Life After Loss, and How Travel Helped me Heal

Trigger warning: the following blog post refers to bereavement.

When I was 21 my Dad passed away. It was sudden. He wasn’t ill. There was no warning. I'd just graduated and thought that I had the luxury of life unfolding slowly. I wanted to follow in his footsteps and train as a Lawyer. I thought he'd see that.  Life went from technicolour to black and white. Suddenly everything and nothing mattered anymore. My degree, my future career - I didn’t care.

I'd spent the past year revising every hour of the day in the library, chasing the elusive 'First-Class' law degree. I did achieve it. But it also meant that I hardly got to see my family during my final year of study, even when I was home I was revising. You don’t know though, when your last summer will be with someone.

I got to go on holiday that summer with my Dad and family. We went to Salcombe. A seaside town in Devon that my Dad had been visiting since his parents started taking him in 1954, and I since 1996. It was our place. We did all our 'usual' things. Fish and chips on our first night of the holiday. Trips to the 'Bake House' every morning to get jam donuts for the beach. Walks to Gara Rock for Dad to show me where he used to stay with his parents - Dad pointing out  all the hidden WW2 history along the way- and wading across to hidden beaches with the water up to our waists and beach-bags on our heads because 'it was part of the fun'.

Some of my happiest memories with my Dad are in Salcombe. It's funny how a place can have such a hold on us like that.

After he died, I was so angry. Angry at the life he lost. The things he wouldn’t see. The moments in my life I would never get to share with him.  All I wanted to do was run away. I couldn't see the point in the 'rat race' of life when I had just experienced how quickly life could be snuffed out. I decided that the only thing that mattered to me was seeing the world and collecting experiences.

I didn't run away though. Not right away. Somehow, a couple of months after he died I went through training contract assessment centres and secured both my first paralegal position at a top law firm, and went on to be offered a training contract to train as a lawyer - starting in 2 years' time. Law is peculiar like that - you typically get hired to train 2-years in advance. This gives you time to go back to university for another year to complete an additional year of academics, which I did. I achieved a Masters with Distinction - and then booked my flights to Australia.

I left for Australia on 27 December 2019 and called in the new year by myself overlooking Sydney Harbour bridge a couple of days later. I cried the whole flight to Australia - and when I landed in Sydney I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was all alone, on the other side of the world - and I froze.

A few days after arriving, I joined a hop-on, hop-off bus tour which I used for the next 8 weeks travelling up Australia's East Coast. I then hopped over to New Zealand and spent two months exploring the North and South Island using the same bus system. I'd gone from hurting more than I even knew was possible, to seeing and experiencing things I never could have imagined. I climbed Sydney Harbour Bridge, swam with sharks, sting rays and dolphins, walked in Rainforests, took helicopter flights and hiked on glaciers, jumped out of a plane at 13,000ft and shared this with the most amazing people.  I learnt to let life meet me where I was at. To say yes. To not be scared of the unknown and to be grateful for the people I met along the way. Sometimes we were friends for an hour or a day, and others I was lucky to share big chunks of my trip with. But I was ok with that - I didn’t need anyone to experience the world. I learnt I could do things just fine by myself. But of course - I had a hell of a lot of fun when I shared this with others too.

I needed this trip more than I knew. I needed to feel small in a big world. I needed to learn how independent I was - of how much growth I was capable of by pushing myself out of my comfort zone, of doing things my Dad would never have believed (or perhaps, he would have believed it all). 

Unfortunately, my trip was cut short due to COVID-19 and I had to take an emergency flight home back to the UK. However, once lockdowns eventually lifted and travel within the UK was possible again my family suggested we go on holiday to Salcombe. They booked the trip, but I said I didn’t want to go. I couldn’t. It was Dad's place. Our place. I didn't want to experience it without him.

The night before my family left for the 8-hour drive down to Devon I changed my mind. I packed my bags and drove down myself at 5am the next morning. I played David Bowie all the drive down - just how Dad used to do. I cried. I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to handle being there. Yet, when I got to Salcombe I felt such relief. I didn’t know how much I needed to be there. I was right where I needed to be. I carried on all of Dad's traditions - and took on his role of being the Salcombe tour-guide to my nephews. I taught them the WW2 stories that Dad had always told me. I told them about the spot where Dad walked/ crashed into Cliff Richard and Penny Lancaster, and we spoke of Dad (of their 'Grandpa Grumps') in some of the happiest ways we had been able to since he died.

So, to anyone still reading. Thank you- and to whoever needs to hear this. Keep going. Life after loss does get better again.

Loss doesn’t get smaller, life just gets bigger one day at a time. Don't be afraid to feel. To feel your hurt, but to give yourself permission to feel happiness too. You've got this, and there's a whole world out there waiting for you.