Journey to the sea

I was fired this morning. I can't say I was surprised. I hadn't been
in for a week, preferring to immerge myself in an old bottle of whisky
that Malcolm left behind. I felt the injustice deeply.
I don't know why this has happened to me. I don't deserve it. I am, in
turns, furious and melancholy. I feel I am wading through thick mud,
being sucked down into the thick, squelching, suffocating depths.
For two months I have fought this battle, knowing I'd already lost. I
know if Malcolm was still here, he'd say that the only thing I can do
now is to accept it and be at peace. I say this to myself and it
infuriates me.
But with time running out, I have at last swallowed my self-pity and
asked myself,
what can I do to be ready? I want to be serene, graceful, calm. I vow
to myself I will not go kicking and screaming like a spoilt child. And
so I begin my journey.

It started with the shell.
I was clearing out my attic, in preparation, and I came across a
beautiful, old-fashioned dolls house I had been given on my ninth
birthday. A family lived there once, but was lost because I took no
heed of my mother's admonitions.
It is an exquisite little shell. Light brown in colour, exactly the
same shade as my mother's eyes. I found it perching gracefully atop the
dressing table in the parent's bedroom, sitting with a forlorn
solemnity, as if reproaching me for my callous rejection of it. Seeing
it again brought back long buried memories of my mother's hair blowing
in the wind, the feeling of warm sand beneath hot soles, and the
happiest day I've known. As tears gushed down my cheeks I allowed
myself to remember life before my mother died, and the years following;
filled with loneliness, guilt, anger and rejection. I never forgave her
for dying.

I am leaving today. I have packed my forest-green mini with warm
clothes, sandwiches, a first aid kit and some candles. Of course I have
the shell in my shirt pocket - close to my heart. In my haste I have
forgotten an important essential. Petrol. 90 miles into my journey I am
stranded. I wouldn't like to say it is the middle of nowhere, but for
an awful moment it does seem like it. I load my rucksack with candles
and sandwiches, and start off down the road. It does seem like
stupidity; it is getting late, and I am lost, but it feels right
somehow. Originally I planned to visit the beach where we found my
shell. I'm not sure how I thought it would help, but it was all I could
think of. Now I know I won't get there, but I keep on walking.

Rounding a bend, (puffing and wheezing like a dying accordian) I come
across a signpost. The arrow points into the dense wood lurking to my
right. Any words that might once have been visable have faded beyond
recognition, but strangely I am not bothered by this. For the first
time in months I am experiencing a feeling almost like happiness; I
feel there is a rightness about this arrow. I follow it's point;
pushing through thick undergrowth, and once inside the forest I am
relieved to find a small path to follow.
As the sun sets in the world outside, inside the forest I am starting
to feel slightly nervous. I refuse to admit to myself that I may have
made an error in judgement, but my body is a traitor. It shivers and
sweats and trips me up, catapulting me face down into piles of sodden
leaves. It thinks this is amusing. I feel like giving up on an hourly
basis, but every time I start to (blindly) run for safety, there is
another arrow pointing me onward, boosting my strength. Sometime during
the night I stumble yet again, but this time my exhaustion keeps me
down. I awaken at dawn, feeling refreshed. Curiously, I am not stiff,
cold or wet. I take out my shell and hold it carefully. I feel an ache
within, for what I'm not sure, but I know I have to continue my journey
right away. I have somehow tapped into a hidden strength, and am able
to walk all day with hardly a break. At 10pm, by my watch, I stop for
the night. I light some candles, standing them upright in the mud. This
attracts insects, but I feel safer.
A sudden noise awakens me. For a moment I am confused; I don't remember
falling asleep. It is still dark, but one of my candles still burns
obstinately. I feel strange; I feel that inner urge again. I get up
warily and creep towards what I now notice is the edge of the forest.
Amazingly, it seems that overnight the hilly countryside has
disappeared and I can now vaguely see what appears to be the shoreline.
Then, without quite realising, I am walking on sand. The roar of the
ocean is all around. As I stand calmly contemplating the waves, I am
aware of a presence. I smell a familiar fragrence of roses, slightly
musty. I'm not sure whether this is really happening, or if I'm still
asleep, but I turn to see my mother standing beside me, and I feel like
I almost expected her to be there.
We share a smile, and an understanding. I am relieved to be in the
company of someone who knows and can identify with my situation. She
also died young. I take the shell out of my pocket and hold it out to
her. Even in the dark I imagine I can see it is the same colour as her
eyes. As she takes the shell in her hand it is turned to dust, and is
blown out to sea. I am suddenly horrified. I feel that that little
shell was everything to me. I am angry at my mother for her seeming
heartlessness. As if I had spoken aloud, my mother turns to me
and

says, " The actual shell is of no importance. What is important is the
joy it gave you. Learn to let go of what seems important." For a moment
I feel her arms around me, then she is gone.
I feel calm as I walk back to my camp. My mother was right, and her
words have given me the peace I longed for.
When I get back, my candle is still burning. I close my eyes, and feel
my body relax. Very slowly, I lean forward, and blow out the light.