"I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes,
For it comes from the west lands,
the old brown hills,
And April's in the west wind, and daffodils"
John Masefield 1878-1966
Easter Sunday at Porlock Weir - a perfect day.
Everybody loves Porlock Weir - the perfect place to stand and stare.
Right across the water is Wales and my ship mate Dylan.
I'm afraid w took a couple of stones for my fountain.
Children were mesmerised by the potter and he let them have a go.
Alice made a new friend and ended with a hairy anorak.
Our French son gave me Julian Barnes's book 'Levels of life' which is ultimately about his grief at losing his wife. I was startled on opening the book to see the dedication; 'For Pat'.
Pat was his late wife and her name - Pat Barnes was my maiden name. We both married in 1979
I found myself relating to many of the feelings and experiences he has had since his bereavement. One instance was when he was dining with three friends who had been close friends of his wife for many years. When he mentioned her name no one picked it up. He mentioned her twice more and still they did not continue the conversation. He reckoned they had denied her thrice.
This has happened to me a number of times.
I was talking about this to a friend and she said,
"Oh they probably didn't want to remind you of him and upset you.'
I found this astonishing. Remind me? Do they think I could possibly ever forget him? Don't they realise that the lost loved one is always with one - certainly with me - two and a half years on. When I hear a noise when I'm typing I automatically think 'Oh that's Al in the bedroom. It's a positive presence and a great comfort. Perhaps because I still live in the home we made together - every room - every part of the garden is still full of his presence and I wonder if I would lose that if ever I moved?
Tell me what you think.