What a strange few days. We knew it would be disorienting and somewhat unreal to be without a home of our own. The idea was to land, get settled, do the admin stuff about moving back to uk and then start talking to mortgage brokers and other financial advisers, our gorgeous French home being worth less than the average rabbit hutch in SE England.
In the meantime there is the continual unspoken question of 'how long.' A mortgage is now out of the question as I couldn't possibly afford it. But will my husband be well enough for long enough to choose and buy a property or should we just rent? But then the rental market is so difficult - and another unspoken thought- if chemotherapy is going to be tough where do we want to be living during it?
To escape this rabbit hole we treated ourselves to a day out on Saturday. We'd both found ourselves wide awake and panicky, tearful in the small hours so having decided to be sensible we also decided to go for a long walk around our old haunts in North London. It was a fabulous day and made even more memorable by a nip into the National Portrait Gallery to see the Silent Witness exhibition- paintings of family members bereaved by the Troubles in Northern Ireland. Somehow the stark emotion on display acted as a conduit for our own feelings and we felt closer both to each other and humanity.
since then we've been much calmer. My husband has secured a gp and appointment this week so on we go...
