1 week down... 50-ish to go

So here we are, the end of the first week back at work and the start of the next. I'm not thinking about how long I have to wait until next Christmas... honest!

Anyway, it was while brewing up a pan of soup (actual real soup, not the metaphysical stuff), specifically while I was peeling carrots, that my mind wandered back to my college days. Back in 97-98 I spent nine months studying Stage Management at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. It is probably one of the defining periods in my life so far and will probably remain so.

The first half of the term was one the most awesome things I have done to date. I was off on my own, throughly enjoying the course (well, except for Theatre History which was totally yawn-worthy... although the tutor was VERY dishy), and full of the possibilities of the future. I had somehow managed to surround myself with great people - in cyber-life and real-life - and was getting to know my future husband. It was hard work and there were times when, I think, we all questioned why we were there and not off doing something normal and mundane, but everyday I was buzzing. I was truly happy.

It's funny how life sometimes likes to slam you down when you find a moment of perfection.

Just after half term - literally half way through the course - my brother died very suddenly. I'll never forget the moment when Mum told me. It was like the universe had broken into a million tiny pieces and there was... just nothing. That moment was a pivot point as my life: It had been trundling along quite happily, minding its own business and without warning turned a sharp 90 degree angle and seemed to career off in a totally different direction, completely beyond my control. The rest of the first year at the R.S.A.M.D. was filled with tears and a constant burden in my heart. There were good times, yes, but it was like living in the shadow of a giant tree: Occasionally the sunlight broke through the canopy, but it was always a fleeting moment, lasting only seconds, minutes, days or weeks and the shadow was always waiting on the other side.

It took me years to recover control - working away from home at QVC was part of that regained control, proving to myself that I wasn't dependant on family or friends, like taking those first tentative steps after being in traction for months - but now I can look back on that year and the recovery that followed and actually treasure it. There's a piece of my heart where my brother lives and where I keep that broken year in a little gilded box. It's part of who I am and, as long as I am happy with the person I have become, I can look back on that painful chapter of my life with a degree of fondness. As with many of the problems we face in our lives, it was important for growth and learning. It taught me the fragility of life and how to hold everyone I love as precious. It also taught me that the future is what it is. Occasionally there will be stuff that is beyond my control, but that's OK, because what's around that 90 degree corner might be difficult or painful for a while, but the tree cover will eventually end and one day you'll turn around and realise you've been in the sunlight for quite some time.

What interests me the most in all this, is how, when I look back, my memory views that period so many different ways. I can look back and see the nine months at the R.S.A.M.D. as a single experience, other times I will look back through time's telescope and focus on the happiness and variety and experiences of the first few months, while other times will bring back, sometimes with sharp clarity, the tough second half of the year. At the same time, I look back over other things that happened in the same period - dating my husband, spending time with friends, movies that I saw and enjoyed, music and books that I heard or read at the time - and they are sometimes entirely separate and sometimes woven into the fabric of that year as if they could never be plucked loose.

But anyway, my soup is done now. Time to go turn off the heat!