2024: A Year of Trials and Miracles

As someone has said, sometimes our greatest achievement of the year is simply surviving it. Indeed, 2024 was truly an annus horribilis — a profoundly challenging year for me, filled with grief and loss (both my father and husband, within a few short months of each other), and the unexpected, unwelcome adjustments these have incurred. In the wider world, it’s been one disaster after another: record flooding in Europe, the US and elsewhere; the ‘hottest year on record’ [again!]; notable species decline, particularly insects/butterflies, bringing us ever-closer to a ‘silent spring’; the horrific wars in Russia–Ukraine and the Israel–Hamas conflict, with Jerusalem becoming ‘a cup of reeling to the nations’ (Zechariah 12:2); and Trump’s supposed election win, with all the evil that portends (not to mention a mostly useless UK Labour government thus far).

Yet looking back over the year, I see many underlying themes of grace and comfort — not to mention several timely bona-fide miracles — amid what was undoubtedly the hardest year of my life. Even if my only achievement of 2024 has been surviving it despite everything, I have not lost my faith, my joy, my hope nor my desire to carry on. And for that I do sincerely thank God and others walking by my side in times I’ve felt most alone.

The year began with a brief (one-week), last-minute TUI holiday to the island of La Palma in the Canary Islands. I had always wanted to go to the Canaries; seeing the amazing, primordial rainforest and lunar-looking volcanic terrain of La Gomera featured in Chris Packham’s BBC ‘Earth’ series had accelerated that desire. Besides, I felt I needed some winter sun. Although I had hoped to go to Charleston for my dad’s birthday (six days before Christmas), my mum had urged us to delay visiting until May. Some part of me also sensed we needed a ‘romantic’ trip away, just in case our plans of celebrating our 25-year anniversary revisiting our honeymoon in the Amalfi Coast did not work out. This turned out to be prescient, as we did not know then that Roland already had stage IV lung cancer and would not survive to reach our 25^th.

While I now know why the romantic break didn’t quite happen, at the time I was very hurt and upset that Roland seemed too tired and/or unwilling to do much with me, not even go for short walks or swim in one of the many resort pools, let alone hike the steep rainforest trails at Cubo de la Galga. Most days he wouldn’t go up with me for breakfast or lunch, saying he wasn’t hungry. But each time I went to the dining room alone, I received pitying looks from staff: Look at this poor woman eating all by herself — how tragic! I now realise Roland would have struggled with his breathing since the resort was set on a slope and we were on the second floor without a lift, but at the time I thought he no longer cared to spend time with me.

On Sunday, I went to sit on a bench facing the gigantic volcanic mountain slope before me while listening to a live-streamed broadcast from my church and began crying out to God about my loneliness and frustration. It was then He warned me I would lose my father, my mother and my husband, though He did not say when or which order. I felt Him tell me to look up at the mountain, where the words of psalm 121 came to me: ‘I lift my eyes up to the hills, from where my help comes — my help is from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.’ God reminded me He is my rock and will never forsake me.

I soon also realised — and have since been reminded over the year — it was God’s direction that brought us to La Palma, not my whim. Although it was impossible to get to La Gomera via ferry from La Palma then, the TUI reps suggested we join a coach trip to the island’s premier astronomical observatory, Los Roques de la Palma, for stargazing. Perched 2,396 metres above sea level on the rim of the Caldera de Taburiente National Park, it has one of the world’s largest array telescopes. Although it was very cold at that altitude, the volcanic scenery was stunning, and we saw Saturn’s rings, Venus, the Milky Way, Pluto, distant galaxies, and close-ups of stars in familiar constellations such as Orion and the Pleiades.

There is such comfort in meditating on the heavens as per psalm 8; whenever we feel lost or alone, we can always look above to the constant patterns of stars in the skies, and feel reassured of God’s presence watching over us. And looking back over the year, I can see that although I was terrified of being alone at the beginning, God has indeed kept His promise, continually supporting me in my darkest moments and showing up in a few miraculous ‘Godincidences’.

Further warnings and comforts

Although God had warned me of these impending losses, I didn’t expect them to happen so soon. A few weeks before I was due to fly to Japan in March for my meticulously planned novel-research trip, my father had a fall at home; as they say, when older people fall and break a hip, it is usually the end for them. Unfortunately, his dementia meant he couldn’t endure physio, so his hip was pinned temporarily and he was moved into hospice. I debated cancelling my Japan trip and flying there straight away to be with him, but as my sister was coming from Montana and my mum said my father would want me to travel and finish my novel, I did not — but at least I could be there virtually via Whatsapp video.

