Sixty in Athens

For Mum's sixtieth we headed to Athens, and for part of the trip her old friend Emily joined us, having never been before. She and Mum did some of the more touristy things while I worked from home and caught up with old school friends around town. It was lovely having Emily there, a familiar face from a different chapter of Mum's life.

For her actual birthday we had planned to take her skiing, something she really wanted to do one more time. There was a real determination in it, a sense of just once more before closing that chapter. We booked everything. But the reality was different. She is really struggling with food at the moment and is very tired, and the cold mountain air, the altitude, the physical strain of the slopes just simply is not safe. And that is the hard truth of it.

There is something deeply painful about recognising when a last time has already happened without you knowing it was the last. Letting go of that image of her on skis, carving through snow, is not easy. But staying in Athens, keeping her warm, steady and supported, is the right choice. Sometimes strength is accepting the body's limits even when the heart wants one more run down the mountain.

What makes it all feel heavier is that back in 2019 she mentioned maybe going to Venice for her sixtieth. I remember saying you never know what could happen, let's just go now. And we did, though I ended up not going myself due to an eye injury a few days before, so Isabella and Mum went on their own. At the time it felt spontaneous, maybe even slightly dramatic, the whole seize the moment mentality. Now it feels strangely prescient. It is unsettling how quickly circumstances can shift. There is something sobering about realising that later is not guaranteed.