It's a brilliantly bright, sunny yet frozen morning as I step outside to tend to the chickens and Spike the gander. Fiercely blue skies over a landscape dusted sparkling white by frost. I tend to the animals and gather kindling for the fire, thinking about the coming end of the year.
I've never been a great one for New Year celebrations - parties and fireworks and Auld Lang Syne - yet in the last few years I have become very focussed on doing magic around the ending of the year. Cleaning away the old and outmoded both literally and metaphorically, and tying up loose ends, as in my Clean Start Soap Spell, making space. And then with clear intent, concentrating on what I need to draw into my life at this point in time, this new start. Somewhere in between these two I shall also be counting the many blessings that have come my way in the last twelve months, going through my Jar of Blessings and giving thanks for all those moments of joy and serendipity. I think it's important to keep a sense of balance about the good and the bad. Take an unflinching look at the bad so that you can do something about it - but acknowledge and give thanks for the good stuff too!
Of course the end of the year is just one end point of many. I could just as easily choose to do this kind of magic on my birthday, or at Imbolc, or Samhain or even monthly, at every moon cycle. Yet for me the end of year works very well - perhaps because the group mind is focussed on the end/beginning motif at this time, or perhaps the Yule/Christmas/New Year festivities give a bit of breathing space away from the normal routine of things and allow me time to mull over what needs to be mulled!
As I mentioned in an earlier post, this year seems to have been all about endings, or at least coming to terms with all kinds of different issues. Looking back, things this year have brought me face to face with issues encompassing all areas of my life - home/environment (new bathroom, new porch, decorating), health (torn ligament in my shoulder), family, friends and loved ones (wedding, birthday party and the ensuing fall out from that), and my spiritual community (Dragonrise Witchcamp).
Whilst trying to make sense of all this, I found out that it has coincided with my Chiron Return, which happens for us all around the age of fifty, when the mini-planet Chiron (named for the Greek God of Healing) returns to its original position in our birthchart and forces us to take stock and address those areas of our lives which need healing. This may sound a bit crazy, but having experienced a similar - and far more emotionally jarring - period of upheaval and chaos during my Saturn return in my late 20's it makes sense to me!
Interestingly when writing about all this in my journal I found myself exactly halfway through the notebook. More symbolism, more synchronicity. I am paying attention Mutiverse! I am really trying to get it and do the work I need to do.
This morning what occurred to me is that there is no real closure - or at least, finding some kind of closure doesn't magically wrap everything up neatly and put it away once and for all. It's more about coming to peace with what you need to, reconciling yourself with what is, instead of what you would like it to be. All of these issues and experiences and difficulties have contributed to where and how and who I am today. They don't ever actually resolve themselves and disappear into a cloud of sparkly pink smoke and 'poof!' everything is magically sunshine and roses. No, reaching closure is about accepting and integrating those experiences and their lessons. They stay with you, as they should. They are a valuable part of you, and you are now at peace with them.
Perhaps this year has been as much about Healing as Closure. Which ever is the correct word - and perhaps they both are - I am grateful for the experience, and grateful that even though it has been challenging at times, it has undoubtedly also been positive. I feel like the whole year has been a cleansing, and now I am ready to move on to counting my blessings and planning what will come next. Thank you Chiron. Thank you Multiverse.
Happy New Year.
I can't remember exactly when Hilary* and I first became friends. I do remember that a group of us began hanging out together on the school playing field at lunchtime during the summer term when I was about 13 or 14. At some time during that period, Hilary and I paired off and became 'best friends'. We shared an off the wall, goofy sense of humour, had long, intense discussions about everything from the state of the world to boys we liked and generally helped each other negotiate the stormy seas of adolescence.
In many ways we were strikingly different. I always had my nose stuck in a book whilst Hilary was extremely artistic. I was an easy going, shy Cancerian, and Hilary was a forceful, outgoing Arien. I came from a close, loving family, Hilary's family were starchy and Victorian, especially her cold, overbearing father. I'm not sure if the friendship flourished due to or in spite of these differences - certainly we were different enough never to fancy the same boys or compete over anything important.
