Grief on the road
I like to think that all of my blog is meaningful, it is to me, if not the odd friend or even stranger, who might find the occasional bit of useful information.
And in the spirit of my blog, it would be rude, and careless, and maybe even hurtful, to not talk about what happened a week ago.
There must be many people who experience an unexpected loss when on the road.
When I said goodbye to my Nanna 4 months ago, I knew that it might be for the last time. I was sad, and fought back the tears as I left the hospital. That doesn't mean that I was prepared for the news when it came. Can you ever be?
When planning this trip I had done so telling myself that she would have been happy for me. She didn't know I was going - when someone has such advanced dementia, they don't remember anything new. I didn't want to confuse Nanna, and besides, she couldn't say anything about it. At the hospital she had told me she loved me and I felt that it was her talking, and that alone was incredible and meant more than anything.
It had been a difficult few weeks; Conversations going back and forth about my Nanna's health, mixed messages from home. I haven't really felt lonely on this trip, but getting bad news about my Nanna one moment and then being told she's much better the next... it kind of knocks you off kilter a bit and it was hard to get back into the routine of travelling. Especially because, despite what anyone was telling me, I felt in my gut that it wasn't going to be long for Nanna, and being on the road, you have so much time to think about these things.
I had ended up back in Cali, for what was supposed to be my final weekend in Colombia. It was that or Pasto, and I couldn't resist the idea of spending a few more nights salsa-ing away before heading south to Ecuador. This time I stayed at El Viajero, a renowned party hostel, and it was loads of fun. Everyone was really friendly, we had a laugh at the free salsa class, and after plenty of happy hour rum and cokes, we all walked down to La Topa - perfectly safe to do so when there's a big group of you. But because it was Saturday night in Cali, I left my phone at the hostel.
And the first thing I did when I got back at 3am, was check it. And that's when I saw the missed calls from my Mum, and knew. I called her back and she broke the news. Mum started to make excuses and say that no one could have known - just a few weeks earlier I had said that if possible I wanted to see Nanna before she went. At that time Mum had reassured me that she seemed so much better, maybe that's why the excuses came. But I didn't need to hear it and I didn't feel Mum should have to be making excuses for me at that time. As much as I felt it too, Nanna was her Mum after all.
After continued aforementioned rum and cokes, I was quite drunk. Really, very drunk. When the news came, whether it was while I was at home or away, I was always going to be... completely devastated. But the booze amplified the crying. I couldn't control it. It just came and came and came, and it was violent and... so sad. I could not believe that Nanna was gone. I couldn't stop and I just wanted to be away from everyone, and have no one see me and not have to explain to anyone. I went and found the darkest spot in the hostel, over by the bar, where I could just let it out and hopefully no one see me. I didn't want to have to explain what was wrong.
But I'm guessing the night staff could see me on the CCTV, as someone came over. He left me for a while but then came back to ask if he could get me anything. I asked if I could go into a private room... I couldn't go back to the dorm like that.
The next morning I booked a flight to Bogota, showered and left El Viajero. I told Bert, one of the guys I'd had so much fun with. You can't just disappear, can you? But I also couldn't stay in such a happy and fun place. I couldn't face telling all those new friends, who were having such a good time.
I went home... to my Colombian Dad, Adolfo, round the corner at Hostal Encuentro. I had told him about Nanna when I'd been there a few weeks ago. I'll never forget the kindness with which he treated me when I arrived back there.
And in the spirit of my blog, it would be rude, and careless, and maybe even hurtful, to not talk about what happened a week ago.
There must be many people who experience an unexpected loss when on the road.
When I said goodbye to my Nanna 4 months ago, I knew that it might be for the last time. I was sad, and fought back the tears as I left the hospital. That doesn't mean that I was prepared for the news when it came. Can you ever be?
When planning this trip I had done so telling myself that she would have been happy for me. She didn't know I was going - when someone has such advanced dementia, they don't remember anything new. I didn't want to confuse Nanna, and besides, she couldn't say anything about it. At the hospital she had told me she loved me and I felt that it was her talking, and that alone was incredible and meant more than anything.
It had been a difficult few weeks; Conversations going back and forth about my Nanna's health, mixed messages from home. I haven't really felt lonely on this trip, but getting bad news about my Nanna one moment and then being told she's much better the next... it kind of knocks you off kilter a bit and it was hard to get back into the routine of travelling. Especially because, despite what anyone was telling me, I felt in my gut that it wasn't going to be long for Nanna, and being on the road, you have so much time to think about these things.
I had ended up back in Cali, for what was supposed to be my final weekend in Colombia. It was that or Pasto, and I couldn't resist the idea of spending a few more nights salsa-ing away before heading south to Ecuador. This time I stayed at El Viajero, a renowned party hostel, and it was loads of fun. Everyone was really friendly, we had a laugh at the free salsa class, and after plenty of happy hour rum and cokes, we all walked down to La Topa - perfectly safe to do so when there's a big group of you. But because it was Saturday night in Cali, I left my phone at the hostel.
And the first thing I did when I got back at 3am, was check it. And that's when I saw the missed calls from my Mum, and knew. I called her back and she broke the news. Mum started to make excuses and say that no one could have known - just a few weeks earlier I had said that if possible I wanted to see Nanna before she went. At that time Mum had reassured me that she seemed so much better, maybe that's why the excuses came. But I didn't need to hear it and I didn't feel Mum should have to be making excuses for me at that time. As much as I felt it too, Nanna was her Mum after all.
