Thursday 17 September 2015

Hiking on Ruby's 14th Birthday

It was Ruby's 14th birthday last weekend.
As with her 13th birthday Claire and I tried to create a balance between keeping distracted, constructive and calm. We were also sensitive to our immediate levels of anxiety and were conscious of being good to ourselves and to each other. 
Last year we completed a cycle ride for the charity that had been so helpful for us after Ruby died. This year we decided to complete a hike through the North Antrim hills in support of a heart charity here in Northern Ireland. By coincidence the hike took place directly on her birthday. We had been raising money online for weeks and so, with a mix of trepidation and excitement we brushed off our walking boots, splashed out on new rucksacks and packed a Mars bar multipack.
It didn't start well. Within one mile we were lost, all 25 of us. It appears that the walking club that organised the hike had messed up with instructions and the second turn ended up in a dead end instead of the beginnings of the first trail. So we backtracked and made a plan that, as we needed to head north, we would head in a straight line as that is the shortest path between two points. The straight line took us over peat bogs, marsh land, a local mountain and barbed wire fences. I'm uncertain whether our route was even legal but it certainly was a serious endeavour. 
We finished after 15 miles instead of the planned 11 and after hiking without a second of rest for 5 hours non-stop. 
But damn it was fun! Tough, wet, muddy fun. We were coated in muck, boots wet through, scratched and grazed and we admitted we would never have started had we known how hard it would be. 
Our true journey started when we got lost. We had to exert great effort to put one foot in front of the other at times but we knew that no matter how rocky the road, no matter how deep the boggy marsh we must not stop. We must not stop. 
From the outset we were thrown into unknown territory without a map. All we had were hastily scrawled directions which were all but useless. As our hike progressed we warmed to its unfamiliarity and began to point ourselves in the right direction. We executed plans to look ahead along wire fences, to plot a vague route over fields and direct our line of sight towards higher drier ground. We navigated dense woods, jumped water filled ditches and clambered over fallen trees. 
Eventually our path cleared a little, straightened a little and we able to look further ahead and prepare a more comfortable course of our own. The last six miles were stony but straight. We could enjoy the view and we could laugh a little more. We realised we were enjoying ourselves.
 
Our sponsored cycle ride on Rubys' 13th birthday followed a similar route- we travelled along a poorly planned route which entailed carrying our bikes up and down steps, skidding across sandy rocks and nearly falling in the sea. For both last year and for this year the startling resemblance to our journey of grief is immediately apparent- the shock of the unknown, the immediacy of being adrift, expecting the unexpected, the toil of navigation and so on- and that connection is very relevant to our appreciation of our progress. We move, move, move and we always proceed. There is constant flux and evolution. Persistent change.
Our weekend was filled with walking, cycling, cooking, eating, socialising, routine chores and a little gin. It was an easy busyness that suited us at that time in that place.
Of course we cried too- it was, after all, Ruby's 14th birthday- and we wondered who she would be now, at 14 years old.
We will continue to develop new coping mechanisms over time. For now, this is as much as we can do.
It has been two years, four months and one week since she died. We remain without her.