I write this at a tiny port listening to small yacht masts chinking quietly in the breeze. It’s so peaceful.
It’s as if we’ve been holding our breath for many months now, repeatedly grabbing a bit of air before the next wave of crisis tumbles over us. I think that by coming on holiday we’ve both exhaled properly for the first time in a long time.
This is our first holiday officially with cancer. Of course it’s been stowing away for some years…
Apart from declaring it carefully for Eurotunnel travel insurance (see next post for a bit more info but please contact them for yourselves to check that they’re right for you) and printing information on the French health care system in case we needed it(we haven’t) we wouldn’t really know it was here. But it is. It’s on the sofa with us, in the car, in the supermarket as we try to work out the wine offers, in the sports shop as we wonder if we’ll live long enough to need more shorts, on the beach, in the water.
God’s love is also in all those places. But Husband can’t see it.
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