Mark’s mother died in the early hours of today. I can’t quite believe it; we all knew it was coming but nothing really can communicate the sense of shock or loss that marks her passing. I can’t believe that she isn’t in Weymouth; that her house doesn’t have her inside it, that Mark is driving to his family home to find his Mum isn’t there. It is very sad.

I had a massive affinity with Ruth; we both found John Diamond’s book Snake Oil and other Preoccupations especially helpful in its thoroughly sensible approach to illness and alternative medicine. We talked frankly about illness, steroids and suchlike and she was quick to welcome me warmly into the family. She saw right past the crazy knitting projects, the relentless green clothes, the perpetual student status and general artist-ness to the strong stuff of love and decided I was OK by her. She was a pantheon of sense, self-sufficiency and organisation and much of what I love in Mark comes from her.

Over the last few days I’ve driven along the A4074 about 11 times; this morning I realised that my frequent trips along it will soon come to an end as I busy myself with building a life in Reading. I cried a lot driving back to Oxford this morning for the final bits of packing.

…and so two big things end at once today; two years in Oxford for me and a long journey with Cancer for Ruth. The two things of course are not comparable, but I will remember them combined in the memory of grey, cold light on the road this morning and in the sense of final journeys that filled the driving.