O give thanks unto the Lord; for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever.’ Psalm 136:1

20 July 2024, 23.11 p.m.

To say that Paphos airport is a zoo right now would be far too much of an understatement: a zoo has nice open spaces and animals separated into cages, whereas here every inch of floor or chair space is crammed with hot, tired travellers- the global IT outage has caused absolute havoc and almost every flight is severely delayed or cancelled. Actually I take back what I said about cages- those of our family who travelled back on earlier flights reported that after being liberated from the airport building they found themselves herded into metal pens for an hour before boarding their plane…

But me? I’m still dancing on the ceiling… and would be quite literally dancing in the aisles if they weren’t crammed with sweaty bodies… Instead, I lift the heart-shaped place-name biscuits from the wedding out of my bag and feel my own heart fill with even more warmth and light. Nothing- nothing can dull the bright, beautiful memories of this week.

Back to the beginning… As we taxied along the runway at Gatwick airport a week ago and the plane began to lift into the air, Mum and I squeezed hands. We felt like Thelma and Louise, escaping reality and leaving burdens behind: cancer in my case, and caring for my stroke-stricken Dad in Mum’s. Both of us were far from sure that this moment would come, but here it was. I looked at Steve and we both had happy tears in our eyes.

I won’t write reams about the week as I know you want me to get to the wedding bit… plus it can be summed up quite easily in a few words: it was magical. Magical to have all of our 4 children plus so many of my lovely family in the same place for so long. Magical to be in the sun, the heat, the pool, the sea together. Magical to be with Connor’s family and to get to know them better. Magical to have all food and drink on tap and not to have to think about planning, shopping or cooking. Magical to feel totally well; actually make that AMAZING! I have read that if you are fortunate enough to have a definite end to chemo treatment, it takes a whole year to get full strength back… well I don’t know about that because after 2 weeks off chemo I felt on top of the world: strong as an ox and totally, utterly normal (yes, I know- neuropathy, blah blah, that doesn’t count).

…pause as we are released from the terminal building and marched through the infamous metal cage instead of being imprisoned in it- result! Looks like we will be a mere 2 hours late…

So I felt fabulous in Cyprus and made the most of every second. On our first day we visited a waterpark and I tore around whizzing down slides, one of my favourites being the aptly-named Cannon Drop: I loved the exhilarating feeling of flying through the air before hitting the water (with a bit of a slap..).

(A little note: I’ve discovered that videos can’t be played straight from the emailed blog; you have to visit the website for that particular treat..)

Almost every morning before breakfast Steve and I did a powerwalk along the coast of up to 4k in heat that had already reached 30 degrees, and later in the day we threw ourselves into Aqua Aerobics and Zumba. One afternoon we went on a very special boat trip- a private charter for the 15 of us from our side of the family that was my 50th birthday present from my lovely friends. We swam in the Blue Lagoon and right into a sea cave, snorkelling with shoals of tiny darting fish and majestic trumpet fish. Powering through the water in front crawl and then stopping to view the serene calmness of the underwater world, not to mention flying along in the speedboat stood up feeling the wind on my face, I felt so very alive.

I hope the swimming, sun, walking and aerobics have had a positive effect on the tumour crew in the absences of Irene and her sidekicks Oxaliplatin, Avastin and 5FU (bizarre but quite amusing name for a cancer drug…CFU would be even better…). Anyway, I tell myself not to worry about that: I wouldn’t have missed this week for the world, plus everything is in God’s hands.

21 July, 3.58 a.m: not far from Gatwick now. Haven’t slept a wink thanks to uncomfortable Easyjet seats and a Liverpudlian flight attendant who is regaling her colleagues and unfortunately half of the plane in a foghorn voice with tales of the holidays she has been on over the course of her entire life…ah well, I shall continue writing…

The jewel in the crown of the week was, of course, the wedding (‘Finally!’ I hear you cry…’Few words’, she said: as if…’)

It was perfect: even more wonderful and beautiful than we could have dreamed. We had only seen pictures of the venue on websites and they couldn’t do it justice: Coral Residence was the perfect blend of sophisticated and relaxed, the exquisitely beautiful setting and decor effortlessly morphing into a laid-back beach vibe. As the day went on, jackets and even shirts were discarded, long dresses were tied up and children jumped and rolled in the sand or went for a moonlit paddle…

Seeing Steve walk Lydia down the aisle and give her away to the man she loves was one of the happiest moments of my life.

The ceremony was designed to be short due to the intense heat (just as well as everyone was quite literally melting) but it was beautiful.

Before we knew it Lydia and Connor were husband and wife and we had gained a son-in-law (not to mention our 10 year-old becoming a brother-in-law, but then he’s already an uncle so not much can phase him on that front). Oh wait, that makes me a mother-in-law; I shall have to invest in a broom and pointy hat…

Cocktail hour followed with free-flowing bubbly, then the rest of the proceedings took place in an unusual order, the cake cutting and speeches happening before the meal.

Quite a good thing I think as Steve and his fellow speech-givers could relax completely during dinner in the knowledge that their big moment was over and their job done. As Steve took the microphone I was there by his side as we had dreamed-but barely dared to hope-for many months. I could not have been happier.

We were expecting the wedding to give us a little break from the big eating that is par for the course at all-inclusive hotels, but that wasn’t quite the case; I have never seen such a huge array of incredible food. It was just as well that we worked it all off by dancing the night away..

Oh, the utter joy of being surrounded by close-knit family and friends having a blast on the dance floor; heels being swapped for flip flops and then bare feet. I was on fire and felt on top of the world, leaping and twirling for song after song.

I was glad they played Abba as it really was a Mamma Mia wedding (just without Colin Firth). As the evening drew to a close and a slower number was played, I looked around to see all of the people I loved standing in their couples and little families and was overwhelmed by just how much I loved them and l how hard it would be to leave them. The words Steve has often repeated to me came into my head: ‘You’ve got to hold everything in an open hand…’. I know. It’s so incredibly hard to uncurl that hand, but by the grace of God I’m learning.

Yet here and now we were together, having one of the best nights of our lives. The final songs were upbeat and we all gave it everything until the lights finally came on and suddenly it was over. Or not… the party continued on the upper deck of the open top wedding bus that took us back to the hotel.

Apparently it also continued in the hotel pool with the young set jumping in in their wedding attire, but I’m still awaiting photo evidence for this as Steve and I were on babysitting duty with little Jasper sleeping over at ours- once we’d tipped bucketloads of sand out of his nappy and clothes: that’s a beach wedding for you… and the best day ever.

4.36 am (real feel 6.36 due to time difference) and we are whizzing along a surreally-empty M25. The sun will soon be rising, rubbing in the fact that I haven’t actually had any sleep yet… I could be bemoaning this, knowing how tired we will all be tomorrow and how much there will be to do; we have a day’s turnaround before Harley Street chemo on Monday and travelling to Dorset on Tuesday. I could be feeling a sense of sadness that Cyprus and the wedding are all over, and a sense of dread that in not much more than 24 hours I will be back in the chemo chair being plyed with poisonous cocktails instead of frozen strawberry daiquiris and virgin mojitos… But I choose happiness- that brought by the memories of an incredible week, and that brought by the promises of things to come, both on this earth and beyond.

‘For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.’ 2 Corinthians 5:1