Dear friends
Nearly four months have passed since that terrible 20th of August. I received since many messages of support and of friendship. I was too busy (or at least I pretended I was) to personally answer everyone.
It seemed like a mountain of letters and emails to write and the magnitude of the task paralysed me a little. But I understand that many people have lived intensely what has happened in the recent months and some of you have asked me for news. So I started this text as a letter hoping to answer. One of the advantages of the blog was that I could write and never felt I was imposing reading on anyone; with an email, it’s different.
The funeral
The funeral was a painful moment but also very strange. Lindsey had said “I want a party”. And we did our best. People arrived to Biarritz on Thursday the 23rd of August in the afternoon.
The previous three days had been exhausting. I keep among my memories the absurd answers of caterers and renters of rooms or reception equipment that naively explained to me “But sir, in this season, for receptions, you have to order several months in advance.” We had therefore to go for an improvised solution. On Tuesday, friends from Spain and France, and the family from England began to arrive. The terrace, tapas, the Toro wine… everything gave the illusion of a pleasant evening with friends. And it’s true that the Lindsey magic was starting to work … people were talking between generations, between languages, between cultures.
The next day, at the funeral parlour of Biarritz we met everyone under a fine circumstantial rain. I have little to say about the ceremony … I’m certainly not the best person to talk about it: Bill, Luisa and Vikki spoke and we can find their words on the blog dedicated to the two years that have passed. Then we went back to the house of Biarritz where we were able to eat, drink and talk. A moment that I found particularly moving was when ice-cream was served. During the long months of illness, eating an ice cream was a highlight for Lindsey.
We even went swimming in the late afternoon before going back to continue celebrating Lindsey. The next day (Saturday) we were still more than twenty for a sardine party. And the survivors climbed the Rhune the next day! Every moment was an opportunity to think: it’s very nice, but someone is missing …
Boris and I returned to Nantes on August 27th. Entering the house was another terribly difficult time. Memories everywhere … Everything was subject to a great moment of emotion. Since then I have to deal with a lot of administrative issues (far from being solved), a shy beginning of weight loss (not mine, sadly) of the house: we have accumulated so much and now we have to sort out, attempt to store only the minimum and consider a move in the spring. Vikki has found a job but is also taking some time for herself: she left for South America last week.
A lot of work too. That helps a lot. At first I thought it was because the work was stunning me and acting as a drug (workaholic in English). But I realized it was not the only reason: work was not a domain that shared with Lindsey and so it is a place (physical and psychological) which protects me a bit. We certainly spoke about certain aspects, but in fine Lindsey knew little about my colleagues, had never seen my office. So work is a safe place where I am not continually reminded by memories and regrets.
I have also been able to see friends, move around a little. This is of course nice even if I am probably not a happy companion (here I try to suggest that I was formerly). However, when I’m in company, I will wander around and realize that the people I’m with are talking about issues that do not concern me any longer. A little like when people of my generation are with young parents who talk about their worries, about bottles, kindergarten …
Yes, things are difficult.
I had tried for months to project myself into this expected situation. And the pain and despair are up to par with what I expected. The pain comes and goes. It is triggered systematically by a photo. Also by some conversations. By a Hakuho victory or a penalty kick missed by Halfpenny. By insignificant things that send me back to very concrete moments. But the pain is (almost) easy to manage: crying works very well. It’s a feeling that I call “generous”: it’s not about me but about Lindsey. It’s clearly her complete and definitive absence which is painful, not because of what it causes in me but plainly because she is not here any more. To avoid the pain being too strong I have to tread with care: tidy up the house, to search in the cupboards demands a lot of peace of mind.
I still cannot read the blog nor the messages that have been posted. I received a few days ago a long letter from Isabelle, a friend of Lindsey from the Bordeaux days. I tried to read it but could not. The letter waited two days for me to read it…
Despair may be a bit strong. The correct term is “mourning”. This feeling is stranger because completely new – at least for me. It is not generous because in the loss of the other, if in pain the main actor is the other, in mourning it is yourself. It is your own suffering that makes you suffer!
And if grief is akin to despair, hope is a projection into the future. So quite inevitably despair is the absence or the disappearance of this projection. This lack of projection is of course due to the fact that all my projections were necessarily related to Lindsey. Without Lindsey there is no project left, so no hope. In France you say “As long as there is life there is hope”. What I did not understand up to now is that it is not only one’s own life that we are talking about …
Nevertheless do not worry too much when reading these lines.
Hopefully, hope can be recreated. Or rather, we can create a new one. That’s why I just bought a boat. This boat already 40 years old has changed its name and is now called Doro-San. In Japan we had a residence card. And the Japanese from the Kyoto administration assumed that Lindsey was named “Higuera Lindsey” and that her last name was “Dorothy” (which was actually her middle name). But since it was too long, they cut to Doro. And regularly addressed her with “san” behind (Madame Doro). But I drifted a bit (it’s normal because I was talking about boats). I forgot to talk about Alicante.
The ashes
Ten years ago we had climbed Puig Campana; that day we were Boris, Luisa, Jose, Lindsey and me. El Puig is a mountain overlooking Benidorm. But where Benidorm is an accumulation of people, the hinterland is very quiet and very few are the tourists who venture on the slopes of Puig.There are two ways to reach the summit. The one facing the sea is called “el kilometro vertical” and the name is explicit. The north track is much more reasonable. In 2008 we went up North and we went down again from the South. Lindsey had both loved the mountain – when one is up, it’s magical – and hated the descent. But she had announced that it was there that she wanted her ashes to rest. A few months ago she had confirmed this request. On the 10th of October we went to Alicante and on the 11th Vikki, Boris and I went up. Jose Oncina accompanied us and allowed us not to lose ourselves. We were lucky to have a beautiful day. After reaching the summit, we moved to an alternative, more discreet summit on which we scattered the ashes. The climb was tough. For the technicians, it is 1080m of elevation gain for a total of 15km of hiking. For those who might find themselves one day in Benidorm, the climb is worth it. And here are the exact GPS coordinates:38.597255, -0.193107.
Some months have passed and the pain has not decreased. When I am told that it takes time I nod my head … Yes … Yes …time. I hope Doro-San will give me the peace I need. That’s it. I am where I did not want to be … I started this letter as an answer to a request. I finish it as a therapy. The exercise is not unknown to me: this is of course what I have done for over two years with the blog.
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