I arrived on Santorini Island broken. My body wrecked with the ravages of grief, living in grayscale. My mind doing the mental torture thing of replaying the events that had left me grieving the loss of my loved one. I knew not to let my mind run down rabbit holes, left to its own devices it replays the past and catastrophises the future in its survivalist function. I had the discipline to harness it, but I didn’t, the pain felt right, his loss should be felt on all plains because his life meant something, it was valuable and his presence and unfiltered ability to love, and be completely in the moment, touched everyone’s hearts who had the great pleasure of his company. He healed, he delighted, he made people laugh, and gasp at his unburdened joy when doing this favourite things like running fast down the beach and scattering seagulls with his joyful barks. He loved the beach so much. So do I.
Finding my small seafront hotel on Kamari Bay, I collected the keys and went upstairs to my room, immediately throwing open the balcony doors to let in the sea air and sound of the ocean. That’s how they stayed for the duration of my long weekend there. The bay has black volcanic sand across it’s expanse. The water calm, making a rhythmic push and pull, ebb and flow, no white caps. The peacefulness was occasionally disrupted by the impressive sight of another metal bird coming in for landing. I liked watching the planes fly in, remembering the budding excitement I’d felt seeing the island come into view as I’d landed. Even through the fog of my grief the sight of Santorini glistening all whitewashed and Aegean Sea. Intense ranges of blue from navy to cobalt and turquoise, the sun penetrating deeply through its low salt waters. I’d never seen seawater such deep shades of blue before.
The magic happened overnight mostly, after days spent sightseeing, and enjoying delicious meals of spicy feta, homemade herby pitta bread and salty black olives. Not to mention the happy discovery of Santorini homegrown wines like Assyrtiko, or “sea wine” a dry white that reflecting the islands volcanic minerality. Morning trips to the local’s favourite bakery up the mountain were rewarded with cups of rich coffee and dense sticky portokalopita cake dripping in syrup, its orange flavour complementing the great coffee, my mouth waters just thinking about it!
At night I’d fall heavily into sleep, lulled by the sound of the sea and its magnetic force. It pulled me deep into a world of active dreams, all in colour, but took me so far down into dream world that I was active and deeply resting all at the same time. When I woke I felt like I’d been whisked off to another world over night, I was groggy rousing, but my body, my heart, my soul felt lighter. The sea was doing its magic and lifting me out of grief, washing it away, pouring its ancient wisdom and healing into me, lovingly and without compromise. Tears flowed but joy returned to my heart, my boy not forgotten, not ever, but now I can celebrate his life, feel connected, and return to myself. Just how he taught me.
My new life at 50 