As my father’s health began to ebb, we were all watching and waiting anxiously; though my mum had already left the hospice and gone home, she felt prompted to return to the hospice just as soon as I resumed messaging them. I was able to be with him via Whatsapp as he took his last breaths, passing away peacefully as I sang him to sleep.

My mother said later my dad had been so miserable he had been praying to die, so we were grateful he was now at peace with God. Although I was distraught to miss the funeral, someone managed to send me a video and I stayed up watching it in my hotel room in Japan. It seemed like everywhere I went and saw the pale-pink Sakura blossoms in Japan, I thought of my father and the fragility of life, but I was comforted by the serenity and peace of the beautiful Japanese landscapes.

I have already written of the amazing ways God led me as I travelled solo, arranging my meeting with a church and speaking to me prophetically there; I am also grateful for the help and fun shared experiences of all those I met in Tokyo and on my travels across the country, as well as for the many Japanese ‘travel angels’ who kindly provided assistance and guidance — it truly was a blessing. In retrospect, I believe God used this trip to underline for me that even when I travel alone, He is always with me, guiding and protecting me. And despite it being difficult to travel so soon after my dad’s passing, I am glad I went then as I did not know what would be coming next.

While I was in Japan, Roland met with my stepson Antony and stepdaughter Tania, who overheard him coughing heavily and urged him to get it checked out. I’m sure they are grateful now they had this special time to spend alone with their father, as it wasn’t long after I returned and we began to prepare to go to the US for my dad’s burial that the scan results came back, revealing a shadow (suspected tumour) on Roland’s left lung. We debated whether he should travel, but the doctors said we had to wait for further test results, so they okayed him to go.

Amid discussing this, I had a vivid dream where Roland was driving his car in the US and suddenly stopped. I was in the back seat but got out quickly to check on him and discovered that although his inner ‘motor’ was still working, his skin was waxy and pale. I woke up terrified and ran downstairs to see if Roland was okay, but he was fine — his usual laughing, joking self, even when I told him about the dream.

However, the dream turned out to be prophetic, as the day after we returned from visiting my mum and seeing my newly engaged cousin Steve with his fiancée Mabel in Charleston for my dad’s US funeral in May (see pics below; a few more happy memories), we met the oncologist, who confirmed it was stage IV lung cancer.

A week later, Roland suffered the first of several strokes while driving us home from a pub meeting with my church group. He failed to see a traffic island and drove over it, trashing the tyres. Although we managed to get the car home safely, I was deeply shaken, aware something was seriously wrong with him.

The next morning, Roland woke up crying and complaining of a horrible headache and pain in his arm, and what he called ‘frazzled’ vision. It seems these initial symptoms were also prophetic of the types of strokes he would soon suffer, as the first one took away the use of his arm; the second affected his emotions; and the last blinded him.

God’s timing vs our timing

I’ve already written about the ‘unexpected journey’ of my husband’s illness and eventual death, though what I haven’t acknowledged — and couldn’t until now — is that despite all the intense pain, horror and trauma of Roland’s illness and eventual death, and all my anger over the failures of the hospice and medical staff I believed had accelerated his demise, God’s hand was in the timing of everything.

I know I could never have managed looking after Roland in hospital throughout June and for the three weeks he was at home in July without my mother being there, which was only possible as she was no longer looking after my dad. She stayed downstairs with him each night, ready to wake me when he needed help. Also as his illness occurred before the schools had broken up, my stepdaughter Tania was able to visit and care for her dad daily. As God says, ‘a cord of three strands is not quickly broken’ (Ecclesiastes 4:12); indeed, He used this time of the three of us taking turns looking after Roland to bind us together profoundly as ‘team Roland’.

Although she has now lost both her mum and dad, Tania has gained a step-mum and grandmother who are both intensely proud of the strong, loving and beautiful woman she has become. God promises to be a ‘father to the fatherless’; He has also comforted us through each other, enabling us to shift our focus from those we’ve lost to those we still have. I will forever treasure my mum and Tania for all they gave to Roland and to me during this very challenging time — they were literally a Godsend at a very trying time.