I think Hilary to a certain extent fell in love with my family. My home life was everything hers wasn't - warm, chaotic, full of laughter, affection and silliness. At Hilary's house, meals were eaten in stiff, formal silence, the only sound a ticking clock. At my house, mealtimes were shared with plenty of chatter and laughter. I remember the look of amazement on Hilary's face at the raucous giggles as my Dad read aloud from a book of silly stories one of the first times she ate with us, and we all - Dad included - ended up crying with laughter.
The friendship continued after we left school - Hilary started working as a secretary up in London and I became a children's nanny in Hertfordshire. We continued to share in the ups and downs of growing up, learning to drive and getting our first cars, falling in love for the first time, holding each others hand through the scary bits and broken hearts. At one point, Hilary's Dad threw her out for standing up to him and she moved in with my family for a few weeks, until the drama had passed.
When we were 21 I inherited some money, and for a variety of reasons (including having just had my heart badly broken, and the general sense of bravado and curiosity one has at that age) decided to spend it on travelling around the world. I visited Hong Kong, Malaysia, Australia, New Zealand and the USA and had an amazing and wonderful time. When I returned, it was a big surprise to me to find that everything had changed. Living at home with my parents for the first time felt constricting. My job (by now I was working in an office) seemed old-hat and boring. I split up with my boyfriend who had become unbearably possessive. There was a distance between Hilary and I. In hindsight of course, nothing had changed except for me. Going away for an extended period and broadening my horizons had made me more confident, more certain of who I was and what I wanted.
Over the next couple of years the gulf between Hilary and I widened. She developed anorexia, and seemed to find me incredibly irritating. I started avoiding her, feeling like perhaps I was making her illness worse. I met T, and after a few months moved in with him. Hilary and T disliked each other. She continued to visit my family but soon she and I had virtually no contact with each other.
Fast forward a couple of years, and Hilary and I began to - tentatively at first - resume contact. Hilary's anorexia had reached a crisis point, when she, weighing less than 6 stone had collapsed and had a near-death experience. This had shocked her into seeking help, aided by her mother who was a wonderful source of support to her during this period. By the time we began seeing each other again, Hilary was on the road to recovery. I felt really guilty that I hadn't been with her for this part of her journey, but she didn't seem to bear any grudge. Gradually we slipped back into the old friendship, although she and T grew no more fond of each other. Eventually, she met and married a lovely, easy-going, sweet man, Tom, and they seemed blissfully happy together.
Hilary and Tom moved to West Sussex, and the four of us took it in turns to visit each other for weekends. This worked well, as Hilary and T were never together long enough to seriously fall out. The holiday we took together in France was less successful - being cooped up together in a gite for over a week turned out not to be our best idea. It soon became apparent - via oblique remarks and comments made to my family that made their way back to me - that Hilary blamed T for me not being the same person I had been at school. That is to say, whenever I didn't behave in the way Hilary wanted me to, she interpreted it as T suppressing me in some way. At the time, I found it rather funny that Hilary was unable to imagine I may have grown up and changed over the years. And T cared so little for her opinion that it was more a source of amusement to me than any kind of issue.
Later on, when T and I were living in Australia for 18 months (due to his job) and Hilary visited, it began to irritate me. I found it odd that she still insisted on using nicknames we'd had at school, even though they were hardly used at all by anyone else. And I noticed that almost every sentence she spoke to me began with the words, 'The trouble with you, Wallis (my old nickname) is...', or was undermining to me in some other way. For example we were walking by the waterfront in Sydney when an enormously fat woman clad in shorts and a vest waddled past. Hilary said, 'Next time you're worried about how fat you are, just remember you're not that bad!' It was undoubtedly meant as a compliment, no matter how back-handed, but as I hadn't said anything about worrying about my weight it felt like a slap in the face. By the time her two week visit was up, I was ready to cheer when she got back on the plane to go home.
