Today is the first anniversary of Mary's death. To me, it seems much longer ago. Years ago, somehow.
I think about Mary at some point most days. She'd been to Aber the weekend before, to visit John, and as usual had been sending me some entertaining texts. We had also just finished arranging a large party to celebrate John's 21st and Jamie's 18th birthdays, and had made it an excuse for the two of us to go off visiting suitable hotels and restaurants in the Oxford area to check them out.
A lot of my memories of Mary are of travelling, or, more specifically, driving. Often she'd drive and I'd navigate, if we were going anywhere unfamiliar. At home we both always had "stuff to do", so we tended to talk most in the car. Often just driving up and down to Cambridge, to see my parents and Chris and Jill, and stopping off at various favourite restaurants on the way back that we always used. And trips over to Aber together. Or just going out to pubs in the countryside near Winchester.
When the children were smaller, there were long journeys through France, and various trips to Cumbria and Lancashire, to Scotland, and to Cornwall. The children would sleep and we would talk and listen to music. And before we had children, the two of us drove around California together, and around Thailand. Certain records are always linked in my mind with certain places or journeys.
I also think of her in the choir, catching my eye from across the church, surrounded by her friends. I'm glad that we found that as a shared hobby when we did.
