To me this feels like the safest place in the world, cocooned in a nest of picturesque beauty. Where it feels like the sun shines all the time, even through the rain.
My heart belongs to Cornwall. When I am here I dream of an age when I can make the move permanently. I see myself in a tiny cottage, windows flung open in summer, a fire raging in the hearth in winter. The sound of the sea singing through the beams. And me, an older lady, hair turning into grey, with kids long since flown the nest. My walls covered by books, a new age typewriter at the table, books I want to write finally making it onto pages.
My future looks ideallic.
But the here and now feels pretty good too. The sand of Crantock beach feels good between my toes, the wind whips round me playfully with the sun caressing me gently on my back.
The kids play, content, long days of exploring crabbing pools, building sandcastles and surfing the waves delight them. In the evening they relish all that our healing sanctuary, Trevella, has to offer. Meeting friends in the park, exchanging hoots with the resident owls, enjoying a spot of crazy golf before tea.
I’m a sole parent on this trip, I thought I may be lonely, I worried I wouldn’t cope. I have already surprised myself. I have played catch a hundred times and not got bored, snatched moments to read when the children tire. I am the reigning champ of Uno. We have even done CrossFit on the sand, burpees are almost pleasant with a softer landing.
My children are excellent company, I feel privileged by their presence. They are wild in the emotions, quick to anger, even quicker to forget. Their generosity with hugs and ‘love yous’ has been in abundance this week.
We are all having fun.
I said goodbye this week to a lady I loved tremendously. A woman who inspired me and most recently reminded me that I can be stronger than I think because of the family I come from.
When I feel the need to speak to a grown up, I chat to her on the beach, with the sea lapping at our toes. She reminds me I can do this, I can be mum, worker, crps champion, diabetic manager superstar. Through her memory I have standards that suddenly don’t seem so hard to attain. And I feel empowered through a mixture of joy, tainted with grief.
As we chat on the sand, she points out with a laugh that talking to myself is a first sign of going daft.
Sometimes being a bit daft can help you survive all that life can test you with.
This life is all we get, one shot, one chance to make the best of it. Back in the land I love, I feel myself rebuilding, knitting back together, asserting plans for a different future. Me and my children.
I am ready for a new tomorrow, and all the adventures it will bring.
Everyone needs a Trevella in their life, I can highly recommend mine.