When we moved to Wales it got worse. I was on the receiving end of comments like 'I don't know why anyone would want to move to Wales! Horrible place!'. Since I moved to Wales in 2000, Hilary only visited twice, for an afternoon on my 40th birthday, and for a weekend when she and my sister stayed with my Mum.
She brightened briefly when T and I divorced, declaring joyfully, 'I have my old Wallis back!', but that didn't last long as she took an immediate, strong dislike to IB when she met him for the first time at a barbecue at my sister's house. IB took the place of T as the focus of her disapproval. None of which mattered too much, as we were seeing very little of each other by then.
But then Hilary and Tom attended my 50th Birthday Party, and this summer being the summer of Closure, things inevitably came to a head...
Hilary and Tom were two of the guests at the Surprise Birthday Party my Mum had organised. I was amazed and happy to see them there, but unfortunately things were awkward from the get-go. Hilary gave me a warm embrace when we arrived, but totally snubbed IB, turning away from him as he tried to say hello (I only found out about that later, as there was a lot going on at the time). Then Hilary handed me my gifts - one of which was a beautifully constructed collage of old photos of me and my loved ones. I was deeply touched that she had spent so much time making my gift, but later noticed that she hadn't included any photos of IB at all. In fact, one of the photos she'd used was a group photo that had included IB - though Hilary had carefully cropped him out of it. She also began talking about how much she'd always liked T, how much she missed him. Hmmm.
The next day - the day of my 'official' party, Hilary and Tom were among the first arrivals. Once again IB was ignored. Now I have to say at this point, that IB didn't really help himself because his reaction to all this (added to the stressful time leading up to the party with all the work he'd put in to get things ready, and helping with my injured shoulder) was to drink a bit too much, which was his way of withdrawing. But as I wasn't bothered by him getting drunk (unlike T, who tended to get verbally aggressive, he is easy going when he gets drunk) it didn't occur to me anyone else would have an issue with it. The night before he hadn't had a drink as he was driving, so it wasn't as if anyone could think he always drank too much.
At the end of the party, Hilary threw her arms around my neck and declared how much she loved me. She then whispered, 'It doesn't have to be like this... you're worth so much more... you deserve better.' My immediate reaction was to think she'd drunk too much herself (which she had) and to privately laugh at the remark. But after everyone had left it started to rankle. I felt judged, I felt yet again she was looking down on me, my home, my choices, my relationship and my life. I started to wonder if everyone else at the party had been pitying me (yes, I'd had a few drinks myself by then!), and I ended the evening in tears, comforted by the ever-loving and loyal IB.
After the party, with a few days to put things in perspective, I decided I would write Hilary a letter explaining my feelings and hopefully setting her straight. I wanted to write it when I was calm, so I left it for a while to let my feelings settle. Unfortunately, before I could write it I received a fridge magnet with a sentimental message about friendship enclosed in a card from Hilary, again obliquely criticising IB. My irritation levels rose again and I waited for them to subside before writing my letter. Unsatisfied by my lack of response, Hilary contacted me on Facebook with an angry inbox message: "You know what Wallis, you may be in a great place or you may be in a bad place, but I've known you for a stupid length of time and value your friendship more than you probably know, but when you don't have the decency to spend some time talking to me (and to Tom and M and D) when we travelled specifically to Wales to see you and then choose to not to send a note of thanks for your pressie and then not to even acknowledge that I sent you a small token the other day - well quite frankly it's just rude and I have to question whether I've made a big mistake in being your friend as my values of friendship are clearly not yours now and haven't been since you've been with IB. Over to you. Love you more than you know. Hilary x x x"
I replied as politely as I could, expressing thanks for the gifts, pointing out that as hostess I hadn't been able to spend much time with any one person during the party - as that is the way of parties - and that I was in the process of writing her a letter.
