Sitting ( what else???!) in the sun down at Lily’s rowing club. Will watch her go out and row and come back and try not to think of the countless times I canoed along beside her rowing boat.

I was trying to explain to my lovely friend, Debbie, yesterday, what it was like for me, earlier in this journey.
I’m not sure people realise at all, just how horrendous it was, though that’s perhaps doing anyone who is close to me, an injustice.

To think its about not being able to walk, barely scratches the surface of the reality.

I realised that I couldn’t move pretty quickly. That was bad enough.
What was very quickly coincident with that was the nightmare dawning that I’d lost my physique, I’d lost my identity, I’d lost my self esteem, I’d lost my personality, I’d lost my sense of humour, I’d lost my appreciation of joy, I’d lost my confidence, I’d lost my voice, I’d lost my looks, I’d lost the life I had, I’d lost the rapport I had with my children and wife and friends, I’d lost my authority, my independence, and my freedom.

And I was locked in an austere hospital, like a prison, with no friends.

That was then, and it doesn’t seem that way any more.
The bit about the walking still applies, but the other parts are reversible, indeed many of them have already been overcome.

I can see now that there is a point to me being here. For a long time I was convinced people were just being nice but actually, in effect lying.

Now I know they weren’t.

I am hoping that the support shown around you has/will make you realise what a very special person you are. There is no one on this planet that could have received the amount of love and support that you have, which can only mean one thing – you are truly the loveliest person ever russ and your suffering has caused everyone around you so much pain. So, to hear and see you turn a corner is truly the best news ever. love you. xxx

14th June is a date none of us are going to forget waking up firstly to Dani’s text, then finding out the extent of your injuries still makes me shiver when I think about it, its one of those moments you always know exactly where you were and what you were doing when you heard it. Seeing you yesterday looking fit and strong again with all the cheeky banter we know and love, is a miracle. More than that, what I have witnessed these past 12 months is the unconditional love you and Dani have for each other, irrespective of the accident, this is a love most people never experience in their whole lives.

xxx

Hey Russ. Thinking of you today, your survival and ongoing rebirth. Glad ur luvly girlies can celebrate Fathers Day with their Dad. Mine did and still think I’m a knob. Lotsa love from Jockland. Xxxxxx

Today I got 2 cards, one totally random, covered in Despicable Me minions, apparently representing me, Dani, Lily and Amber herself.
She’d written ‘Happy Birthday Daddy, crossed out Birthday and squeezed in ‘Farther’, crossed that out, and put in ‘father’…

The other was an altogether more classy affair, A4 sized and perfectly geometric in every way.

Both cards exuded love for a chap that this time last year lay in a coma, looking very unlikely to pull through from the darkness of virtual death, to the light from a Toulon hospital window.

That same chap has gone from not wanting to live to laughing with his beautiful daughters and wife this special morning, and every morning from here on, celebrating life itself.
Not the life he had before, but one worth living, one even more precious than before, savoured more acutely for having nearly lost it altogether.
To think that this day, Father’s Day was so nearly going to be for ever after the anniversary of my death, that every year my daughters, rather than make and send me cards, would cry with their mum… Well it’s too awful to contemplate.

There are so many people I don’t think I’ve thanked properly for all their contributions over this last year.
One that’s just sprung to mind is Steve Barrett for coming round and changing lightbulbs and fixing a leak on our flat roof, months ago, two things impossible for me now.

But you know, climbing out the first floor rear window to investigate a leak was never that much fun anyway…

Dear Russ,
We are back where we were a year ago, in White Rock, B.C. when we had the phone call from Alwyn which changed all our lives.
Our memories of that day are probably the most ” hazy” of any day in our lives. We have virtually no recollection of the drive back to Seattle. Alwyn was amazing inasmuch that he was able to book us on to an emergency flight via Iceland to Heathrow in spite of everything that was happening around him. While we were en route to HR he tried desperately to get us a flight to any of the S. Of France airports, but to no avail. On arrival in HR we caught the first available Nat. Express coach to Newport and then a taxi home. Within an hour we were on the road to Dover, crossing the Channel at 11 p.m. We took two blankets with us and stopped for 30 mins. , our first sleep for three days.
All the way down Alwyn and Stu were ringing and texting, “”How much longer, how far away are you .?” When we got to the hospital car park, Stu was waiting,and we ran to the ward, not knowing if you were still with us.
All we can remember then were “tears”. We stayed in Toulon for 3 weeks,went home for10 days and then came back again so that Dani could have a break. Our memories of Toulon were quite desperate, but also tempered with the wonderful memories of all those lovely people who came to see you. Having our car turned out to be a bonus because it meant that we could ship so many back and fore to airport , station etc..
A year on so much has changed for the good and the comments of your physio in the last blog are no surprise to us. Onwards and upwards, just think where you are going to be a year from now .
All my love, Dad

The phone call from Alwyn was the stuff made from nightmares. As I listened to his words in total disbelief, our world collapsed around us. The unthinkable had really happened to our beautiful, son. It just was not possible. That journey down to Toulon was the longest journey , the most painful journey of our lives. We did not know whether you would be alive or dead when we finally reached you. The pressure to reach you was intolerable and when we finally were by your side , you were still here , in a coma and hanging on by a thread so fine that it was invisible, but , still with us.
The support of Alwyn and Stuart , our joint families and your amazing , remarkable friends lifted us and sustained us over the weeks ahead in Toulon. We willed you to live, to survive , to come back to us. I talked to you about your life and the love that we had for you. The first sign of a response was tear that ran down your cheek whist you were still in a coma. Later, you squeezed my hand. It was the gentlest squeeze but it was real. I rushed out to find a doctor who, in disbelief came back with me to witness another squeeze of my hand. A small sign, a massive miracle. You were coming back to us.
The rest you know , the rest is history.

