Chapter 7
Nepal
Tiff had two hours before she had to head to the airport and catch her flight home. We quickly worked out an itinerary for me to see as much of Bronte’s list as possible and checked that Lila was happy to drive.
I liked Tiff. She was brash and forthright and served her opinions with a side of sarcasm, but she had a big heart and a Why not? attitude that was starting to rub off on me.
Our first stop was at one of the most sparsely stocked supermarkets I’d ever been to.
I bought paper and pencils, paints, stickers, anything I thought young children would like.
When I came to pay, it was such a small amount that I went back and loaded up with more until Tiff reminded me that I’d have to carry all this stuff with me.
We piled it into Lila’s minibus, and while he drove us out of town to the Boudhanath Stupa she began to tell me about her love affair with Nepal. And I listened without interruption, my own thoughts intertwining with hers.
‘My first trip was in 2014. I’m from New Jersey originally. The mountains and valleys and rivers and ancient temples, phew !’ – she mimed her brain exploding – ‘blew me away. We talk about something being old in the US if it reaches a hundred years. People drive cars older than that here.’
‘I’d noticed.’ I nodded at the hole in the floor of the minibus and we both smiled.
‘But the best thing was the instinctive trust people had in each other. We were invited into homes to drink tea with the family, treated like special guests. We never do that at home, we’re suspicious if someone even phones us unexpectedly.’
I had a sudden flashback to the time a few months ago when my friend Sadie knocked on my door and I hid in my bedroom until she’d gone.
She must have known I was in. The lights were on, and my car was parked outside.
The relief I felt, when she’d given up and left, had me sweating and shaking!
I knew she was there because she cared, but I wasn’t ready to be cared for.
I realised now that I’d been wearing a suit of armour since Bronte died, scared that if I lifted the faceguard all my emotions would pour out and I’d never be able to scoop them back in again.
‘So anyhow, there I was, on holiday with my husband, soaking up the culture, buying up all the prayer flags and pashminas and elephant trinkets I can fit in my bag. I wasn’t naive; I could see that there was poverty and lack of healthcare and stuff, so I knew it wasn’t a cakewalk for the Nepalese.
But there was a spirituality which ran through the lifestyle which I’d never experienced before and that appealed to me.
When we got back to the US, my husband chalked it up as been there, done that, what’s next?
But I wasn’t ready to let it go, I felt connected.
And then the earthquake struck here in 2015. ’
I remembered the news coverage at the time, the displaced families, children left orphaned, parents missing presumed dead, the devastation to the country’s basic infrastructure.
‘I saw it on TV. Bronte was old enough to understand the news and I remember trying to shield her from the images of crying children.’
Seeing the loss and the suffering had made me hold Bronte even closer than usual. I was always like that when stories of child abuse or murder hit the headlines, desperate to know my own child was safe from harm.
Tiff shuddered. ‘It was the plight of the kids that did it for me too. The timing of the earthquake coincided with us finding out we couldn’t have babies.
Or more accurately that I couldn’t have babies.
He was very reassuring, it didn’t matter, we had each other, we could have a family another way yada, yada, yada.
But as my dreams of a family were crushed, I felt my sole purpose in life had gone. ’
She looked out of the window and cleared her throat.
We were the same, I thought. Different circumstances but the same.
The various facets of our lives: family, work, love, home overlapping smoothly like tectonic plates to create a life we took for granted.
And all it took was for a fault line to appear and the whole thing – and life as we knew it – exploded. It had happened to both of us.
‘You had your own personal earthquake back then,’ I murmured. ‘I’m still in the aftershock of mine.’
‘On the TV, I saw news reports of people who needed help, kids facing a hopeless future. And I knew I had to be there.’
‘That is such a selfless attitude. When Bronte died, I shut myself off,’ I told her.
