Skip to main content

Return to the Forest

Four days before we are due to go on holiday with Lily, Rose and their families, my lovely Aunty Vera - Ma’s elder sister - dies. I’m absolutely hollowed by grief and a cumulative sense of loss. Another part of myself has drifted away; someone else who tucked me up when I was a little girl and kissed me goodnight has gone. ‘But, Mama,’ Rose reminds me, gently, ‘think of the new little ones coming along.’

Our holiday, it seems, has come at just the right time. Lily and Russ are on their knees from worrying about Bee and baby Iris who both suffer terribly with repeated ear infections and, in Bee’s case, severe hearing loss. They badly need some light relief. Fortunately, Rose, Si and little Joy are doing well, but all of us, once we arrive at our Forest Holiday location in the Forest of Dean, start to feel better.
It’s exactly a year since we were last here. We had such a magical time that we decided to return (no, I’m not on commission!). Last year, Joy was learning to walk, this year baby Iris is here and is at exactly the same stage her cousin was then. Next year, Bee will be at school which will mean taking breaks in school holidays. How time slips away! 

For now, we make the most of the present. The holiday cabins are cosy and well-equipped. Ours sleeps eight in the main cabin which is adjoined by a wooden bridge to a separate treehouse for two. The location is lovely - both on site and the surrounding area - and there is something to keep everyone happy. Once again, the hot tub is a firm favourite; I can personally vouch for the fact there’s a lot to be said for sitting in hot tub on a cold January night, looking up at the treetops and drinking Pina Colada complete with cocktail umbrella (thank you, Si!).





All too soon, our break is over but the forest has one more treat for us before we leave. Snow has blanketed the forest floor during the night, hanging thickly on the trees to create an enchanting fairy-tale scene outside. There’s just enough time to explore and throw snowballs before we all head home with memories to treasure and, for me at least, a renewed appreciation of all that is precious.



Comments

Clare Chase said…
What a moving post, Chris - I'm so sorry for your loss, and for the worry over Bee and Iris. I'm really glad you've had a chance to get away from it all and take stock. The location and the hot tub look amazing! As ever, your words are uplifting even when you're going through tough times - a great reminder of what really matters. x
Chris Stovell said…
That's really kind of you, Claire. Thank you for taking the time to comment and for being so supportive. Cxx
Chris Stovell said…
Sorry about typo - Clare! xx
Liane Spicer said…
So sorry about your aunt, Chris. My mother's sister died 3 years ago--she was also my godmother and was just always there from the start--so it's a strange world without her in it. Very sobering, this having to face the march of time.

I love, love, love your forest hideaway! How perfectly perfect for healing and making new memories with the ones coming up behind. Hope the little ones get over their ear issues soon.
Chris Stovell said…
Hello Liane - and happy birthday to you today (apologies for the late reply). That's it exactly, Liane, the sense of losing someone who's known you all your life and yes, sobering to face the march of time. Our forest holiday was so, so lovely - it makes me smile every time I think about it. Thanks so much for your good wishes for the little girls. xx

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Endings, New Beginnings

Blended families come with conflicting loyalties and at Christmas time nearly everyone has somewhere else they feel they ought to be. Throw partners into the equation and it gets even more complicated. Since Tom and I aren’t especially hung up about Christmas we’re happy to let our children go with the strongest flow, but I have to say it was a great delight to have the girls and their partners staying with us this year. When such moments are few and far between they become very precious. My stepsons weren’t far from our thoughts either, not least because we had the very happy news on Christmas Day that my elder stepson and his girlfriend had become engaged. Congratulations Dan and Gill, here’s wishing you every happiness together. Tom and I end a year that has seen the fruition of many years work, both of us crossing important thresholds within weeks of each other. I’m really looking forwards to seeing Turning the Tide published next year and it’s been so satisfying, after al

Reconnecting

I hadn't realised it until now , but it’s probably no coincidence that my last post was about our trip to Norwich, a city I’ve loved since studying at UEA. I wrote, then, that coming home was a hard landing, a feeling that took me completely by surprise as it’s been such a privilege to live in this beautiful, remote spot on the very edge of the west Wales coast. A trip to Skye at the end of October - Tom’s choice - with Ma, was a truly lovely holiday. The weather was kind, the colours of those breathtaking seascapes will stay with me, as will all the happy memories we made that week. And, because our small cottage had been so beautifully modernised and worked so well for the three of us, it was easy to imagine what it might be like to live somewhere different. If travel doesn’t broaden the mind, it certainly brings a new perspective. By the end of the year, Tom and I had decided that it was time for a change, time to move closer to a town (we are neither of us, as they say, getting

Fly Free, Dottie Do

‘How many days to my birthday?’ Ma asks. I do a quick calculation. ‘Eighteen,’ I reply. ‘Eighteen days until your ninetieth birthday.’ Ma pulls a face and shakes her head. Every sentence is hard work for her now, when each breath is a struggle. ‘You’ll have to write a book about this, you know,’ she says, with one of her quick, mischievous smiles. ‘“Carry On Dying”. Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em cry.’ The smile fades. ‘Who knew,’ she adds wearily, ‘that dying would be such a palaver?’  It’s only eleven days since Ma was diagnosed with a high-grade, aggressive lymphoma, four days since she was overwhelmed with pain and breathing difficulties and was admitted as an emergency to hospital. Until a few weeks ago, she lived completely independently; shopping, cooking, cleaning and tending her much-loved garden. The deterioration in her health is shockingly rapid. The eight days preceding her death are a living hell, a constant battle with the ward staff to get Ma the pain relief she’s been presc