Dearest Mike, my love, my darling

I wonder if you can see me.
I wonder if you are smiling.
Do you see where I am?
Do you remember this place?
You were here so many times. So, so many times.

I am sitting in the little café in the centre of Annemasse – you know, the one – just across the road from the hospital where I gave birth to Ben, Megan and Julia. It’s still there, even if the hospital is not. The building that was the hospital has had a major facelift and now appears to be rather smart apartments. There’s now an Intermarché downstairs, which must be jolly convenient for the people living in the flats.

I have a few hours of spaciousness, in between the end of the richly enjoyable psychedelics training programme I am fortunate enough to be a participant in, and a concert that starts later tonight. The musician tonight, Xavier Rudd, I didn’t know of when you were alive, but I hope you’ve come across him since. Beautiful, spirit- and soul-lifting music. One of his pieces that I love, Follow the Sun, is a favourite piece at the end of psychedelic journeys, when it’s time to land, come back to earth, reground, regroup.

As I wait for Medjool, (who’s had a day up in the Valaisan Alps, literally following the sun, for it’s been very murky down below in the Plaine Genevoise), I am desperately soaking up the smells of freshly ground coffee. I recognise the face of the woman who owns and runs the place, even though over 20 years have passed since I was last here.

I want to tell her that this place used to be so special to me, to you. You’d come to visit me every other day, Ben often in tow, while I was on bed rest with Megan. Three years later, you’d bring both Ben and Megan when I was on bed rest with Julia. Before coming to my hospital room, you’d sneak in here first, and order a couple of takeaway coffees for us – decaf cappuccino for me, and a full-caff cappuccino for you. You’d bring in a couple of “proper mugs” from home. It wasn’t about minimising waste in those times – it was simply that takeaway coffee was not really a thing in France. (And still isn’t, other than the big American brands, which have not made it out to places like Annemasse).

Gosh how we delighted in those coffees. They absolutely enhanced my otherwise arduous hospital experience. A proper, frothy, decaf coffee every couple of days made the weeks – the months – of bed rest so much more palatable.

I don’t know if I ever thanked you enough. So I thank you now. Properly.

It’s late in the day, and I am drinking Rooibos rather than coffee. Can you believe I am back on decaf? I have been making a determined effort this year to improve my sleep, and giving up full caff coffee (and more) has been part of the picture. I think it’s working.

Thank you so much for your precious love, your attention to my needs and comfort. Thank you for schlepping that significant distance from the Jura hills side of Geneva to the Alps mountains side of Geneva. It will have taken you a good half a day for each visit.

Thank you for doing what you could to help me keep Megan, and then Julia, cooking in their oven for as long as possible. Thank you for helping me keep them safe and warm. My at-risk pregnancies were quite terrifying. We were both on tenterhooks for long periods, but everything worked out perfectly in the end, and we had stunningly gorgeous babies, all born here, about 20 metres away as the crow flies.

In the end, I wasn’t able to keep Julia safe. It’s always so hard to write that, to recognise it. I wonder now, as I learn quite a bit about psychedelics, if they could have played a supportive role for her. But I cannot go there. She would probably have been considered too young, but desperate situations beget desperate measures. It is what it is.

So now it’s for you to keep her safe. I know you’re doing that so well. Keep all of us safe too.

I hope you’re getting really good coffee wherever you are, or at least can smell the exquisite odours wafting up from here.

I don’t know how to end this piece, other than say, again, how much I love you, how much I miss you, how grateful I am for everything you brought to my life, including our three gorgeous babies.

Go well, be well.

Emma xxx