The captain is announcing our decent into Bergerac. A forecast of bright sun, current temperature of 20 degrees. Sounds of oohs, yeahs and laughter filled the cabin. This excitable energy snapped me to the present moment. I had been lost in the back of a young man’s head- the crown, the direction of the hairs, the length, the way the hairs fall- just like Jason’s. Hard to pull my eyes away-nothing else of this man-just this little part of the back of his head. Activity in the plane commands my attention. Looking out of the window, everything is so green, lots of rows everywhere. These must be the vineyards. I get a jolt, my god here I am flying into France. How did I get to here? This moment. This place. I don’t even speak French! Yet right now I do not feel one drop of fear, anxiety. I feel protected somehow. Not alone. Hard to explain as these are all new feelings and experiences for me. One feeling for sure is this secure feeling of being carried to this place. Not sure what this is all about. Maybe this is all part of the psyche’s self protective response to such trauma and loss.

Disembarking the plane, stepping out of the rear door, a blast of heat assaults me. Walking across the tarmac towards the terminal the colour green is everywhere. Everything appearing so lush. It is very warm! I am sweating. I had no idea it was like this. Geez I shouldn’t have worn these high boots. As I walk across the tarmac herded by the mass of people I fall in at their marching pace. Several people ahead of me start waving and yelling something in French. I see waves being returned by some people in a group peering through the wire fence over by the terminal. I wonder if the homeowner is at the fence. I don’t even know what she looks like. Wilting with the heat I urgently try to yank off my heavy winter coat all the while still marching along – now with some conviction in case she is watching. My knapsack and purse fall off my shoulder and swing down around my arm getting caught up in my half removed coat. Of course this draws attention to me as the marching flow of fellow passengers is disrupted, parting to go around me as I stop to sort out my entanglement. My luck she probably is watching. Just when I want to project an image of calm, cool and collected I look unravelled, disorganized, never mind a bright red face with perspiration running down it.

It is a strange concept flying into a unknown place being picked up by a complete stranger. Never mind in a foreign country. Had someone said to me six months ago as I wriggled around on my floor that this is where I would be one day I would have said impossible, inconceivable. It feels like only yesterday that this house sit came about. Just 6 weeks ago I was sitting in my bedroom on my farm in Canada gazing into my computer screen, hoping to find a housesit, something that would carry me well through December and into January. I typed in my search, checking off the box for 6 weeks or more. I didn’t care what country or what animals or what place I had to take care of. I just knew I couldn’t return to my home in Canada once my Irish housesit was finished in November. I needed to stay away particularly over the Christmas period. There was no way that I could go through again what ever that was last year. I needed to be somewhere where nothing was familiar. This will give me the best chance.

The previous Christmas landed two days after the first anniversary of Jason’s death. The whole time was unbearable. I wanted to hide, disappear. I didn’t know what to do, how to do it. Jason’s death and Christmas had become one. An added turmoil with various expectations of me to be normal, for Christmas to be somewhat normal. Falling victim to the comment something is wrong with you. That is until the day I crossed paths with a brave inspirational woman. Her son had died. My heart felt like it twisted upon hearing her words. He was a similar age. An illness. Her worry, her sadness always there. It was the first time that I had heard anyone speak the words that I was feeling. She described how all she wanted to do was to go into the middle of the woods, stay in a small cabin with snow pushed up high all around it- gesturing this with her hands. Just her. All alone. Nobody could get to her. This was exactly me. It really impacted me as she had an abundance of support – a very strong marriage, a supportive loving extended family unlike me but yet she still felt this way. I knew what she was feeling, talking about. It was a profound moment with her. Somehow this validated my sanity. I was not the only one feeling this way. As I sat there beside her the whole rest of the world fell away it was just her and me. The empathy for one another flowed freely in and out, back and forth,between two souls connected by the death of our sons.

The search presented a farm of 16 animals in rural SW France for a 10 week stay. Five llamas, one disabled vietnamese pot bellied pig, one goat, two sheep, two horses, a donkey, two dogs, two cats. Not fazed by that at all and with the support of my daughters I sent an application to the owner. Now, here I was, wondering which woman is her. Of course she is probably doing the same except she has an advantage. I told her I am the redhead with the red suitcase. Chances are, here in Bergerac I am the only one with that description…in Ireland maybe not.