‘Some parents who lose their kids launch awareness campaigns to prevent stuff like that happening again. Not me. I split my time between binge watching Game of Thrones and working even longer hours than I’d done before. ’
She smiled. ‘It wasn’t selfless. I think at the start I probably thought that being with people who were having an even shittier time than me would make me feel better about my life.
In the end it was a lesson in endurance and acceptance.
With my husband’s blessing, I quit my job and flew out to volunteer here for three months.
The experience nearly killed me, but it healed me too.
It made me appreciate what I did have instead of focusing on what I didn’t. ’
I let her words sit with me for a moment. Was it too much to hope that this trip of Bronte’s would heal me too? I felt my eyes sting and blinked quickly to stop the tears.
‘So it helped?’ I asked.
‘For a while. But by the time I got home he’d met someone else. And I crumbled all over again.’
‘Oh Tiff.’ I almost reached for her hand, but changed my mind.
Physical acts of sympathy were always the ones to tip me over the edge. A hug, a squeeze, a pat on the arm and I was a goner. Something told me Tiff liked to keep a public veneer of toughness over her feelings. Like me.
‘They say you don’t miss what you never had. Not true at all. I missed the children I’d assumed I’d have running around my yard. I missed the family I never got to clear up after, the weekends at Little League and the homework projects I’d never tear my hair out over.’
‘I get it,’ I said, nodding. ‘I feel the same about losing my daughter. I can’t stop grieving for the things she hadn’t achieved yet, plus all the milestones I’d thought would happen someday, being a grandmother, a mother-in-law, those sorts of things.’
Tiff exhaled. ‘Oh Maggie, that’s tough. It’s a double loss, isn’t it? Like my husband swapping me for a woman who could give him what I’d wanted to give him. My first thought was to adopt an orphan from Nepal, then I thought that instead of helping one kid, I could help lots.’
‘And you did it?’ I marvelled, completely in awe of her resilience. ‘You’re very inspiring, Tiff.’
She chuckled. ‘I have my moments.’
The minibus came to a stop.
‘Mam?’ Lila turned and gave us his toothless grin. ‘Entrance to Boudhanath, through there.’
He pointed towards a grand archway between the buildings.
‘We’ll pick you up in an hour,’ said Tiff, sliding open the door for me.
I climbed out and waved them off and, taking Bronte’s gap-year book from my bag, I’d let her be my guide.
Bronte’s Gap Year
The Boudhanath Stupa!!
I’m not one for bothering with tourist traps but I’ve seen this come up so much on TikTok that I know I’ve got to see it.
It’s meant to be very spiritual. It’s basically a massive monument said to house the remains of Buddha and people walk clockwise around the perimeter all day long, either praying or taking it all in.
The huge white building in the centre looks like a mandala from up above and there are gold bits too.
It probably cost millions to build and it’s centuries old.
There’s a place high up where you can get drinks and if it’s not packed, I’ll go up and take photos, do a bit of people watching.
See if I can spot any good-looking Buddhist monks.
Top three things to get pictures of: the prayer flags which are strung right up to the spire at the top, the gold tower with the painting of the all-seeing eyes and the spinning prayer wheels.
There’s a mantra that people chant while they’re walking round: Om mani padne hom . I looked this up. It literally means praise to the jewel in the lotus. But really it’s about trying to find the Buddha in ourselves.
I can’t believe I’m writing this down, but I’ve been wanting to explore my spiritual side recently. We’re not a religious family, so I haven’t been brought up with the rituals of the church.
I asked Mum once what she believed in and she said love, taking care of others and saving ten per cent of what you earn for a rainy day.
I agree with those (although she has the saddest love life known to humanity), but I’d like to think there was something bigger than us out there, someone with a master plan making sure we don’t do anything stupid like blow up the entire planet to win an argument.
Maybe I’ll become a Buddhist. At least I’d get to be reincarnated and live forever. I’d like that, as long as Harry joins me. Or maybe I’ll light a candle while I’m there and send loving thoughts to my mum who’ll be missing me. I might light one for my dad too. I wonder what he believes in.