How to feel a little calmer while life has some challenges.

I don't know why I keep "forgetting" that my father died in August this year.  Probably because it is too painful to really grasp.  Fully accepting his death would feel more like taking hold of a hot baking-tray straight out of the oven without oven-gloves on.  I can manage moments when I remember that he's not here anymore.  And then the pain gets too strong and overwhelming.  Just today, I popped into a local shop to buy a birthday card and I spotted their array of calendars for 2022.  Automatically I started to look for a steam-train calendar for my dad and then the grief feeling washed over me again.  It is like a wave of shock, emptiness, longing, sorrow and confusion all at once.   The only person who has asked what my grief feels like is my homeopath, Lucy.  Amazed that someone is interested and can cope with this emotional process, I begin to tell her.  "This is going to sound odd, but I miss his physical presence so much".  She is nodding and lookin

Yesterday we finally embarked on the last section of our "coast to coast" walk continuing from our previous stop at the village of Etchinghill on the Elham Valley Way.  This final part of the route would take us all the way to the south-east coast of Kent, finishing on the beach at the seaside town of Hythe.  As with many things during the last 18 months of the pandemic, the walk has not gone to plan.  We intended to walk this section two weeks ago, but my on-going health struggles following my second Pfizer jab had other ideas.  Twenty-four hours after completing our previous section of the walk, I was suddenly ill again with more post-vaccine symptoms.  It has taken until now (alongside my GP's firm instruction to not suddenly over-do the exercise) to feel able to walk this far. Etchinghill was bathed in the most glorious morning light with clear blue skies above us and a definite autumnal chill in the air.  We retraced our steps for a mile or so from our last section a