Chapter 11 #2
By the time I’m reading this page, I’ll be trekking in the Himalayas. The actual Himalayas. So I’m going to give Future Me a pep-talk to remind myself why I’m doing this …
Bronte, you don’t like heights, you’re not even that keen on walking and you’ve never trekked along mountain trails before.
So you were being a bit ambitious when you chose one of the most treacherous routes in the world for your first expedition.
But I’m so proud of you for doing it anyway.
It’s OK if you don’t love every minute of it, it’s OK if you have a little cry when your boots rub your heels.
You’re doing this to challenge yourself and push yourself beyond your limits.
And of course to see Mount Everest. It’ll look great on your CV, so Mum will approve once you’ve peeled her off the ceiling when she finds out about it.
And Harry is going to be so impressed. He didn’t actually come out and say it, but I think he doubted you’d go through with it.
Also, think ahead to when you’ve got teenage kids who think they’re cool and you’re an embarrassment.
You’ll be able to whip out the photos and say Now who’s the cool one?
There will be moments in these two weeks where you’ll freeze with fear.
(That trek on Day 9 from Gorak Shep looks horrific.) But I want you to remember that thing you read* about leaning into being scared.
That doing the thing that scares us the most is how we grow and learn.
And there’s that other phrase: failure is not an option.
No idea where I read that. But I don’t agree with that one.
Failing at things sometimes is healthy. Not that you’re going to totally fail, but I know you’ll beat yourself up if you have a bad day.
So remember this. Making mistakes, failing at stuff makes us more resilient.
It makes us pick ourselves up and have another go.
(Like when you learned to ride your bike.)
You’re going to ace this, Bronte, and you’re going to grow a lot on this trip.
I’m leaving some pages free now for you to journal in.
I’m not usually a journal type of person, but then I’m not a mountain explorer either and look at me go.
Write down your thoughts, so you can remember how you felt when you were on top of the world.
xoxoxo
*I didn’t read it anywhere. It was something Mum said when I came back after a bad driving lesson all shaky because I’d nearly crashed the car at a roundabout, and vowed never to get in the driver’s seat ever again.
She was right, of course. Good old Mum, so wise, always there with the right words at the right time.
She’ll be missing me by now. And I’ll be missing her.
Mum’s Gap Year
Darling girl,
I’ve reached those pages you left free in your itinerary for journaling, and I hope this is okay, but I’m going to write in them instead.
It is so bittersweet to read your travel itinerary.
I can even hear your voice when I read it.
I didn’t want to be the one doing this trip – it was yours.
I’d rather be at home, missing you, refreshing my emails every few minutes in case you’ve managed to find somewhere with internet.
Instead I’m here in Nepal wishing you could have seen the things which you have so beautifully illustrated and written about.
I put off looking inside the pages for months because I felt guilty, but I’m so glad I’ve done it now.
I feel like I’m learning little snippets of new things about you, how you feel and what’s important to you.
Although when you talk about the children you assumed you’d have, it breaks my heart all over again.
You’d have made a wonderful mum, and I would have spoiled my grandchildren rotten.
I feel a thrill of love every time you mention me, and so far, it has all been good.
I especially love the way you leave yourself positive messages.
I might start doing that myself. And now we know that I wasn’t as wise as you thought, that I don’t always say the right things at the right time.
I asked you to give it another week before committing to doing the gap year, to fully think it through.
But of course you’d already given it a lot of thought because that was the sort of person you were.
It was me who needed to get used to the idea, not you.
I’m still only in the first of the places you wanted to visit, but already I can see how much you’d have thrived and flourished doing this trip.
We use throwaway comments about how short life is and how we should grasp every opportunity to fill our time with joy.
But how many of us do that, purposely seek out a life filled with moments of happiness?
It touches my heart to see the other young people I’ve met express their personalities and lose their self-consciousness without the constriction of their lives back home, and I wonder how changed you would have been by the experience.
Okay, confession time. I’m supposed to be following your itinerary to the letter, and you know me, I do like to stick to the plan, but I’ve gone off-piste by coming to Chitwan rather than doing the Everest Base Camp trek.
I hope you understand why and you’re not disappointed in me.
It was my new friend Tiff’s idea, and – touch wood – it’s working out well.
You’d love Chitwan. I’m the oldest volunteer here, no surprise there, the others are kids.
Even Meena the boss is only thirty. They are boisterous and fun and never seem to get hangovers, unlike your lightweight mother.
When I first arrived, I thought I’d feel uncomfortable without anyone my own age.
Instead, I seem to have become the camp mum and I’m leaning into the role with pleasure.
Sometimes I remember with a jolt that I don’t have a daughter on this planet anymore.
I can be having a lovely day and then, wham, there it is.
Do you remember that ice bucket challenge and the shock of being drenched in cold water that leaves you gasping for air?
That’s the feeling I get. And I get it at least once a day.
