How soon is now?

A while back Andy and I made a very big decision (VBD). It's one we have toyed with for a few years but we never got to the point of taking action. We toed (how DO you spell that?) we froed, (?) we changed our minds. But, eventually the VBD was made. We are moving back to the UK. Tomorrow.

We meant to come to Australia for four years and accidentally stayed 11. Something about the laid back lifestyle and the amazing fauna and flora grabbed us and held us here. But more than that, the people who became our friends kept us here - not against our will I should add, that would be weird.  

No, my friends (I'm switching to just my friends now, it's my blog and all that) kept me here with their kindness, their conversation and their insight. I've lost count of the number of D&Ms we've had over the years. We've shared plenty of laughs too, book club in particular was a source of great joy for me. Sometimes we even talked about the book. 

I sit here, the night before my flight and realise I've had my last bookclub/stitch n bitch/breakfast/brunch/morning tea/lunch/afternoon tea/dinner with my friends. We've shared our last baby shower, our last kids' birthday party, our last (rare) weekend away, our last milestone event. If not forever then for many years at least. I am bereft.

So often, a big part of happiness is dealing with loss. You meet people, they bring you joy (and you them, hopefully) and then you lose them one way or another. It's heartbreaking but heartwarming too. In the words of the eminently sensible Winnie the Pooh: "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."

And they are not really lost. We'll keep in touch and we'll meet again - here, there or somewhere in between. 

I am a firm believer that when one door closes another one opens and one of the gifts of leaving Australia is being able to reconnect with friends and family in the UK and Europe. I'm looking forward to the conversations and the catch ups, they're a wonderful bunch. 

I love the UK as much as I love Australia (how lucky I am) and there's lots of exploring to do - castles, woodlands (complete with hedgehogs and squirrels!) country pubs, up-to-date episodes of all my favourite TV programmes and Sainsburys/Waitrose/Tesco/Marks & Spencer Food Hall to name but a few. Plus we'll get to fly to Europe again without having to sell a kidney, hooray! 

As sad as I am to leave this place, I'm excited too. I'm ready for change. It's time to embrace this next stage in our lives as a family and as individuals.

So here I am, going not "back to England" but forward to England. I may have lived there before, but this is a new adventure.

In Loving Memory

Last week a good friend of mine passed away. Suddenly, unexpectedly and far from home.

His name was Elwin and he was one of the nicest people I have ever met in my life.

Elwin was Dutch and moved to Brisbane not long after Andy and I. As I had lived in Amsterdam for a year when I was 20, we shared a “Dutch connection” that meant I was always the lucky recipient of three Dutch kisses whenever we met.

Just thinking of this wonderful man brings tears to my eyes but it also makes me smile, he is one of the very few people I know where I can say with conviction that he was truly happy. He absolutely lived the dream of doing more of what makes us happy. Elwin loved fast (red) motorbikes, skydiving and cats. He played soccer and samba drums. He worked hard, had signed up for his first triathlon and loved to hang out with his many friends. He was generous in every way and an absolute natural with the kids in our group. One of my fondest memories is of how sweet he was with Agatha, I would have loved to see him become a husband and a father; I know he would have nailed it.

Agatha enjoys some toe-tickling fun with Uncle Elwin (left)

Last year, when I was heavily pregnant with Agatha, Andy would drive me home from my job in the city each day. Perhaps three times in the first fortnight a man on a moped would pull up at our window at the traffic lights and give it a little knock. We’d wind down the windows and there would be a smiling Elwin on his way home. We’d manage a brief chat before the lights changed and we were both swallowed by the traffic. Ever since then, whenever we were in the car and saw someone riding a moped, Andy and I would say “there’s Elwin” – even if the rider was clearly an elderly woman – and maybe once or twice more we got it right and it was our friend. It has become such a habit that I know we’ll do it again - only now with the knowledge that it never will be Elwin again, it never can be, he has gone.

All of Elwin’s friends and of course his beloved family feel his loss keenly; he was the sort of person you meet rarely – utterly good, extremely kind and completely devoid of bitterness or malice. But not so good as to be no fun, he was blessed with cheekiness and a great sense of humour; he smiled and laughed a lot. He threw himself into everything - sometimes literally as with skydiving - and enjoyed every minute of the ride, grinning all the way.

His was a short life but it was a full life – a life well-lived. The sort of life I aspire to live and the reason I created this blog. I don’t want to use my friend’s death as a “lesson” of some sort but I can’t help but be inspired to want to do better. To seek out every opportunity for joy, to eradicate the stuff that brings me down, to embrace happiness and to try everything. I think Elwin left a little of that behind in everyone who was lucky enough to spend time with him.

I know that this is not the most eloquent of eulogies; my emotions are pretty raw at the moment and my thoughts are scattered. But I hope it does some justice to Elwin and how very special he was.

I’ll miss you friend, go gently.