Your progress has been phenomenal. You will always go from strength to strength .
All my love
Mum xxxxxxxxxx

Oh darling we love you more than ever now …you are a beautiful person and your strength and fun side have got you through this year you are so positive and your family and friends love will carry you through the years to come. Me Neal and the kids will always be there for you and i cherish the moments you and I have spent together over these past months we’ve shared so many laughs and a few tears.. Looking forward to tonight xxxxx

At exactly this time, a year ago, I was about to start the last descent of the day, after a fun day’s riding.

Within an hour, at about 5pm, I’d be fighting for my life, my body shattered internally.

This is Jerry Day’s diarised recollection of that time and afterwards.

June 14th Pt 2

The helicopter eventually lifted away at around 8pm, almost 3hrs after your crash happened, and the last of the group rolled down the hill to our nice hotel close to the lake in Moustiers, about 7 miles away. I rode with Dickon, whilst Roy travelled in the van with Brian, who had waited quietly throughout this period whilst we answered some police questions etc. It was a very lonely ride and we barely spoke, but mainly pondered why and how this could have happened…. to you, of anyone.

The hotel was kind. They realised something awful had occurred, and made plans for us to eat late in the town, with a restaurant remaining open for us. We rang home, carefully explaining what had happened, but urging that news be kept private so that you did not become a matter of Chiswick gossip at this critical stage.

Over dinner, sitting outside in cool night air, we debated how we should proceed; with some suggesting that it felt wrong to ride on. Others felt that you would not want us to stop. So we ate, and the following morning, we rode!

The initial news that you had safely arrived in Toulon, that Dani and her mum were on their way, etc, seemed quite positive. This buoyed us up, and we cycled as cheerily as we could on the Saturday morning, confident of your strength of character; circumnavigating a beautiful lake, taking in some sharp climbs, and enjoying a coffee, albeit in a state of real bewilderment. At lunchtime, Roy decided (with all our support) that he should leave us and travel to Toulon. This was clearly a brilliant decision. Brian ran him to a railway station in the van. We cycled on in the afternoon, even taking in an optional climb (Col du Bel Homme!) – which I know you would have joined us on had you been there.

On that Saturday evening, the news took a definite downward turn though as the severity started to become clear, and dinner in Fayence was a blur. Our late, open-air, Provencale dinner was overwhelmed by concern for you.

On the Sunday morning the news was even worse, as we learned of your cardiac arrest, and concerns of potential brain injury at that time. I (amongst others I suspect) put in one monumental climb, at the top of which I prayed that you had then been at the low-point, and that you would be on your way back from there. (I realise in reality your family had a further worrying fortnight or so.)

We hit the coast at Cannes, and turned left, cycling numbly along the Croisette, rolling through Juan Les Pins, and around to our grand Sunday lunch venue at the Plage Keller in Antibes; probably chosen by you, certainly recommended by Roy & Glenn, and intended to be the culmination of our fabulous trip. It was anything but that, but some slightly more positive news, that we received via Q once we were there, allowed us to try to relax a bit and try to soak up the atmosphere and scenery of an opulent Sunday on the Cote d’Azur!

The lovely Claire, from Cycle Cote d’Azur, who you and Alastair had worked with in planning the route, then met up with us and escorted us back from Antibes, along the Promenade des Anglais, and into Nice on the Sunday evening. Here we had a sea swim, and then another subdued outdoor dinner. (Incidentally, Claire was brilliant, and quietly ran errands dealing with practicalities in the south of France for us after we got home.)

On the Monday morning, as most of us lolled pensively around the Nice hotel getting ready to travel home, Roy rejoined us from Toulon (after a very early morning train ride along the coast) and gave us a very sanguine update on the challenges that you faced. As we flew out of Nice airport late Monday morning it felt utterly hollow to be leaving a mate behind. Tears were shed as some of us looked out at the Mediterranean coastline stretching towards you in Toulon. By that time though, your wonderful family were arriving from all points of the compass, and we genuinely believed that you would be back to us safely before very long.

Not long after that, Melissa started the brilliant blog and we all know about your amazing progress since then.

Jx

So we all reconvened for that big night out that we should have had in a bar in Toulon, a year ago.

The great bunch of guys that travelled to France, instead travelled to Chiswick last night to complete the circle.

We had the funniest night, oiled by a ridiculous number of tequila shots ( and a lot worse ).

Dickon, Glen, Roy, Toby, Neil, Pete, Alastair,Jerry, Sam and Robbie – all there.
Thanks to Kev, Dan, Ollie, Mike, Adam for coming too, and for the surprise crashing of the boys night out by Sarah, Patricia and Dani.

Having moved the ladies on, as is SURELY a tradition on the 1 year of paralysis diary, they made me go to a strip club – Secrets in Hammersmith.
Whose idea was that ?

Ok – mine, pre booked last week.

I got back at 3.30 am having had a proper night out ( that means I lost my bag, wallet and catheter selection ).
I’m hoping they’ll turn up somehow…

Lads, you made my night,made me forget my situation, made me laugh an awful lot, and made me feel that I’m still one of you.

Thanks so much.