If you’ve read every square inch of my blog, you will notice that I use the phrase “There is always hope” somewhat regularly.
Do you know where I get that from? It’s from a famous mural by the legendary artist Banksy, originally appearing in London in the early 2000s. I don’t recall how I first discovered Banksy, but I’ve been fascinated by their work for years. When I visited London for the first time in 2013, I went on a walking tour of East London, highlighting the incredible street art of Banksy and many other talented artists.
I enjoy many of Banksy’s creations, but this one has always been my favorite. I think I was originally drawn to it because it reminded me of the beautiful French film The Red Balloon, one of my favorite stories as a child. For many years, I had this mural as the skin on my laptop. When that computer eventually died, Stephen peeled off the skin and hung it up in his workout room. Last year, I bought a large canvas print of it. And when I returned to London this Thanksgiving to visit Stephen’s sister Emma, I found myself gazing at an incredible pair of sneakers that I just knew I had to have.
Returning to London 12 years after my first visit made me profoundly aware of how quickly time passes, and how much I have grown since I was last there. When I went to London in 2013, I had not yet met Stephen; we would cross paths about 3 months later. I was 23 years old, simply enjoying my youth and relishing the opportunity to travel overseas on my first big trip as an adult.
Now I’ve returned at 35, toting my widow status for nearly 20 months, and visiting my fabulous sister-in-law. Definitely not how I imagined my second trip to London! (I must say, life is very f***ing weird sometimes.)
But ya know what? There is always hope! I had the best time catching up with Emma and exploring the city on my own. I was hopping on double-decker busses and maneuvering Underground stations like a local. I went to a play, wandered around beautiful parks, visited historical landmarks, and shopped in markets, all on my own while Emma was in class, and I really enjoyed myself!
I’ve always been an introvert, which means I savor and look forward to my alone time, but becoming a widow has forced me to reach a new level of comfort with doing things solo. This trip really solidified my confidence in navigating foreign cities by myself. I used to hear stories of people backpacking alone through Europe and think “I could never do that”, but now I think I could!
As I was wandering through Covent Garden Market, reflecting on how much life I have lived in the last 12 years – all the adventures, joy, love, heartache, and grief – I fell in love. With a pair of shoes. Which is not really like me. I don’t consider myself a shoe aficionado. But these shoes. Oh my goodness. I cried when I saw them.
When I fell in love with this Banksy mural many years ago, I really hadn’t gone through anything terribly difficult in my life. Things always seemed to work out for me. Sometimes it took a lot of effort, but I’m not afraid of putting a little blood, sweat, and tears into something to achieve my dreams. Losing Stephen was the first time in my life that I felt like the universe was rigged against me, taunting me to get back up, so it could just kick me in the gut and knock me down again.
But through that brutal fight, I still stand by these four simple words: There is always hope. Because despite all my struggles of the last 20 months, I have also found incredible moments of joy and peace. This trip had many of those moments. Emma and I were talking about how we both take our joy very seriously. After walking through the valley of the shadow of death, we are not going to let anyone steal our moments of joy!
Even though Stephen’s body has left this earth, I’m left with such a rich, fulfilling life that I wouldn’t have found without him. My relationship with Emma is a perfect example of this. Our grief has allowed us to form a stronger bond, and I know that I will always cherish our sisterhood.
If you are currently grappling with the struggles of loss, please remember: There is always hope. And if you just can’t seem to remember that, maybe you need to go buy yourself a pair of shoes.