The coastline of the Cap de Creus Natural Park on the Costa Brava in Catalonia, Spain, 10 May 2022.

‘I’m stranded’, Van Morrison sang through the loudspeakers in the hotel reception area, ‘At the edge of the world. It’s a world I don’t know. Got nowhere to go. Feels like I’m stranded…between that old devil and the deep blue sea’. Shortly after listening to the uplifting sound of my favourite musician, I set off on the coast of the Costa Brava to hike from the Punta de l’Almadrava to Cala Montjoi.

In the blazing sunshine and sweltering heat I walked on a clifftop path past impressive cacti through Mediterranean scrubland and pine trees above the turquoise sea, which splashed lightly against the dramatic rock formations of the coastline. The arid scrubland was interspersed with clumps of pink and white flowers along with bushes of bright yellow flowers, and the path led past military fortifications to the rugged, spectacular Punta Falconera which gave me a sweeping view of the southern Costa Brava and of a black silhouette of what looked like mountains rising out of the sea under a strip of lustrous white clouds. From the Punta Falconera the undulating path continued around rocky cliffs past pretty, secluded coves with views of the grand Cap Norfeu across Montjoi bay and Puig Alt, the highest mountain in the Cap de Creus ahead, towering above the other hills of this wild natural park.

Today I had somewhere to go but I recalled that day in July 2013 when fateful news had been hesitantly delivered, followed by a hurtful dismissal and an unconvincing declaration that ‘life will go on’. I have frequently felt hopelessly stranded since then, at the edge of the world — a world I don’t know. The fact that the outcome of that news was even uglier than first feared is not OK, and it will never be OK. However, today I was OK. I would have struggled to believe that, despite never-ending grief, there would be a day when I would stroll along the shore feeling buoyed by the delights shared with my Mum the previous day — spontaneous sangria at lunchtime, a hazardous, hilarious ride up a mountain on a trailer attached to a huge tractor, and a swim in the waves of the bay of Roses in the gentle evening sunshine.

Embracing the beauty of life on the Costa Brava in May 2022, my focus was on the parent whose life continues rather than on the one who is missing. My Dad’s statement was correct — life would go on. There would be a day when, as Van Morrison sings, ‘everything falls into place like the flick of a switch’. As I walked along a magnificent stretch of the Camí de Ronda trail a refreshing breeze blew when I was attempting to recover from a strenuous climb, a couple of well-equipped hikers appeared just when I had lost the trail (between us we managed to find the right path!), a friendly group passed me when I was trying to steel myself to take a particularly narrow, vertiginous path downwards and, as I cautiously took a slippery, steep path above a jagged cove, I was calmed by the sound of laughter and conviviality emanating from a yacht moored below knowing that, if I needed help, there were happy-sounding human beings just one shout away!

During that hike on the Costa Brava I was acutely aware of the risks of my activity, yet able to fully face them with more hope than fear. I welcomed the enjoyment of being completely in the present, and of a day when the only noise in my head was the melodic sound of waves lapping against the rocky coastline. There was no devil that day, just the deep blue sea.

Van Morrison sings ‘there’ll be days like this…when you don’t need to worry…when no one’s in a hurry…when you don’t get betrayed…when you don’t need an answer…’, without ‘tricks’ or ‘freeloaders’. ‘When no one steps on my dreams’ and ‘when people understand what I mean’ I feel contented. That day on the Costa Brava I did manage to ‘ring out the changes of how everything is’. Van Morrison is right — ‘there’ll be days like this’ and hopefully, over time and as healing continues, I will have more and more of them!