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Back One Winter Morning Save as PDF
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. By the same author
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. Acknowledgements
  54. Read More
  55. Two Years Later
  56. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

David went to see a grief counsellor after Anna died, and later tried his best to pass on some of the coping strategies she taught him. I was reluctant to listen, just as I had been adamant that I would not seek any help, but I find his words coming to mind now. There is no secret trick to combating your feelings of loss, but a good place to start is by doing something – anything – just to prove to yourself that you can. That could be as simple as cleaning your teeth, or vacuuming the lounge. With each action, a task has been completed. You may feel broken, but you are still there, still capable of movement and of achievements.

Sitting here now, I find that it is enough to simply sip my beer and watch the slanting sunlight. There is nothing else I need to do, and that is OK. For once, the nothing can be my something.

I’m still cast adrift in my own mind when a collective gasp snaps me out of it, and I look up to see a group of paragliders, each one swooping gracefully down from the top of one of the vast hills. They’re so high that they could easily have been mistaken for birds, and as I watch them dip and swirl and buffet through the still air, I imagine how I must look to those strapped inside – how small and insignificant in a landscape bustling with life.

The sinking sun has cast a pale pink glow across the clouds above the lake – they look like candyfloss spun right out of the heavens. I stare out from my secluded spot and watch as a passing flock of real birds dives down to wash their delicate feathers in the shifting indigo water.

I don’t know whether it’s the lack of sleep, or the alcohol, but as I sit here, for once letting everything I’m witnessing simply settle over me, I realise that I am beginning to feel the whispers of something that I haven’t felt for a long time.

Hope.

Penguin walking logo

6

It is purely by chance that I spot him.

My first full day in New Zealand begins with a very large brunch at a café tucked away down a side street. I end up lingering far longer than I can make my second cup of coffee last to take advantage of the free Wi-Fi and scroll through each of my social media accounts in turn, scan-reading posts and double-tapping to like pictures. It occurs to me then that one of the best things about being this far away from home is the anonymity it offers, because surely nobody here in Queenstown will work out that I’m linked to the other Evangeline, even if we do share some of the same physical attributes.