I hate confrontation of any sort. Which is why it had taken this long - years really - to confront Hilary about her behaviour. For a long time, I had taken the easy way out and either laughed at or ignored the continuous barrage of slights and insults, often couched as 'friendly advice' or 'concerned friendship'. But I knew it was crunch time. I sat down and wrote my letter. Then I re-wrote it, aiming for 'polite yet assertive'. I firstly wrote about how much I had valued her friendship over the years, thanked her for her birthday gifts and all the work she'd put into them, praised her for her loyalty. Then I explained, clearly and gently why her remarks had hurt me, and why her assumptions about the state of my life were so wide of the mark. I wanted the letter to be assertive, but neither placatory nor aggressive; I wanted it to give us the chance to get our friendship back on track. To check how it came across, I ran it by several people who knew the situation and whose opinion I trusted. They all agreed it was a good letter, if anything a little too placatory. As I wanted to avoid conflict I decided it was better to err on the side of caution, so - still feeling apprehensive - I mailed it. It was the first time I had ever challenged Hilary in all our years as friends.
*****
That was about three months ago. I have not heard back from her, except via third parties, to whom she has described the letter as 'a tirade'. I have been blocked on Facebook. I have not tried to contact her further. I won't try to contact her further. The ball is in her court.
I am saddened. But I am also left with a sense of relief. It seems this friendship has run its course. My self esteem has come up a notch. I realise that I am no longer content to tolerate dysfunctional relationships, which is what my relationship with Hilary had become. We have both changed over the years, yet it seems she is only willing to be my friend if I jump through the hoops she approves of, and continue to play the role of 'Wallis', which I have long outgrown.
In many ways this has been the hardest piece of Closure that I had to deal with this summer. Our friendship goes back such a long way, has such deep historical roots, is so entangled with other relationships, that it is hard to extricate myself from it. And yet in doing so I know I am doing the right thing. The relationship is no longer what it was, I cannot continue to be in this relationship unless Hilary is willing to hear what I have to say and accept that I have a right to my own feelings. I am sure that I will continue to be more selective with who I let into my life in future, and what behaviours I am prepared to tolerate.
I am worth more.
* Not her real name.
The two new kittens, Mandrake and Woodruff, are outside. Galloping madly in the autumn sunshine, tumbling through the woodpile, tearing through the long grass. Occasionally they barrel headlong into the huddle of foraging chickens and there is an uproar of ruffled feathers, outraged clucking and scattered hens. For a few seconds the kittens - who have learned the hard way that chickens can peck - are in subdued, deferent retreat.
Then the smells... and the sunshine... and the birds... and the blowing leaves!!! And they're off again, running, tumbling, play-fighting, and exuberantly exploring the wonderful wide world beyond the safety and comfort of the back door.
The warm kitchen is reassuringly only a cat-flap away.
A quick plug for my 'Tree of Life' column in the online magazine 'Pagan Pages': the November issue is now available and you can read my column here.
Happy November!
I went to my first Reclaiming WitchCamp (Avalon, held near Glastonbury) in 1998, and loved it so much I went back the following year. The year after that I joined the organising group. It became an important annual event in my calendar: every summer, a week at Avalon WitchCamp, and the people I met at the camp became my spiritual community. In 2006, I nervously became a student teacher at Avalon, and in 2007 I was asked to teach again. Except it didn't happen. For a variety of reasons, Avalon WitchCamp 2007 was cancelled (I'm reasonably sure my shortcomings as a teacher weren't a major contributing factor!). The repercussions of the cancellation were many and various, including the organising of a Summer Gathering, and also the birth of a new, second British WitchCamp, Dragonrise.