After continued aforementioned rum and cokes, I was quite drunk. Really, very drunk. When the news came, whether it was while I was at home or away, I was always going to be... completely devastated. But the booze amplified the crying. I couldn't control it. It just came and came and came, and it was violent and... so sad. I could not believe that Nanna was gone. I couldn't stop and I just wanted to be away from everyone, and have no one see me and not have to explain to anyone. I went and found the darkest spot in the hostel, over by the bar, where I could just let it out and hopefully no one see me. I didn't want to have to explain what was wrong.
But I'm guessing the night staff could see me on the CCTV, as someone came over. He left me for a while but then came back to ask if he could get me anything. I asked if I could go into a private room... I couldn't go back to the dorm like that.
The next morning I booked a flight to Bogota, showered and left El Viajero. I told Bert, one of the guys I'd had so much fun with. You can't just disappear, can you? But I also couldn't stay in such a happy and fun place. I couldn't face telling all those new friends, who were having such a good time.
I went home... to my Colombian Dad, Adolfo, round the corner at Hostal Encuentro. I had told him about Nanna when I'd been there a few weeks ago. I'll never forget the kindness with which he treated me when I arrived back there.
The next day, Sunday, I was back in Bogota, ready to book my flight home, as soon as Mum could tell me the date of the funeral. There are flights daily to London. But five days passed with the date changing three times. I still haven't been able to book anything.
What do you do during this time? Thanks to an Instagram post from my sister, close friends started messaging. It was so sweet, and it was easier than me having to break it to them, but it meant I had to talk about it.
What do you say? How would I have told them anyway? It's not something that comes up in conversation. Even now there are friends that I need to reply to on What's App, our conversations on pause since I got the news.
At times you feel normal. And then suddenly the grief pops up. And you feel guilty when you realise that you felt normal. Why aren't I crying, you wonder. And then suddenly you want to cry and it's all you can do to stop yourself, because you're just in a cafe, or sat on a bus, or in any other totally normal situation. Or you're in the dorm and everyone is sleeping, but someone will hear you.
What do you do during this time? Thanks to an Instagram post from my sister, close friends started messaging. It was so sweet, and it was easier than me having to break it to them, but it meant I had to talk about it.
What do you say? How would I have told them anyway? It's not something that comes up in conversation. Even now there are friends that I need to reply to on What's App, our conversations on pause since I got the news.
At times you feel normal. And then suddenly the grief pops up. And you feel guilty when you realise that you felt normal. Why aren't I crying, you wonder. And then suddenly you want to cry and it's all you can do to stop yourself, because you're just in a cafe, or sat on a bus, or in any other totally normal situation. Or you're in the dorm and everyone is sleeping, but someone will hear you.
Distraction helps. In Bogota I went to the cinema twice, But then there were no more films to watch. I messaged Mario, from my hostel, when I was coming back to Bogota, and we went for beers and then he took me on a bike tour of the city. I also met up with Jenny and Kim, some girls I'd met my first time in Cali - just by chance Jenny messaged me and we met for breakfast, and then Kim and I spent the day together. It was so nice to see all these friends again, and that is the beauty of travelling. But it meant even more to me, and I'm extra grateful for their friendship, because I really needed their time and that distraction.
Then there is the awkwardness (at least, in my head) with new people. I usually speak to everyone I meet in hostels, and of course the first thing you do is swap travel stories - where you've come from, where you're going. But travelling is everyone's happy place. I'm so open, but how do I explain that actually, the only reason I'm still in Colombia and not Ecuador, is that I have to go home for my Nanna's funeral? I can't bring people down with my sadness. And I hate to lie. So it's easier to just speak to as few people as possible. But they know. Because everyone is friendly and right now I have to force it.
Grief is tiring too. I came to San Gil, because I couldn't bear to wait around in Bogota anymore. But it turns out it doesn't matter where I am. Weariness hangs over. Of course. Silly of me.
The funeral will probably be at the start of November... it's so long away. Not for me but for my poor Nanna. Waiting all that time. On her own.
Then there is the awkwardness (at least, in my head) with new people. I usually speak to everyone I meet in hostels, and of course the first thing you do is swap travel stories - where you've come from, where you're going. But travelling is everyone's happy place. I'm so open, but how do I explain that actually, the only reason I'm still in Colombia and not Ecuador, is that I have to go home for my Nanna's funeral? I can't bring people down with my sadness. And I hate to lie. So it's easier to just speak to as few people as possible. But they know. Because everyone is friendly and right now I have to force it.
Grief is tiring too. I came to San Gil, because I couldn't bear to wait around in Bogota anymore. But it turns out it doesn't matter where I am. Weariness hangs over. Of course. Silly of me.
The funeral will probably be at the start of November... it's so long away. Not for me but for my poor Nanna. Waiting all that time. On her own.
This post seems incredibly "me, me, me." But it's hard when you've no one to talk to. My wonderful friends might object, the ones that know have offered their ears. But it feels like I have nothing to say. The thoughts swim around... But say them out loud? It feels better to write, right now.
For the most part travelling is the best and least lonely place. But when you lose someone like this, it becomes the opposite. You feel lost. I feel lost. And alone in my grief. It's a different kind of bubble.
I know it will get better, and if anyone out there is going through something similar, I hope that they know that too, and that in the meantime it's ok to feel how you feel and there's no rulebook for how that is.
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