I’m wondering how I feel about mountains having lost eight friends in the Himalaya in May and now my darling beloved Matthew as well as the consequence of a climbing accident.

A mountaineer friend experienced in death as well as climbing said to me back in July that the mountains give more than they ever take. I told Matthew that and he strongly agreed.

But now as a simple equation that statement doesn’t work. Matthew was (is) my central point, my tether to the world as I know it, and having that torn away changes everything. The worst thing that could possibly have happened to me has happened. How can the mountains, much though he loved them, still give more than they take?

And yet.

I was in the hills on Tuesday and found them beautiful, vast, solid, reassuring. I walked in the Alps in the days after Matthew’s death and there was joy in the height, the views, the sense of physical exertion. Today I’ve been to the climbing wall for the first time and still, as before, I find the concentration hard climbing requires distracts my brain from this catastrophe even if only briefly.

So the plan is to keep my fitness up, to keep hard-earned finger strength, to continue to train muscle memory for technique, and, when the time is right, to be back in the mountains not just to walk, run and ski, but also in due course to climb. And then to see whether or not it’s what I want.

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