To know how a man died, you must first learn how he lived.
Last night I began watching the latest series of the crime drama, Shetland . I’m late to it, I know. I was full of excitement when it came out but I couldn’t watch it. Not until now. As many of you know, I found solace in Shetland after Tim died. The landscape and the people helped me to heal. Helped me to learn how to breathe again. Helped me to see that happiness might be possible again. Although Tim and I had n ever visited Shetland (well, he’d had an emergency overnight stay there once – he’d been taken off an oil rig but it was too foggy for the helicopter to make it back to the mainland. He told me he was in a hotel, miles away from anywhere, and the sun didn’t set until after ten o’clock), I was drawn to it. Instinctively I knew that I had to be there. Perhaps Tim’s memory had lodged itself deep in my mind, I’m not sure. But I didn’t remember his story until I was in Shetland and I drove past a sign for St Magnus Bay. Magnus had been the name of an oil rig he’d worked on sev