I am grateful, too, for all the practical help and support of my stepson Antony and the many thoughtful, loving, food gift-bearing and generous back rub-giving visits of our close friends and family, the daily prayers and concerned messages, all of which lessened the otherwise huge and horrendously lonely burden of care I shouldered. Even though my mum was anxious to get home after what ended up being seven weeks, I am grateful she stuck around for my birthday and briefly after the funeral in August. I was also extremely grateful for the generous financial and other compassionate care, visits and practical help of family and friends during the funeral prep and immediately after when I was the most overwhelmed, scared, confused and heartbroken.

Although I had told God I wasn’t ready to be a widow, I know He only gives us grace for things when we need it, not before — and although He doesn’t spare us from walking in the valley of the shadow of death, He does walk with us and sends ensigns of His care and protection. While it has taken me several months to get over the intense guilt, anger and regret I felt at not being with my husband in the moment of his passing, I now believe it was right that it was Tania rather than I who was with Roland in his last moments, as I believe he knew she was the one who most needed to be with him then.

Also, many people — including the senior ward nurse from the hospice, who finally came to speak to me at length about it in October and reassure me they had attempted to administer both foods and medicines via syringe, to no avail — have said I could have easily been there and only stepped out of the room momentarily to use the toilet when Roland passed, so I have had to accept that. And although I found it hard that Roland died in hospice rather than at home as he desired, realistically I know I wouldn’t have found it easy to continue living in our home if he had passed away here.

The nurse also pointed out that because Roland’s illness was so advanced, it was surprising he had continued as long as he did. I do count it as a sign of God’s mercy that his suffering was not too prolonged, but at least I had a little more time with him than the doctors estimated, including the few ‘happy’(er) memories and videos of him while he was laughing and joking with us and the physio team in hospital and at home. I am sure Roland knew he didn’t have much longer, as he told me he didn’t want to leave me.

Perhaps this was part of the reason for the timing of Roland’s final miracle, two weeks before he passed. As a church friend had prophesied when we first got the diagnosis, God used this illness to bring Roland to Himself. Although I was exhausted and my faith felt weak and sorely tested after praying so desperately for his healing and seeing his symptoms only worsen, God sent another friend, Liisa (pictured below, left with her recently published book) to join me in interceding for Roland.

After we prayed in the Spirit for a while, I sensed something had broken in the heavenly realms; then, she sat with Roland and asked him gently if he was willing to accept Jesus as his Lord and Saviour, and he affirmed that yes, he did accept Jesus as his Lord and Saviour. Considering I had been praying for this for over 25 years and had almost given up — Roland had always resisted, even telling me to ‘stop that nonsense!’ when I was praying and singing to him in hospital — that was indeed a miracle, and very timely as he passed away about two weeks after that. I do wish it hadn’t taken a horribly painful illness and impending death to make Roland ready, as it would have been far better to share our faith together in life, but better late than not at all!

I am also deeply grateful that before Roland came faith, my Jewish cantor friend Yoav (above right) offered to come sing for him in Hebrew; I had felt led to contact him about doing something for Roland’s funeral, but he said he wanted to come meet him first so he could be inspired for how to do this. I knew Roland’s time in Israel as a young man had been a time when he felt closest to God, so I felt this would be significant for him — as it indeed was. The two of them really connected as they sang together, and Roland remembered all the words in Hebrew. Yoav had also brought Roland a rock to remind him that God was his rock, echoing what God said to me in La Palma!

God then gave me a wonderful picture of a handsome, healthy, younger Roland sitting under a fig tree in Israel, holding a ripe fig in his hand and looking around excitedly and expectantly, as if waiting for someone — which I trust is either the Lord or me, or both. It is so good to receive an image of life and to be able to visualise this instead of always beholding an image of death; even though I have also had many moments in the past few months of grieving and reliving the trauma of his illness and death, it is this image that stays with me most now, for which I do heartily thank God.

The valley of Baka

As the summer began to change to autumn, I began to dread the onset of winter, thinking I wouldn’t cope with the usual seasonal affective disorder I suffer from as well as being on my own in our house. But then God spoke to me through my favourite psalm, psalm 84, verses 5–7 (alternate translations/meanings in brackets): ‘Blessed are those whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage. As they pass through the valley of Baka [weeping], they make it a place of springs; the autumn rains also cover it with pools [blessings]. They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion.’

It seemed God was saying He would surprise me with blessings even in autumn; and in truth I’ve since realised one of the biggest keys to working through grief is gratitude — even when times are darkest and it’s hard to find joy, if we look, we will still find it. Tania had told me that whenever she thinks of her mum and dad, she finds a white feather, which I still find to this day on every daily walk I take. This acts as a wonderful reminder that my loved ones are still with me as I think of and remember them.

