Life is moving forward.
I have been speaking publically about mental health and suicide and writing regularly about suicide prevention, and a doctor friend of mine told me that, after reading my blog about Rob, she spearheaded a major mental health pilot scheme to create better understanding between patients and professionals.
I’ve decided other parts of my life have to change.
Although it took a long time to get to the point where I didn’t want to throw up at the idea, I’ve tentatively started dating again after I realised voluntary celibacy probably wasn’t my thing.
I realise that I must be a difficult person to love right now, or for someone to want to be with, connect with. Deep down, there is a vast room and in it are all the memories I have with Rob. In this room, he is alive and I am in love.
And the man it would take to hold my hand and say I love you, and I know you have that room and I love that room because it makes you you, and I can hold both you and Rob in my heart . . . that man – does he even exist? That man would have to be a greater person than me. I don’t know if he will ever make his way to me. But I’ve been through enough to know I’ll be okay if he doesn’t.
I have bought my first ever apartment, and I’ve finally gone through the boxes of Rob’s possessions – though it took a lot of red wine, tissues and James Taylor.
To mark the end of summer, Martin invites me to come to France, exactly a year after my last trip. It’s a welcome respite from packing up my house.
The last time I was here, it was two months after Rob died and Martin wanted to give me somewhere restful to stay. He cooked, we went for long walks and it was what I needed.
At the time I felt very fragile, so one morning, instead of a walk, I went for a run to clear my head. I passed dark green hedges, open fields filled with white flowers dotted across like a meadow of falling stars.
Then I came across a woodland, tall conifers radiating from the dark heart of the forest. I thought of Rob, I felt his death pass through me, and I couldn’t run any more because I was crying so hard.
This time round, I decide again to go for a run in the cool morning before it gets too hot.
I pass the same forest, but it is breathtaking how different I feel. How much stronger I am. How I am able to hold Rob close, but not feel like the memory of him will drown me. I never believed a day would come when I could feel like this, but it has happened and, finally, I am turning with the world.
In the distance, I see a field of sweetcorn, green, unripe ears pointing upwards. They bend and sway in the breeze. I don’t know why I do this, but I leave the roadside and push my way through the field so that, soon, I am lost in corn.
It whispers and rustles around me with the bluest sky overhead and, after a time, my breathing slows, and I feel like I am watching the earth grow.
Although there are barely any clouds visible, from nowhere a brief shower of rain passes overhead. And when it stops, in the bright glow of the summer sun, a mighty rainbow arches across the sky, a fiery arrow shot from another world to mine.
Rob.
I’m crying, but I’m laughing, and I sincerely hope that no one can see this small, crazy Indian girl crying and laughing in the middle of a field of sweetcorn.
I love you, I love you, I say to the sky and to the earth. A thousand times, I love you.