In search of . . . Shetland

It’s November and my mind naturally turns back to the month I spent in Shetland seven years ago.

This year, here in North Devon, the weather is mild. It feels kind. There is no freezing wind sucking the breath from me or hailstones determined to pierce my cheeks. I don’t have to wrap up in thermal layers to go for a walk or plan my excursions within the tight constrictions of daylight.

I treasure the memories of that month in Shetland. The rawness of the weather and the kindness of the people helped me to heal. And it strikes me as I write that I’ve still got a long way to go. And by moving to Devon, in a way I’ve tried to replicate my time in Shetland. I live in a similar style of house to the one I rented in Lerwick; I can walk into town and only use the car for longer excursions; I have a view of water (a little beach in Shetland, here a tidal river); and I love to watch the wildlife. And while the weather here isn’t as wild, the people I meet are just as warm and friendly and I feel like I am home.

After several days of feeling poorly (a flu-type bug) this morning I just had to get outside and I drove to Boscastle in Cornwall. When I left, mist was clinging to the river but by the time I got out of the car, the sun hung low in a cloudless sky. I walked along the river Valency to the little harbour and scrabbled across slate and rock for a view of the open sea. And just as I used to do in Shetland, I closed my eyes and tilted my face to the sky. A gentle breeze played with my hair and the sun caressed my face.

Home. It is by water that I truly feel at home.

And yet something claws at my heart. There is something – someone – missing. How can anywhere truly be home without Tim?

I did a jigsaw puzzle when I stayed in Lerwick. I used the huge coffee table in the living room to lay out all the pieces and every now and then I’d spend some time sitting cross-legged on the floor recreating the photograph on the box. Mostly I had my maps and guide books set out on top of the puzzle, so it took a while. Almost the whole month. And I never did complete it as right at the end I discovered there was a piece missing. That’s something that would’ve driven Tim mad.

I made some lovely friends while I was in Shetland and one of them (Jilly Ballantyne, a hugely talented artist) saw the incomplete puzzle and painted a picture including the lost piece. I loved the picture so much I had to buy it and it has pride of place in my study. The painting is a reminder of a time when I desperately needed to heal – I was so on the edge that I didn’t think I could ever find my way back. It is also a reminder of the bonds of friendship and of love. And it is a reminder that just because something isn’t completed or doesn’t have the outcome you had expected, that it was still worth the time.

And wouldn’t it be lovely if we could paint the missing pieces back into our lives? And then maybe we wouldn’t feel so lost.