I also believe that, just like the story of the single footprints in the sand — which I was reminded of as I walked along beaches south of Dublin on a brief trip to visit close friends in Ireland in October — that He has been with me through this journey, sometimes carrying me even when I couldn’t sense His presence or doubted His love. Surely the prayers of my faithful Christian friends and comforting, sympathetic words of family and friends have also helped me through these dark times, but mostly it has been God with me and in me, just as this psalm says.

I had one final amazing ‘Godincidence’ of 2024 in Charleston in December, the day before I flew back to the UK to spend Christmas with Tania’s family and Antony. I’d gone to a service at the church my dad used to go to, when one of the Christmas carols sang about Mary’s labour trials giving birth to Jesus and the pain of seeing her precious Son die an agonising death on the cross. This was a real grief trigger for me as I had felt so maternal when caring for Roland, especially as when he was crying from being in such intense pain, his wailing seemed just like that of an anguished infant. I felt wracked with inconsolable sorrow and desperately needed to get out in the sunshine.

Later my mum and I drove into Charleston, intending to visit the historical quarter and Battery. We stopped for a walk around Colonial Lake, near where she once lived as a child. While posing for a selfie, a lady offered to take our picture. We got talking to her and discovered she was a retired hospice chaplain and a professional grief counsellor. Talk about perfect timing! Everything she said to us about grief and how to process it was so completely spot on. My mum recognised it was probably somewhat due to her own suppressed grief that had brought on her vision issues with a sudden onset of wet and dry macular degeneration. She sat and talked for us for some time, offering to send me some links for further reading. Neither my mum nor I could get over the timeliness of her appearance, as she came just when we were both feeling overwhelmed. Another sign God is good, and His timing is everything!

Moving on and into 2025

Although 2024 has truly been an annus horribilis in many ways, I can see how God has worked through all the difficult lessons, visions, dreams, words and Godincidences to transform it into an annus mirabilis, or year of miracles. I know I will still have times of grieving and further adjustments to go through as I adapt to a new life on my own, but I am no longer afraid of being alone and am now learning to appreciate the freedom to set my own course — with God’s guidance, of course. If I continue to move forward with gratitude and look for His hand in everything, I am sure things will only get better.

I am also grateful for some surprise blessings at Christmas and new year’s in that my cat Willow — a Christmas gift from a cat rescue Roland gave me in 2014 — has finally decided to sit on my lap. It’s taken her 10 years, but she is finally doing it regularly now, and I am so grateful for her companionship and the nightly cat cuddles. I also had a wonderfully joyous time at the New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day salsa extravaganza in London hosted by Funky Mambo, and even won two prizes (an online dance tutorial and a free pass to a salsa event later in the year)! I left the New Year’s Day party on a real high, delighted to get to get my on2 dance joy and mojo back after a frankly up-and-down dance experience over the year.

One thing I didn’t manage to do in 2024 was finish my historical fiction novel. Although I’d felt really inspired with plans for writing an exciting concluding part 3 of the first draft after my on-foot research time in Japan, all the events of the year knocked me sideways, and I realised signing up for a 100-days challenge to finish it by the end of the year was simply too ambitious. Although I have written a few chapters and done bits and pieces on it, largely working on trying to nail the synopsis, I have yet to complete it.

Although this has been hard for me as I am normally a highly goal- and deadline-focused writer, and I’ve seen other friends go on to finish and publish their books this year, I couldn’t help things happening as they did. However, I’ve been told by a few writer friends who’ve also lost their partners that although it can take a while to get the writing mojo back, it does eventually come. So this is something, along with my other forms of creative expression — eg art and dance — I look forward to recovering my joy in this year. I’m open to new editing and work experiences, having recently completed my first developmental editing commission, and am at least thinking about where else I might want to live, although it is still far too early for making decisions just yet.

I’ve also begun experimenting with tango, thanks to our old friend Jerry’s and his partner Ann’s encouragement, and hope to continue with that, as well as adopting new lifestyle changes to improve my health and overall fitness. In addition to the salsa travels I’ve got lined up, with the first one being the Magic Slovenian Salsa Festival 2025 in a few weeks’ time, I’ve received invitations to visit diverse parts of the world — Australia, Pakistan, Athlone, South Africa, Chicago. However, after three major long-haul flights in 2024, I’d prefer the romance and sustainability of travelling by train wherever possible.

So here’s to 2025 and continuing this journey, giving thanks for the gifts of life, faith, friends and family — onwards and upwards!