Four Hearts to Run

and a sea to hold us.

“We are entering a time of transition, when our very existence depends on a shift from material growth to spiritual growth.”

Professor Yoshinori Hiroi quoted by Beth Kempton in Kokoro.

TW - death by suicide.

This piece is part of my project ‘The Rejection Palace’. It’s a personal essay and will be edited to sit alongside one of yours in the anthology if you’d like to take part, the details are here.

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Four Hearts to Run

Deciding to read Beth Kempton’s newest book Kokoro on holiday was a beautiful and timely choice. 

Earlier in the week, I’d picked up a comedy novel by a popular author nestled in the book swap shelves. Easy holiday reading. 

When I returned and scanned the shelves there was nothing else. Shelves and shelves of true crime have never called to me in my life.  I’m not going to start now.

I’d read another three books I’d brought with me on the trip.

Whilst scanning the unfavourable choices hoping for a diamond in the dark (literally), I thought of my beautifully personalised version of Kokoro on the shelf back at home. I was mildly frustrated I’d forgotten to pick it up before I left.

I wasn’t sure if my kindle shop would work with the wifi but to my delight it connected and a version of Kokoro and all its gifts was instantly downloaded.

On page 5, Beth writes;

“I am gently blowing petals in your direction.”

And I instantly felt that.  I would be fine, held and present in the company of these words.

I dived in. Held by words from lands I’ve dreamt of but never visited in real time.

✨

That morning, we’d received word that a friend hadn’t returned home the night before.  A text message to his mum read he was on his way home; walking by the river.

There were two paths of consideration. My heart knew what my brain could not.  

Hope was fading and under the hot sun of the day we set to immerse ourselves in.

Passing time together as a family on the beach while search parties went out with head torches at home.

A few hours later, I arrived back to our hotel room first and boiled the kettle.  I pressed the home button on my husband’s phone.  Lots of noise and notifications but no news.

I made tea for us both.  I showered the sand from my feet and carried on reading Kokoro on the balcony.  The hottest part of the day was approaching, a slither of the sea kept me anchored.  We were here and he was lost there. 

Later that day the police put out a photo call on their Facebook page and sent a helicopter into the sky.  My friend was smiling.  The statement shared he was 44.  In 10 years, I’d never asked.

I recognised him and his teen spirit.  One that looked like possibility and freedom.  Showed the joy of being alive.   Like the many times he’d stood in our kitchen and shown me the same smile. 

I checked his Instagram account via my husbands phone.  The last photo posted of a mountain adventure I’d written in a comment below;

“miss you, come see us?”

My husband co-ordinated ideas for places he might have walked. On walk-about - crocodile dundee style - maybe that was it.  

To feel lost, to reset. 

The rest of the post is behind the paywall because of it’s sensitive nature. If you would like to read it, drop me an email and I’ll give you access no worries.

Ex military folk sometimes do that; disappear for days.

An extended boomerang.  To be alone, to understand, to ground.  It’s normal.  It’s how they cope.   

Some of the lads went out as the sun fell onto the roads they’d all run together years before.  Childhood friends and siblings checked the local woods. Lads running under moonlight mirrored the movements the sniffer dogs the police sent out.

Somber in tone, strong in heart but less efficient.  A needle in a haystack.

I didn’t know if I would sleep. 

We tried to decipher the complexities of whatsapp - one tick, two ticks - all grey no hope. 

We called again, it rang out.  Why does it ring if the phone is off?  What does it mean?

Dave set up to meditate as he does twice a day every day and I drifted off to dream land hoping to meet our friend there.

I woke up at 4.44  Ready for the day - ready for something.  Ready for less noise, more news.

As I drifted back off to sleep, I dreamt of different friends in the South.

They were there showing me all the ways to cross bridges over rivers that ran too fast. There were four. 

It felt dramatic and important. It felt like I didn’t know which one to cross because they all led to the same place.  It felt pointless but important. I sent them a teary message telling them I was thinking of them.  

All noise and no news but something felt different.

We went to breakfast and music played. 

The lyrics of Philadelphia by Bruce Springsteen bellowed around the breakfast room.  Dave and I caught eyes.  He asked why there were sad songs at breakfast. 

I wondered why it was so loud, the kids fought over a poppet toy.

I was bruised and battered
I couldn't tell what I felt
I was unrecognisable to myself
Saw my reflection in a window
And didn't know my own face
Oh brother are you gonna leave me wastin' away

My heart physically contracted, I tried to stay present with the kids. 

