Fly me to the moon

In the end, it was all just fine and my stress was unnecessary.  In fact, it was the best kind of journey - quiet and uneventful and amazingly smooth.  Travel time to Sabiha Gokcen airport was record breakingly fast, under an hour, in spite of the rain.  The airport was almost empty. No queue at xray machines or passport control. This meant that by 11.15 I had three hours to pass in the quiet private lounge with snacks and beer and Facebook, but that's fine.  Even landed on time at Stansted airport.  Unfortunately, I then had to wait nearly an hour for the Chelmsford bus , but passed the time with a cuppa and people watching outside Nero coffee shop. 

While waiting, others joined me in forming a sort of queue, (oh, England!) and as I watched, I recognised  a young woman.  It took me a little while, and then the penny dropped.  She was one of the wonderful palliative care nurses at Farleigh Hospice who took care of Dad in July and August 2014.  She had recognised me too, and remembered Dad clearly, and it brought tears to my eyes when her face broke in to a broad grin as she recalled how Dad used to sing - especially in the wee small hours - and in particular, his rendition of "Fly me to the moon" at 3.30am that she will always remember, she said, as it was her Mum's favourite song. When we went our separate ways later in Chelmsford, we parted with a hug and some tears in my eyes, but I am so glad we talked - to hear her speak so fondly of my Dad and to have the opportunity to thank her for the care and dignity afforded to him  and all who find themselves there.  Extraordinary people who are largely unsung heroes.  To see and talk to her was special and beautiful and totally unexpected, and sent my heart soaring.

Back on planet earth, my brother joined me around 6.30 and we spent the evening together with pizza, Poland and Portugal that ended with a penalty shootout.