Love, Unbroken
September 2024
It’s Tuesday, and I have travelled to Venice via Milan on an Italian adventure, not unlike the life-changing trip to Italy the kids and I took exactly two years ago. This time I’m travelling with my friend Kristine; our kids have grown up together, and her husband Dave is fending for himself for the month we are away. I seem to be drawn to Italy when my heart needs healing. It is a magical place.
Venice is everything I remembered her to be. I am sitting on the porte d’acqua platform of our hotel, All’ Angelo. According to our new friend and the hotel bar manager, Kateryna, one of the York princesses stayed here last month; it’s a beautiful hotel. All’ Angello is just a few minutes’ walk from St Mark’s Square. It’s serene and the perfect place to write this epilogue.
An almost clear, azure sky is reflecting on the canal stretching out in front of me. There is a strong canal smell offending my nostrils, but its tolerable because of the beauty around me. The canals are just waking; it’s early, although I imagine the workers have been on the water for a while already, making deliveries. A boat to the left of the platform I’m sitting on is laden with fresh produce and crates of alcohol. Another boat is taking and replacing large bags of linens, and another is on rubbish collection. All have three or four men aboard, chatting and sometimes yelling across the canal to each other.
It will be a little while before the first of many gondolas slides by with men in stripe shirts, black pants, and boat hats on. They ferry smiling tourists expertly through the narrow waterways all day long and into the night, cleverly using a single oar to navigate. Sometimes they will lazily push off weathered stucco walls of cream, beige, terracotta, pink, and burgundy, with their leg to make it around a tight corner. ‘Ole Sole Mio’ will be heard every now and again, sung acapella by a talented gondolier, if you’re lucky. Juliette balconies made of black iron are dotted around each wall, framing arched doors with white trim. Many of the doors and windows boast solid wood shutters in green and walnut, with rusted iron hinges. Some are open, giving a peak into the Venetian lifestyle. Others are closed. Nothing matches, but everything works in harmony. I feel like I’m looking at a spectacular 18th-century masterpiece. Then the water ripples, and I pinch myself. I am really here. It surprises me how much Venice feels like home to me.
It’s time to put pen to paper.
Between August 31st, 2017, and today, Sept 10, 2024, Tyz, Bades, and I have experienced a big life. And a happy one, given the circumstances; having said that, every good day will always be underpinned by the pain and sadness of Bren not being here to share it.
In the last seven years, the kids have learned to drive and finished high school. They had braces put on and removed and now have even better smiles. Bades has completed his cabinet-making apprenticeship, and Tyz is living in the city, three hours away, studying Media and Communications at University. They both enjoy a tight-knit group of friends and are all-around good and kind humans. In a couple of months, they will turn 21. I know their dad would be as proud of the people they have turned out to be as I am.
To answer a question, I’m often asked, no, I’m not dating and haven’t since losing Bren, but I’m not ruling it out either. I am lucky to have had a great love. Bren’s are big shoes to fill. My life is happy and full.
That said, a psychic friend told me back in 2022 many things she had no way of knowing (things I hadn’t even shared with my sisters), most notably that Bren was sending me someone. Even though I told him not to on our last day together. I trust his judgment; he knows my taste, and he also knows I am not an easy ‘yes’. This guy when he comes along will have to be at least a 2 in a million to get a look in; so, I’ll keep you posted.
What I have done in the years since my husband died is bought and flipped a cottage under the guidance of my interior decorator sister, Deb. And built a home and lifestyle business from scratch with Deb and our older sister Sue that we happily sold five years later, allowing us to spread our wings and move in different directions. Initially, I chose to travel. This year, in April, I opened a quaint little shop filled with books, vintage clothing, jewellery, and gifts. It is just up the road from my house, and it’s my dream job, making for a perfect retirement plan. Kalico is inspired by many of the gorgeous shops I visited in Italy.
Our extended family has grown with the addition of lots of new babies, friends, and partners over the years. We have also lost people we love, my mum Dolly included, who passed away two years and one day after Bren. From her hospital window on the second anniversary of Bren’s death, we could see the most beautiful, bright, double rainbow. Dad bent down and whispered to mum, ‘It’s OK, love, you go when you’re ready, we’re ok. Bren’s waiting for you.’ She left at 8:30 the next night. It was the first day of spring.
This year, I was devastated when my childhood friend passed away in June. Bin was fabulous to the end, and I am grateful to her family for allowing me to visit with her in her final days.
Tyz, Bades, and my hearts broke again in July when our beautiful boy Otis was diagnosed with cancer and passed in our arms just one week later. We spent the last week of Oti’s life with him, 24/7. Cuddling him, playing with him, and sleeping by his side. He was our best friend, our heart, and our greatest protector. We miss him every day. Four days after Oti passed away, Bren’s Mum passed unexpectedly. Our only solace being that Margaret and Oti are now with Bren, happy and free from pain and suffering.
What I have come to know in the years since losing my husband and so many others, is that life is short, and we have much to do, and I plan to do much. I am taking a leaf out of my Italian guidebook and embracing la dolce vita and dolce far niente as best I can. As I pass through, may life be sweet, and there be time to enjoy the sweetness of doing nothing, every so often.
To those who walked beside Bren, Bades, Tyz, Oti, and me through the most horrific time of our lives, thank you. There are no words for our immense gratitude for your kindness. You all have a piece of my heart.
To my dear readers, thank you for allowing me to share our story with you. I will leave you with a personal, spiritual principle that got me through Bren’s diagnosis, treatment, and finally, having to live without him. ‘Life is good, and hope is limitless.’ I have said this to myself a million times over the years. I believe it every bit as much today as the first time I said it. Holding on to hope and having the good fortune to be surrounded by love and kindness was my family’s saving Grace as we waded through the inconceivable. And it continues to be. May it be yours, too.
Thank you to my amazing husband, Bren, for constantly reminding me that life is good and hope is limitless. I am excited about my life and what’s in store, happy in the knowledge that Bren will always guide me in the right direction.
calliemm 
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