Hope was fading, I felt everything.    

I chose the same breakfast as my nine year old; waffles and chocolate sauce. One less decision to make.  I wasn’t hungry but I sliced banana with mine; for resilience.

We set up by sun loungers in a place that was quiet.  Neon coloured lilos and water pistols left behind by families.  The echo of their shrieks of fun somehow remained. Families who play by the rules and take their kids home on time for school.  I wish we’d done that. It didn’t feel the time to embody being a maverick.

I stayed a while, watched Dave talk on the phone, held our friend in my heart, washed sadness into azure, blue swimming pool water.

We would have heard by now. 

I walked down to the sea.  Strides by myself.  Past everyone lounging, relaxing, holidaying.  I thought about telling a stranger – what would I say? What are the words?

I needed to feel still and small. 

I stayed high and spoke in the only way I know how to our missing friend through my heart space.  Tears rolled down my cheeks… the first of many more to come that day.

On the way back, I paused to buy a leather bracelet for Dave from the pop up market. 

It was the colour of the sacral chakra (orange) with two silver beads; one for the brother we lost 11 years ago and one for the brother who didn’t come home.

I bought ice cream: two wrapped strawberry cornets for the kids.  In the queue mindlessly opened my email, one new email from Beth. 

I replied instantly breaking my own rule of no “work” on holiday and told her Kokoro was the most beautiful book I’d ever read.

I noted in my own mind;

“we get to have this day.”

Words precious in my heart from the book.  Words spoken in a comforting tone by her mother.  I took a deep breath.

I returned to Dave. 

I still hoped I was wrong.  I debated what parts to share but in the end I told him what I felt.

I repeated again; I just hope I’m wrong.

Moments later, the stark and short black and white message came through in the whatsapp group. 

Call off the searches, we were too late. 

Those words changed the trajectory of our whole life.   

The world around me was suddenly technicolour. 

Dazzling.

I was stood still and made of sepia tones within it so I could collapse.

The kids splashed and their shrieks of joy blurred into the void left by evaporated hope.

At home, darkness cascaded through late morning and confusion swirled, heads dropped down, hands raised up in prayer, all hope was lost.

Rest in Peace LSG.  We loved having you in our life.

Go gently pal, no more running now, just rest.

Until we all return. 

✨ 🕊️

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In the days that followed I focussed on ceremony connecting to 44 beautiful things for the 44 years of L’s life.

So that I might steady myself in beauty because within it there is love and overwhelming love is the medicine to everything.

44 Beautiful things

1.             Picked fallen tulips from the garden battered by wind x 3 red ones

2.             Saved a drowsy bee with sugar water from the laundry room

3.             Bought an assortment of super market flowers and arranged them in vases

4.             Listened to Philadelphia, cried and hugged my husband

5.             Bought pink iced jammy buns from M&S and honestly it was the first food to bring comfort. 

6.             Walked under cherry blossom trees with my mum and daughter.

7.             Dug the garden

8.             Read some pages of a new book

9.             Went for a sauna and closed my eyes

10.          Meditated on our lawn

11.          Lay a flower on our compost bin and said a prayer

12.          Wrote a poem

13.          Bought two bright pink t-shirts and one pink shirt

14.          Told my children I loved them

15.          Told my mum I loved her.

16.          Told my husband I loved him.

17.          Cried to my therapist and talked about loneliness

18.          Felt compelled to do more about loneliness

19.          Watched a sad documentary

20.          Made a book with zebras on the front

21.          Drove down country lanes faster than I should have to a musical soundtrack

22.          Walked and noticed the shadows and fallen blossom, the layers of it all.

23.          Met a friend at her allotment, took cake

24.          Met a friend for a coffee, looked in her eyes

25.          Watched John Butler deliver words on God and being present and meditation

26.          Gave away a moon stone ring

27.          Buried a crystal in the ground

28.          Planted seeds

29.          Planted flowers

30.          Moved soil from one part of the garden to another

31.          Wandered around and caught myself doing it

32.          Reached out to an old friend

33.          Wrote a letter

34.          Wrote this piece

35.          Accepted the invite of a zoom date with a new friend to talk about grief

36.          Received kindness and £10k from one of my commissioners to do work I’m excited about.

37.          Received love and warmth from the Northumberland sun

38.          Felt hope and possibility again

39.          Felt lost and sad again

40.          Felt angry

41.          Felt held

42.          Felt seen

43.          Listened to the words I wanted to say

44.          Slept in cool sheets in a room I have made my sanctuary