One Day at a Time

Boats do not look their best in Winter - not even after a slap-up lunch of sawdust sausages and greasy chips at Milford Haven - especially a boat that’s out of the water, drenched by weeks of rain and standing under trees. Poor Blue Nun has acquired a slimy green coat and Ken, my father-in-law, who is staying with us for the week looks at her doubtfully. ‘Nice,’ he says, rallying. Tom and I talk merrily of how we’ll all go for a sail in the Spring, conscious that even ‘tomorrow’ is too big a concept for the man who has just lost his wife of sixty years. One day at a time is quite enough to cope with and this week we’re doing just that, offering small distractions every day, not to deny grief, but hopefully to provide a small glimpse of future possibilities.

‘Oh, lovely - a table by the window!’ we cry, piling into seats, glad to get out of the cold Tenby rain. What could be nicer than a grandstand view of the magnificent beach? And, look, the sun’s just peeping out! Refreshments arrive and I’m about to take my first bite of a carrot cake when I become sharply aware of the conversation between the elderly ladies on the next table.

   ‘It’s very good, you can hardly see the difference between the two. How does it feel?’
   ‘Well, quite comfortable, actually. Better than the eye patch. I was nervous at the fitting, especially with all those rows of eyes looking at me. (Jolly laughter all round the table). But in the end it was a bit like choosing a new handbag or shoes to go with a dress. They said it was a perfect match!’
   There is a chorus of approval but, feeling slightly green, I’m relieved when one of the women working at the cafe is hailed by the dear ladies behind us heralding a change of topic.
   ‘Your hair!’ they say, ‘it’s so different now. Did you have a perm?’
   ‘I lost it all with the chemo,’ comes the reply, ‘and it grew back curly.’
The sorry saga continues and it’s not that I’m unsympathetic, far from it, it’s just that we’ve seen so much of hospitals lately. ‘You haven’t finished your cake,’ says Tom. We leave the cafe and walk into a watery sun and a rainbow arching over the town. It’s too much, at first, for FiL who chose ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ to close Rita’s funeral service but eventually he takes it as a good sign.

A good news day beckons; Rose and Si have finally completed on the purchase of their first home. Hurray! I’ve resisted furtive ‘drive pasts’ for fear of jinxing the sale so today’s our chance to have a proper inspection. Rose and Si will be living three hours away, between Bristol and Bath, but what should be a straightforwards journey turns into gridlock just outside Swansea. There’s no traffic info so I check my phone to discover we’re in the fallout from a fatal accident. More misery. Five hours later, my spirits are considerably lifted when we see Rose and Si in their new home which is bright, light and spacious with a beautiful garden. We round the day off with a brilliant meal in a splendid gastropub, The Lock Keeper, which is right on their doorstep. For a few hours all seems right with the world, but on the way home, I hear FiL weeping. Even one day at a time can be tough.