Claire and I arraigned a sponsored 20 mile walk in aid of the Children's Heartbeat Trust charity here in Belfast- we helped raise £8,500 for them last year and they have been very supportive to us since Ruby died- but Claire injured her ankle jogging a month ago and it is still pretty sore so we cycled it instead.
The mild guilt I was feeling because of my perceived lack of hard work involved in the endeavour ("Twenty mile bike ride? That's barely a warm-up") was quickly put aside when we realised that the first four miles of the path was an unrideable mash-up of boulders, steps, sand and rock-face. Within 300 metres we were lost and as I was muttering something about preparation a dog walker and a local resident offered their assistance and put us on the right path. Well, "the right path" if you are wearing hiking boots and spend most of your life on a mountain side for fun. We stumbled on, lugging the bikes up and down steps, sliding around gravelled ruts but eventually the path straightened and even though it was unfamiliar we knew where we needed to get to and put our trust in the relentless road under our wheels- we made the road our friend.
We had placed a star-shaped helium balloon at our starting point-Ruby's bench at Crawfordsburn Country Park- and another one at our destination, Ruby's tree at Loughshore Playpark at Jordanstown. So far we have raised £1400 and there is a month left to collect more.
Immediate and obvious similarities made themselves known to me regarding our cycle journey today and the journey of grief I have undergone in the last sixteen months- I started on an unknown road which was filled with risks and unfamiliar territory, where there were boulders and shifting sands, and even strangers were offering their assistance. I never stopped, I moved forward, forward, forward and persevered with a path often perceived as unegotiable. I slowed, sped up, I occasionally lurched, I bridged, I rounded and eventually the road straightened a little, smoothed a little, I coasted more often, drove less.
There will be no end to the road, no "closure", and I will always have an excess weight to shoulder. I don't think the weight will get heavier but that I will grow stronger to carry it. I don't believe in closure- I don't think I have ever truly seen it during my time working in mental health or otherwise- but instead have seen an incorporation of emotive experiences related to mourning into someone's personality. My grief is being absorbed into my character, my daily routine, into everything I am, like an osmotic sadness becoming a homogenisation of me-ness. Time and psychic work has encouraged the assimilation that is necessary and natural for life-long coping. Grief, like all experiences in life, influences who I am to become and is just another human condition that makes me me, for better or worse. There is no end to the road, there is no closure and I wouldn't want it if offered. But I get stronger, I consider and reflect more, I learn from my experiences and try to develop skills to use in my interactions with others and I keep moving forward. The key is navigation.
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