It was a turbulent time for the British Reclaiming Community. I've a written a little about it here, but for the most part - not wanting to stir up additional controversy or add fuel to any smouldering fires - I've skirted around the more difficult areas. But suffice it to say, difficulties at the 2006 camp caused divisions that derailed the 2007 camp. Dragonrise Camp arose in part as an alternative to Avalon Camp for those who were dissatisfied with Avalon or wanted to try a different model. And although both camps behaved well - even helpfully - towards each other (agreeing to hold camps in alternate years so as not to be in direct competition, for example), there remained a certain amount of distance between them. Some people in the community fell very definitely into the 'Avalon' side and others into team 'Dragonrise'. Still others - myself included - maintained links with both communities.
In 2009 I was asked to be a resource teacher at Dragonrise but couldn't accept due to other commitments, and in 2011 I was too late booking a ticket and missed out. In 2012, Avalon (by now re-named Avalon Spring) had to be cancelled due to low bookings, so by this year I was determined to attend Dragonrise for the first time! I booked my ticket early, and was looking forward to attending a WitchCamp as an ordinary camper with no responsibilities except to myself for the first time in a while. And then a couple of months before camp was due I got a phone call...
Changes within the teaching team had created a vacancy. Would I like to fill that vacancy? Of course, I said yes.
******
How does this fit with our theme of Closure? Well, as mentioned above, there was still some healing to be done between the two camps. And I felt I needed some healing on a personal level since the fall-out from the cancellation of Avalon 2007. I'd found the split in the community very distressing, and papering over the cracks and pulling together warring factions to create the Summer Gathering was far more stressful than I could possibly have imagined. And now once again, only a week after the emotional upheavals of the wedding in Essex, I found myself faced with the prospect of re-visiting old 'issues' and the opportunity to finally resolve them.
From the outset, joining the Dragonrise teaching team was reassuring. There's a huge amount of work involved in teaching a WitchCamp, and joining the planning process at such a late stage was to say the least nerve-wracking! However, my fellow teachers (Chelidon, Suus and Fortuna) were very welcoming to this late-comer. From the outset we worked extremely well together and things proceeded very smoothly. By strange co-incidence, Chelidon had been my co-teacher for my first WitchCamp teaching experience at Avalon in 2006. We gathered together for in-person pre-camp planning a few days before camp started at the lovely home of one of the Dragonrise organisers, Raven, who had also been on the teaching team at Avalon 2006. Before camp even started I felt loose ends left hanging for years were being tied up, old wounds finally being soothed and healed.
The camp itself was a delight. Lovely venue, amazing food (a thousand 'thank you's to the fabulous cooks, Amanda and Raven), wonderful people (some of whom I hadn't seen since the 2007 Summer Gathering or earlier), favourable weather, and the Paths (teaching groups) and evening rituals went really well.
By the time we found ourselves gathered for the closing ritual I was feeling very happy that we had had such a wonderful camp, satisfied with the renewal and strengthening of old connections, and very sad to be saying goodbye to such a lovely group of old and new friends. For me, Dragonrise 2013 was magical: a totally reaffirming and healing experience for which I am very grateful. I certainly intend to book my place at Dragonrise 2015 as soon as I can.
See you there?
******
Anyone would think this was enough closure for one summer, wouldn't they? After the Birthday, the Wedding and the WitchCamp, I myself thought that was it. More than enough to process and work through. But there was more in store. Something I had been trying for some time to push away and not deal with was coming to the fore, demanding my attention whether I wanted to deal with it or not. At Dragonrise I had the chance to build bridges. But on my return there was another bridge waiting, and this one needed burning...
(To be continued!)
Wedding Number One:
In the summer of 1985 I attended a wedding as the 'plus one' of a platonic male friend. At the reception afterwards, I was pleased to be asked to dance by the Best Man, whose blue eyes had caught my attention. We danced and talked and danced again, and I was happy when he asked for my phone number. To my delight, he rang a few days later and we went on our first date.
Wedding Number Two:
In 1991, reader - I married him!
