When we were travelling several people gave us advice on dealing with the post trip blues. Apparently it’s quite common to get depressed when all the constant change and stimulation comes to an abrupt end. Several bloggers have written eloquently about this problem, Emily Chappell in particular really lays it bare in this post. So I was on my guard when we settled back down, braced for signs of any downward spiral of emotions. I was just beginning to juggle with the contrasting emptiness of life after travel and the realisation of the enormity of what we had achieved when my Mum died. Suddenly our whole post trip experience stopped in its tracks to be replaced by the turmoil of grief, loss, guilt and dealing with funeral arrangements.
The biggest obstacle to going on our ride in the first place was always leaving my Mum. Although she was very well looked after in a lovely care home, Gill and I were still her closest relatives geographically and her main regular visitors. I really struggled with the idea of not seeing her for up to six months even though other relatives promised to step in. Then there was her dementia. Her extreme short term memory loss meant that she might not even realise that we weren’t visiting. On the other hand, it also meant that I couldn’t share our plans with her and seek her approval. Something that saddened me a great deal as I feel sure she would have approved. It was a huge relief to visit her on our return and find that nothing had really changed and she was her usual smiling self. Sadly, that didn’t last and her health deteriorated rapidly just a few days after we got back. We had been home just 23 days when she died.
I always thought of our adventure as something huge and life changing. Maybe that is still the case but for now, at least, it doesn’t feel that way. Set against the loss of somebody that has been a key part of my life for the last 57 years, a bike ride, even a very long bike ride, just doesn’t seem terribly important. We met some great people during the five months we were away and almost certainly gained new friends for life. If it were possible to measure those gains in some way they would be substantial. Compare them though, against the combined weight of the loss felt by all the family and friends of my Mum and they don’t look quite so impressive. We gain friendship and love slowly. They are acquired over years, even over a life time but they can be taken away in an instant.
Maybe, over time, the signifcance of my Mum’s death will fade and perhaps that of our trip will grow. As time adds depth to the friendships we made and the memories we created, perhaps the scale of what we did will come back to me. Or perhaps it won’t. At the moment I can’t help but feel a little bit cheated. Robbed of the sensation of achievement. But perhaps there is some compensation in what I have learned. Perhaps what really shapes us isn’t what we do or where we go. It’s who we love and how we love them and, of course, how we are loved. And as is so often the case, you only know it when you lose it. I would like to think that the friends we made over the last six months will, over time, help to fill the enormous hole that has been left in our lives. I hope I am right, because otherwise, it really was just a very long bike ride.