As I type this latest blog, the rain is battering down on the window of my cousin’s farmhouse. The snow blanketing the ground is giving way to the coming of a new season and the grass is beginning to make its first appearance of the year. It’s a good time for new beginnings, it tells me.

Declan and I have moved to Norway.
Brendan Bjørn is surely here with us in spirit, too.

Another big bit of news (as if what I just said wasn’t big enough, right?) is that we sold our disability-modified bungalow in County Wexford to the HSE Disability Department with the plan for it to become a respite house for disabled children in the region. This is part of Brendan Bjørn’s legacy, to be sure. My hope is they will call it Brendan’s Bungalow (this was Declan’s idea for a name to honour his brother).

I couldn’t have asked for anything better than to have the home filled with the love and laughter of such special children like my angel boy. And of course, not to forget parent carers, to give them a bit of respite from the often exhausting work that is being a 24/7 carer.

My heart is truly full knowing the home will serve such a needed and beautiful purpose!

That’s not to say this hasn’t been a very difficult decision and process. On the day we moved out of the house, I stood in what was his bedroom and I bawled my eyes out. Sobbed uncontrollably. This was the room where he laughed, loved, and enjoyed his family and life. But this was also the room where his last months then weeks were spent in pain, struggling, slowly drifting away from us until the horrific final moments of his gasping for those impossible to find breaths.

No, I couldn’t stay. The memories are too painful.

I was afraid his spirit would remain in the house, and as I stood there crying, I asked him to stay with us. It was in the airport a few days later, as we were going through security, that I knew he did just that. Every time we flew in the past, airport security would, for some crazy reason, think Brendan Bjørn was a likely candidate to swab and pat down for explosive residue – his wheelchair, his bag, the palms of his hands. Then there I was in Dublin Airport security, just a few days ago now, with his ashes in a box in a bag. I was asked what was in the bag and when I told the man, he was very kind and told me to wait. He came back with his supervisor and she told me they’d have to swab the box.

And there he was, Brendan Bjørn, having a laugh going through airport security one last time. It was that moment I knew he was with us and it made me smile.

The past few days have been non-stop here in Norway trying to get things organised and settled for our new beginning. There is still MUCH left to do, but for today, I’m taking a bit of a break from the whirlwind. The familiar sound of rain on the window is acting like a tonic to calm my worries, even if just for today. I think an afternoon nap may even be in the cards.

I have so much to be thankful for, and indeed I am.

Here’s to Ireland.
Here’s to Norway.
Here’s to the coming of a new season.