When we got the opportunity to go to Japan it was out of the blue, and with 3 weeks notice. It wasn’t on our radar so some quick research ensued before a slightly frantic internet search to book flights, internal travel and accommodation.

Our hastily constructed plan saw us take in Tokyo, Himeji, Hiroshima, Kobe and Kyoto, with a variety of transport between them. We wanted to go on the bullet train (Shinkansen) and experience the crazy metropolis of Tokyo as well as see castles, temples and gardens. All of this we managed; we saw amazing things, experienced more than we expected, from octopus on a stick to cherry blossom and torii gates. As with any trip, we took lots of pictures, both to enable us to remember and to show others. I made sure I captured the lakes, the pagodas and the peony’s, ready to show my Mum on my return.

More posts will need to be written about the frantic selling at Tsukiji Fish Market, about the peace and sense of forgiveness at Hiroshima Peace Park, all of which were extraordinary experiences. But for me, my strongest and most overwhelming memory is sitting in a Starbucks in Kyoto (chosen for the WiFi rather than the coffee) waiting for my sister to ring me to tell me that my Mum had advanced, terminal liver cancer.

I had noticed a few days prior that my Mum had stopped commenting on my Facebook posts; I always tried to put a few photos up each day so that she could see what we were up to and share in the experience,  she always responded without fail. I knew that she had been to the GP and that she hadn’t felt well for a while, but nothing had prepared me for the news that she had terminal cancer. At only 62 years old (and with her Father still with us at 93 years old) her being seriously ill just wasn’t on my radar.

The remaining two days of our trip passed in a blur as I attempted to comprehend what I had been told. We explored more of Kyoto before returning to Kobe for our flight home, I have the photos, but little memory of what we saw.

As we already had a connecting flight through London, getting a coach out to where my parents lived was easy enough. I arrived to my childhood home late on the Sunday night to find everyone still in shock; she died the following Sunday. She was peaceful, she wasn’t scared or worried about where she was going, she knew she was going to be with Jesus.

As I’m writing this, it is exactly six months since she died, there are nights when I still dream about her and wake up only to remember what happened. There are days were I think ‘I must tell her about…’ only to remember that she is no longer here to tell. There are times when I can manage, followed by times when I feel I’m only just holding on.

As for the blog; I felt like I couldn’t write about our trip, that as I couldn’t share all the things that we had seen with her, so I couldn’t share them with anyone. I felt that I didn’t want to ignore what has happened as it is so tied up with our experience of Japan, the two will always be connected in my brain and so I didn’t know how to start.

Whilst this blog may be a somewhat clumsy attempt to explain any six months of silence, it is at least a starting point. My Mum may have thought we were crazy for some of the places we went but she patiently listened to our stories, liked our photos and encouraged our sense of adventure. We will continue to have adventures, to explore new places and try out new things; regardless of which, I will miss her always.