to him and there it was, sparkling from inside the ring box he’d opened upside down.

STOP!

REWIND.

I’d sensed something extraordinary was going to happen that evening.

He’d been so jumpy when I’d met him as if he’d drunk ten cups of coffee.

Then there’d been that mysterious lump in his jacket pocket that I’d accidentally touched.

He’d disappeared into his bedroom, mumbling an excuse and when he’d reappeared the lump had gone.

In the restaurant he’d wanted everything to be perfect, had looked agitated when a load of children had piled onto a table nearby.

As our desert arrived, (ice cream which would melt in the ensuing excitement), he got out his computer to post his blog online.

He hadn’t banked on the internet connection being so terrible.

It started to look like it wasn’t going to work.

“You can put it on tomorrow,” I said.

“No!” he cried, “I have to put it on now!”

Maybe I knew then.

This was clearly no ordinary blog.

Before the computer battery ran out, the connection returned and he was able to put his blog online.

By paragraph three I was in tears.

I finished reading and turned to him, and he was holding up the box with a beautiful ring he’d chosen all by himself weeks earlier.

“Will you marry me?”

In my imagination I’ve always said a clear, resounding ‘Yes’.

In real life, I was a blurry-eyed, blubbering bundle of shock.

“You haven’t said yes!” he said. “You have to say yes!”

“Yes!”

Of course yes! He was the Date! He was the hero in my book! Of course it was always going to be him!

The first person I told was the Greek waiter.

He shook the Fiancés hand then knocked on our table.

“Number 33,” he said.

I won’t forget that.

33 will always be a lucky table.

And I am a very lucky girl.

Guest Blogger 'The Date' - Big Adventure

So the ShopGirl bullied me into doing a blog.

Here it is, I am real.

And for all of you that are wondering, I’m not writing on my exercise time all the way from Guantanamo. Thank God.

But I can’t deny it hasn’t been stressful. Every time we talk about it we end up angry at the world and hanging up on each other with the excuse of having to do something. The good think is that normally leads to a cute message and a very comforting new call.

Emily loves to text. Every time I look at my inbox, there is something new from her. She tells me when she does something, also when she doesn’t. She tells me when she’s happy about it, also when she’s not. She loves to wonder about the world... and text me about it.

I’m not a massive texter and when we started going out I wasn’t use to getting these many messages and calls. I always thought girls that texted this much didn’t have much to do or were just intense. However, as time passed, I realized something; is not something you have to get used to, is something you need to understand. Now I understand, Emily wants to share even the little details with me. And the little details are what made me fall in love with her.

Like the endless hours she has spend stroking my hair whenever I’m stressed, or the funny dances she does in the kitchen whenever I make her coffee. Or the so many silly-sounding spanglish terms we both have make up that would be soooooo embarrassing if anyone actually understands.

But probably the best little detail (ok, not that little) is that I don’t have to wonder 'what if?’ because it already is. We are a team. And team silly is going on an adventure! As Emily predicted our plans go in circles. With no confirmed dates for my visa and film, it seems a bit silly to book a trip to Colombia just yet. We will go as soon as someone somewhere decides to give me a date. But today we are embarking on an even better adventure.

Nothing is been confirmed, I have no visa and no secure dates as to when, but all this has made me think a lot. I hate to be in the hands of situations and I like to make my own decisions. We are going for an early dinner date in a lovely restaurant. We will have a starter, a main and a dessert. Maybe even a glass of wine and some olives. Emily loves Olives. And so do I.

And when we finish eating and we are having un cortadito, pretending to be in a sunny terraza, I will get my laptop out and put this blog online. Yes, I’m going to be that obnoxious (100 points to anyone that can spell this word) and I’m going to get her to read it aloud there. Love in the Times of Internet!

And as she finishes and turns around I will ask her...

Shop Girl in Circles

The Date still hasn’t had his UK visa approved.
He rang up to find out when he might be told.
“Don’t know,” the woman said.
Our plans go around in circles.
One minute we’re setting off, the next minute we’re staying put and waiting for the Home Office’s verdict.
It’s frustrating. I just want to know something definite.
“I’m going to make an executive decision,” he said today. “We’ll book tickets on Friday.”
Not cinema tickets, we’ve already booked those (for ‘Alice in Wonderland’ and don’t tell me the ending because I’ve never read it).
He meant plane tickets to America and on to Colombia.
Good.
Now I’ve blogged about it, we’ll have to go.
Or will we?
As I said, our plans go around in circles.
Meanwhile I’m keeping my head down and writing a lot.
I might have to stop soon though and get some extra days at the shop to pay for this ticket (cinema and plane).
The good news is the date will finally speak for himself on Friday because he’s promised to write a guest post.
Ha! I’ve blogged about it now so he’ll have to do it.
Or will he?