There are other times when you’re so close by, I can sense your smile and feel the warmth of your love.
At those times I feel like the luckiest woman alive.
I’m getting emotional, so let’s talk about the One World project.
I’m more than halfway through my time here already.
It is flying by; I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt so busy.
The children start arriving while we’re still having breakfast. We see them jostling to be first through the gate, while their parents and carers stand and chat.
Some little ones are brought by older siblings, who abandon them as soon as they arrive.
But everyone looks out for each other, so it’s not a problem.
There’s no free nursery care here, which was why Tiff and her partner set up this charity project: to help parents get back to work.
There are four groups of children and a qualified nursery worker in each one.
The volunteers act like extra pairs of hands.
We each have a buddy. Mine is Colin, who is great fun and a real sweetie.
He has fallen for the eldest sister of one of the children and always makes sure he’s at the gate when she arrives.
He and I like working with the older kids best. They adore him and hang off him like monkeys, climbing up his legs.
They have a quieter relationship with me, bringing me flowers, taking me to see things they’ve found, or scrabbling onto my lap if they’ve hurt themselves or they’re feeling sad.
When that happens, I read them a story to cheer them up.
Before long I have a little gang leaning in to listen.
You used to do that, do you remember? Bath, bed and as many books as you could persuade me to read. You knew all the words to How Much Do I Love You? and you insisted on looking at every detail of the illustrations before I was allowed to turn the page.
I shouldn’t have favourites, but there’s one boy who melts my heart, called Hom.
He’s a shy little thing, with the most beautiful brown eyes and lashes.
He brings me a gift every day. Sometimes a marigold, sometimes a leaf, or a shell.
He took my hand and brought me to meet his mum yesterday.
She can’t be much older than you and she is clearly a devoted mother.
Meena told me that she lives with her father, who is very strict and does not want her to go to work and thinks she should stay at home to look after him.
It makes me realise how lucky I am to have grown up in a country where I had the choice of what to do with my life.
I chose to have you and I’d choose you every time.
Today is Sunday and the other volunteers have gone on a trip to the national park.
There’s a trip most weekends, so the kids see as much of their host country as possible.
I also think it’s because Meena and the rest of the staff need a break from their exuberance and noise for a day or two.
They were picked up in an open-sided jeep after breakfast and headed off for a safari and won’t be back until this evening.
I’ve stayed behind, not only because I heard they have tigers here, but because there’s a market in the village this afternoon.
It’s run by a women’s empowerment project (something you had on your list to visit!) and everything on sale has been made by local women.
I’ve promised Meena I’ll go and have a look.
Her sister makes tablecloths and I know I’ll want to buy one.
Meena is an inspirational woman. She has so many plans for the One World project. She wants to start running English classes for teens and reading classes for women. She has such a passion for improving the lives of the people in her community; I’ve no doubt she’ll succeed.
Seeing her run this project has made me really think about my relationship with work.
I’ve only been gone from ShopSwift for a few days, but Anna is feeling my absence.
It has been a real boost to my confidence to know that I’m needed by someone now that you’re no longer here.
Do you remember us joking that you’d always need me even when you were seventy, that you’d still be phoning to ask how to get grass stains out of your socks.
Without you, I’ve been relying on work to fill that sense of feeling needed.
My job has always been a route to financial security for you and me, but it has never been a passion like it is for Meena.
And being dependent on work isn’t a healthy way to live, is it?
I’m beginning to think that I’m going to have to find something more to pour my love into.
Because a job is never going to love me back.
I must go, but I need to tell you about the kittens.
The camp cat, Bob, has become the most dedicated mother to her five kittens.
Naomi and Izzy made them a proper home in one of the sheds, so we were able to move them out from under my bed.
They are tiny, and haven’t opened their eyes yet and Bob has barely moved from their side.
One of the kittens wasn’t doing well and couldn’t latch on, so I risked getting in close and helping it out.
I thought Bob would rip my hands to shreds but she closed her eyes and laid her head back down.
Poor thing is exhausted. I remember those early days of motherhood and I only had one baby!
Being with the cat family takes me right back to the day I met your dad.
Except on that occasion, it was puppies rather than kittens.
Anyway, you know the story, and you’ve read my diary.
But I wanted you to know that the memories I have of him are still with me. They always will be.
I’m sitting in the yard beside the children’s play area in the sun right now.
Kat says it’s been snowing at home – and here I am in a T-shirt with factor fifty on my face.
It’s been a while since I’ve considered myself the lucky one, but today is coming close.
Meena is waving to me from a window, which I think means it’s time to head into the village.
I must remember what you said about not going wild when I go shopping.
I love you, darling, you’ll always be my baby, even if we can’t be together. I was worried that my memories of our life together would fade, but they get brighter every day. Thank you, sweet girl, for sending me this trip. I’d never have had the courage if it hadn’t been for you.
Love
Mum xxx