Grief is weird and horrid. On Sunday I happened to mention that I felt like shouting a lot and throwing rocks in the sea. I wanted to rage at something, and there isn’t a lot of sea or rocks in Wandsworth.
So we jumped on a train. Of all the spontaneous things to do on a Sunday evening after setting up for a funeral. We got to Brighton about eight o clock in the evening, all a little hyper from all the emotional intensity I think.
And, you know, we had the best time. We walked on the pebbles and paddled in the sea and I threw rocks and ranted at the Lord a little. Then we took lots of photos and I roly-polyed down the beach and we splashed around a lot. Then we sat on the pier and had seaside chips and threw a message in a bottle out to sea. It was one of our numbers’ birthday so we celebrated in style with present opening on the pier and raucous dancing. Then we stumbled back towards the station and got lost and nearly missed the last train home, but it was worth the late night.
We needed to do something that was reckless and abandoned and not about loss and pain and questions and intensity and confusion. For just a few hours we could step out of all the intrigue and complexity of the present and celebrate: celebrate life, each other, the world around us, the freedom to make such spontaneous decisions, simple things like chips and donuts, and I like to think in it all we were celebrating Jo also – the love and joy she brought into our lives and the memories we shared.
I also think Sunday night was about hope, that even though things are tough right now, we have a hope that is so much stronger than loss and death and bereavement. Things might not be the same, but God promises that he has plans to prosper and not to harm us, and I like to think some of those plans involve last minute dashes to the seaside and a whole lot of laughter.
Here we are sat on the pier (apologies for the flash bounce).
What an excellent way to spend a Sunday evening.