Shop Girl and The Date

The Date’s UK Visa has been rejected.
I didn’t cry until I’d got off the phone.
Imagine if you had five days to leave the country.
Five days to close down your whole life.
To pack up your home, cancel the telly, the phone.
To say goodbye to the contacts you’ve worked so hard to get and to the jobs which were finally taking you where you wanted to go.
Imagine five days left with your friends.
Five days left with your girlfriend, except it wouldn’t be five days together because you’d be too busy packing your life up.
Could you do it?
We’ve already taken more than a year to close the shop and we’re still open.
We even fitted a new shutter last week. (Don’t ask, I don’t know.)
The Date has lodged an appeal. At the worst it will buy him time.
Four weeks, I think.
Something gave way inside me when he told me the news.
All those things that had mattered before like getting my own space and finding a new job ceased to be important.
What is independence if you have no control over the big things?
My heart isn’t heavy. My heart is fine.
Life may be uncertain but there is certainty in what I care about.
I feel light because for me there is no dilemma.
If he goes then I’ll follow.
I’ve always preferred happy endings.

Shop Girl Valentine

I make the mistake of telling the date I think Valentine’s Day is stupid.
“You didn’t!” my friend cries, when I tell her. “What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know! I got nervous!”
“Now he’s not going to do anything!”
She’s expecting her boyfriend to propose to her on Valentine's.
They’ve already organised their wedding and honeymoon, now he just needs to get down on one knee.
It’s all backwards in their tradition; her words not mine.
“But it’s so commercial, isn’t it?" I sigh. "It is though, isn’t it?”

Apart from a plasma lamp and a picture frame with hearts on it, I can’t say we’ve really profited from the event.
My friend thinks I’ve blown it.
“I don’t know how you’re going to backtrack now,” she says.
I have to hang up because I’ve got customers. They are two huge Nigerian blokes, so tall they are in danger of being knocked out by the chandeliers.
One of them is holding an electric hair clippers with mismatched cable perilously taped together.
It looks about as safe as rain in a light shop.
They want an adaptor for its two-pin plug. I suggest changing the plug altogether and ask if I should do it for them.
I get my wire strippers and screwdriver.
They watch me closely. They weren’t expecting I could use a tool because I’m wearing lipstick.
One of them sits on the stool opposite me and leans over the counter. He has watery eyes and badly pockmarked skin.
“You are not British. Where are you from?”
“I am, sort of. Spanish-English.”
“Spanish...” he pauses. “Hola.”
“Hola.”
“Como esta?”
“Bien...”
“Would you marry a black man?”
The question just pops out of nowhere and I’m so surprised I can’t answer.
What black man is he talking about?
Where from?
Can’t he be more specific?
Is he talking about himself?
I think of my date. Why would I marry a random black man when I already have a date?
The tension is palpable. And it grows with every second I delay in answering.
“Well I have a boyfriend so...”
“I’m not asking you if you have a boyfriend,” he interrupts, staring at me. “I’m asking if you would marry a black man.”
“That’s a stupid question.”
His friend, who has been standing by his side looking uncomfortable, agrees.
“Yeah, it’s a stupid question.”
“Look,” I say, “I would marry someone who has a good heart and is well-suited to me, colour doesn’t come into it."
There is silence.
My interrogator nods. “Good answer.”
The atmosphere relaxes. The interrogator’s friend tries to engage me in conversation.
“So how many Valentine’s days have you celebrated with your boyfriend?”
“None... it’s the first one.”
He laughs, as if to say that it doesn’t really count then.
But I learned a while ago that the customer isn’t always right.
It does count.
On Saturday, my date opens the door, grinning.
“Wait here,” he says. “You can’t go into the kitchen yet.”
“Oh!”
I smell a surprise.
It smells delicious.
“Okay,” he calls. “You can come in now!”
I'm glad he didn’t take me seriously.