To be honest, they warned us this would happen. The lovely TCF staff this weekend had said that we will probably suffer from some sort of emotional 'come down' after the event.
And I've been on a knife edge since yesterday. Teetering constantly on the brink of tears. I think my tear/endorphin stock was back up to overflow level as, although I had a few little cries at the weekend, there were certainly no agonising weeping sessions. Yes, in retrospect I was definitely, if subliminally, preparing for total lachrymal let-loose.
I stayed at my wonderful friend Vanessa's house the night either side of the event and she was her usual kind, warm and generous self, with she and her husband Jon providing not just comforting words, but stimulating, and even fun, everyday conversation.
I can actually say, hand on heart, that I adore interacting with her two little girls (nearly three and nearly four). But I think I took it too far when I asked if I could come in to Emily's (her elder daughter) nursery when we went to pick her up. Wobble. Neatly caught and held back.
Add in to this mix my husband ignoring my loving texts of how much I was looking forward to seeing him and giving him a big cuddle (I'm really trying here) followed by me eventually (after I'd sent a back-up text asking if he received the first) receiving a text telling me he 'was busy' and things were going from bad to worse. (I'm only noting this because of my promise that this would be an honest account of my current life trials and I will say that I hope against hope that Olivier and I come through this ok, and I understand and account for the fact that there will be fluctuations in our relationship and our grieving patterns.)
Anyway, from nursery we set off in both our cars to visit a friend, Kirsty's, tea shop in Hitchin for lunch. Alone in my car I slipped into see-saw crying (see how I now categorise and have names for my tears?) - cry, stop, cry, stop. I think I knew if I let loose it'd be a bawling cryfest. Couldn't let that happen a) in case Vanessa spotted me in her rear view mirror or b) because I was driving (not that it's stopped me before, but then I cared less about what happened to me before. You see? Stronger!)
We eventually arrived and had a fabulous lunch at Halsey's Tea Shop - highly recommended! After lunch I said sad goodbyes to Vanessa and the girls and set off for the airport. Still teetering. I was a literal melting pot of tears just waiting to boil over.
I only had my cabin bag so headed straight for the departure lounge. On passing through, I showed my plastic bag of liquids to an airport official and asked if it was ok. He replied that indeed it was. (I was worried as it had a white strip across it.)
Upon finally (long queues, hate queues, hate waiting) arriving at the x-ray machines the airport guy there stopped me and told me my plastic bag was TOO BLOODY BIG! Ok so now I did burst into tears. He made me go and buy one of those little balls of two plastic bags for a quid and separate everything into two bags. This was the straw that broke the camel's back and, although not in the land of histrionics, I was certainly into non-stop sobbing.
So this is where my little miracle happened. A very kind lady asked if I was ok and if I wanted to go and sit and have a coffee with her. I didn't want to bother her with my horrible, sad burden, and tried to decline, but there was something about her insistence that was so genuine, that I found myself being led by her through to the departure lounge and sitting down to have a chat.
It transpired that this gently-spoken Irish lady, Kathleen was her name, was a counsellor! And a bereavement counsellor at that! We spoke and she managed to calm me down and reassure me. And soon it was time to make my way to my gate to leave, but not before giving this wonderful stranger a huge hug. (For someone who was never really a 'hugger', I am quickly achieving professional status - and I like it.)
Another thing I am not is, how can I put this? Airy fairy? Superstitious? You get what I mean. I am Mrs Pragmatic. But when you have lost someone you loved so so much and you know you'll never see them again, you do start to see little signs where once you'd be blind to these tiny coincidences.
How the heck did that experience happen to me? To meet a bereavement counsellor at that particular moment? Did William have a hand in it? I feel silly even typing that to he honest. But then I do have this belief in destiny. So maybe I can rationalise this meeting by simply saying it was meant to happen.
Thank you Kathleen.
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