Yes, I met T at the wedding of our friends Kevin and Ann, and six years later, Kevin was T's Best Man at our own wedding, in the little village church in which my parents had married. By then, Kevin and Ann had a three year old daughter and another on the way. Our friendship with Kevin and Ann was so close that they asked us to be guardians for Rachel, Charlotte and (in time) their younger brother, Michael, in the event that anything untoward should happen to the two of them. Until T and I moved to Wales in 2000 we spent virtually all our spare time together, like a big extended family (Kevin and Ann were originally moving here too, but ultimately decided to stay on Essex).
T and I were married for 17 years, and I thought we were pretty happy until he dropped a bombshell and left in 2008. Since that day, he and I have been in (mostly cordial) irregular contact, yet I had not met - nor wanted to meet, to be honest - his new wife, Sawittree.
So when I received an invitation to Rachel's wedding it brought up mixed feelings. Firstly of course, excitement and happiness at the wonderful news, and pleasure at the thought of sharing my beautiful Goddessdaughter's special day. But also... Sawittree would be there. Younger than me, slimmer than me. On T's arm. That brought up less pleasant emotions. Anxiety, insecurity, apprehension, and a lot of the grief and anger I thought I had processed and left behind by now.
Hmmm.
Luckily I had a few months to prepare myself - firstly by making careful plans to ensure I would be looking my best and hence feeling as confident as possible, and secondly by continuing to work through my feelings about T and Sawittree.
I'm not sure why or how it happened, but at some point before the wedding, I realised that actually, I don't care what T or Sawittree think about me or how they see me. I am now happy in my own skin, at peace with who I am, loved by and in love with IB. Perhaps enough time has elapsed, perhaps I have moved on, perhaps I am a different person. But something has shifted, healed and it is time to move on. And how symbolic that this closure manifested via the wedding of the eldest child of the couple whose own wedding was the starting point of my life with T? And what better symbol of 'new beginnings' than a wedding? The significance seemed staggering when I made the connections.
Wedding Number Three:
Rachel's wedding was to be held in Maldon, Essex, so IB and I travelled up from Wales the night before and stayed with my sister and her husband in Kent. The weather was still searingly hot, and although we left in plenty of time in the morning, traffic snarls at the Dartford Crossing meant that we weren't as early as hoped by the time we'd arrived and parked the car. Walking through to the High Street, we arrived at the church with about 15 minutes to spare. But to my horror, it immediately became clear I had brought us to the wrong place - the church I had assumed the wedding was in is now a Heritage Centre and was buzzing with stalls selling arts, crafts and jam! Rifling through my bag in a panic I realised I had not brought the invitation. I asked one of the stallholders for help and she explained that there were two churches that the wedding could be in, either St Mary's or All Saint's - but they were at opposite ends of the High Street! This was now beginning to resemble a scene from 'Four Weddings and a Funeral', and my chances of arriving looking cool, calm and serene as I had hoped were fast melting away. I had the name 'St Mary's' in my mind for some reason so off we headed as fast as we could through the crowds of Saturday morning shoppers, me tottering in unaccustomed high heels. We finally arrived at the church to find no one outside and the door shut. Tiptoeing up, I opened the creaky old oak door as quietly as I could, expecting all eyes to turn on the latecomers... only to find the church completely empty. The wedding was, of course, at All Saints, at the other end of the High Street.
At this point something in me stopped worrying and just decided to go with the flow. It was blazingly hot and humid, my feet were killing me and we had clearly missed any chance of arriving in time for the wedding. We sat in the church porch, while I changed into the flat sandals I had mercifully thought to stow in my bag and discussed our options. IB said to me, 'You are always running round after everyone, trying to keep everyone happy. Just let go of that, and accept things the way they are.' Which was true, helpful and a very liberating perspective all at once. We decided to walk - slowly - up to All Saint's Church, wait outside during the service and get some photos of the bride and groom when everyone emerged. I realised that though I may have missed the wedding service itself, all I really cared about was seeing my beautiful Goddessdaughter happy, enjoying her special day. But then as luck would have it, just as I'd changed back into my posh heels we spied some other latecomers at All Saint's Church and crept in behind them. Mercifully it was during a hymn and we slid quietly and gratefully into a vacant pew.
