“Orkney!
Isn’t that in Norway or somewhere?”!
Words to
this effect have been screeched at me by family and friends alike over the past
few weeks! Yes, Orkney!
Orkney is a
long way away (694 miles from my house to be precise), an island in the North Atlantic, north of the Scottish mainland,
south of Shetland, once owned and annexed by Norway before becoming part of
Scotland in 1472. But why
Orkney? We were talking of Scotland in the last blog: the Highlands, Haggis and tartan,
now we are in Viking territory.
I first
went to Orkney the day after I got engaged. We were staying on the north coast
of Scotland near Durness, two days before we were meant to go home we decided to jump on a ferry to
Orkney and visit Skara Brae – the Scottish Pompeii (although no volcanoes were
involved in its preservation just sand)!
And so my love affair with these remote islands
began.
Orkney is made up of about 70 islands, 20 of which are inhabited. The north islands and north Mainland are wild and windy. Jagged cliffs plummet to the sea,
home to sheltering puffins and gannets, whilst arctic terns nest on the grassy cliff
tops. In the Scapa flow reside seals, whales and dolphins, even a pod of Orca. To the south of the Mainland;
coves, harbours and sandy beaches. The people are friendly, their history is
rich and diverse, their whisky… gives you a headache if drunk in quantity! We
tried to move there 6 years ago, but without success, so why try again now?
In June
2014 my mother in law had a stroke; she was terminally ill and was going to die
very soon. We all prepared for her death as best we could, explained, again, as best we
could, what was happening to the children and spent the next couple of weeks
travelling the 300 mile round trip to visit her in hospital. Suddenly, the weeks had
turned to a month, two months... three... then suddenly it was Autumn. Miraculously she was still with us, but not with us, as
she never really regained consciousness. We continued to travel each and every weekend
from Somerset to the Midlands to visit her and my father in law, and this was
how life was for eight months.
Waiting for
someone to die is probably one of the worst things we will ever have to do. We
experience the grief of losing someone we love, feelings of helplessness, anger
and sadness, but then as time goes by, we feel something else, something taboo,
something we shouldn’t admit to… We start to want them to die! We cry at the
thought of it, but there comes a point where you feel that the person you love no
longer has quality of life, no dignity in their dying and no hope of recovery.
Then the pain you feel is not in their dying, but in their living. My mother
in law passed away on 6th February, 34 weeks, 238 days after her stroke.
For eight
months I planned my escape. My cottage by the sea. In my mind I would sit by the fire,
drinking my whisky, listening to the wind, rushing and roaring, drowning out
the silence of our sadness. My husband and I shared in this dream, the thing that
was keeping us going over the dark winter months, through the tears… And then we
decided to do something about it.
I started to apply for jobs.
I applied for
a few posts in Scotland and then had an interview, but nothing really felt quite right. But
then… A post came up… In Orkney… And then… The offer of an interview! Could this be it? Could our dream actually become a reality? I felt scared, a little frightened, under
pressure to make this happen. So I did something I would never, ever consider doing...
I did nothing!
I made the
conscious decision to place myself in the hands of fate and not be scared. Not feel anxious, impatient or excited about the possibility of it all. I would be calm and just “go with the flow”, if
it was meant to be, it would happen. I would go to the interview, do the
presentation and see what happened next. I was not going to worry about the
money, how I was going to get there, the child care etc. Fate would be my guide… Sounds daft I know!
But you know what…
It worked!
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