It was a truly lovely wedding with Rachel absolutely radiant in a gorgeous dress she had designed herself, and her new husband beaming and handsome. As we filed out at the end of the service, I spotted T and Sawittree shading themselves under a tree. IB and I walked over to say hello, and I was quite taken aback to be greeted by T as 'Darling', which I certainly wasn't expecting. That said, it made me think I couldn't be looking too bad for an old girl!
I took plenty of photos and then we made our way back to the car. We weren't expected at the wedding breakfast as the venue was small and the family party large, but we would be returning later for the evening reception. In the meantime IB and I went for lunch at what was one of my favourite pubs when I lived in the area, The Anchor at Runsell Green, Danbury. It was a beautiful summer's day and we sat outside the lovely old pub surrounded by flowers, enjoying a cooling breeze while we ate. Afterwards we took a meandering drive through my old memories, and I showed IB the church where Kevin & Ann married, the first house T & I lived in together, my paternal grandparents' house and the village my father had grown up in, the village where I went to school and finally the village where I grew up, Mountnessing. We also made an unscheduled stop at T's parents' house. I had always got on well with them, especially T's stepmother and although we'd spoken on the phone since T and I split, I hadn't seen them. By luck, they were in and we had a lovely though brief catch-up, and I was able to introduce IB to them.
At Mountnessing we had arranged to meet up with my Mum and Dad - who were in Essex visiting friends - at the home of an ex-neighbour. It was a little surreal as this meant we were in the house opposite my maternal grandparents' old house and diagonally opposite the house I'd grown up in (we had lived next door to my grandparents). Things became even more surreal when the people now living in what had once been my grandparents' house, invited us in to have a look round and see how the house looks these days. This was turning out to be more of a trip down memory lane than I had expected!
The house was at once familiar and not: some rooms had only changed a little, yet others - including a new extension - were completely different. It was not unpleasant though, as the family now living there are lovely and the house retains its warm atmosphere. Out in the garden there were also signs of time having moved on - plants and trees had grown or disappeared, new fences had been erected, and the patio and fishpond my grandfather had lovingly constructed is now showing its age and is in need of an overhaul! We also wandered down into the orchard next to the house - well, it used to be an apple orchard but now the apple trees and blackcurrant bushes of my childhood are all gone. But still there is the silver birch tree T and I planted when we buried the ashes of our son, Peter.
The tree now towers over me. Time has passed, and the sharpness of grief has dulled, yet it is still there. Suddenly all these ghosts of the past are too much, I am overwhelmed by it all and tears well irresistibly up. Luckily IB and my Mum are there to comfort me. I am held in loving arms and given time to cry, and breathe, and compose myself. More closure. We walk slowly back to the present together. Time to get ready for the wedding reception.
*****
The evening reception was as lovely as the wedding itself. The venue was superb. A live band played jazz and swing and people danced, young and old together. There was cake, and champagne, and pretty vintage china. The heat of the day abated as the evening drew on. I saw people I haven't seen in years and enjoyed catching up with them and seeing the amazing young adults their children have grown into. My parents and brother were there too. It was a very special occasion and I was so glad to have been a part of it. I was glad to have finally met Sawittree and put that particular anxiety aside. I was glad to reconnect with old friends. I was glad I saw Peter's tree, and both the continuity and changes in places I used to know so well. It felt like everything that was important to me from my years living in Essex had all come together, been revisited, acknowledged, and put properly away. Closure, writ large. Again.
And that was when the fiercely hot spell of weather finally broke. Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning flashed. But it all seemed part of the celebrations, Mother Nature's firework display. Deliciously cool rain fell onto warm pavement as we said farewell to the wedding party and made our way back to the car between showers.
I was exhausted. But so glad I'd come.
A small heads up: The October issue of Pagan Pages e-magazine is now available, including my Tree of Life column!
