One Year Back on the Island: A Journey of Love, Loss & Healing.

This week marked one year since we packed up our lives and returned to the Hebrides, leaving behind the fast pace of big-town life for the slower rhythms of the island.

For those who don’t already know, from 2018 to 2021, my partner Richy and I lived on the Westside of Lewis with our beloved Springer Spaniel, Rigby. In 2020, when I unexpectedly found out I was pregnant, we made the decision to move back to our mainland hometown to be closer to family…particularly my mum. As a first-time mother with no idea what lay ahead, I needed her support. That choice was invaluable in those early months, especially as our little one was quite unwell at first. For the first year of motherhood, having my family nearby was a lifeline.

And yet, despite settling into my old family home in one of the quieter parts of town, I never truly felt at home. The island never left my mind, and from the moment my daughter was born, I longed to return. It took two years, but in March 2023, we finally made the move… this time with our almost two-year-old in tow.

I’d love to say it felt instantly perfect, but in truth, the transition was tough. The first month was filled with doubt and anxiety. Had we made the right decision? Had we uprooted our daughter from everything she had ever known? Was this house (taken on mostly blind in my eagerness to return) even the right one for us?

My mum and uncle helped us settle in, but when they left, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. Yet, little by little, the island worked its magic. Each box unpacked, each room redecorated, each walk through our new surroundings helped me breathe a little easier. We had chosen a new area this time - closer to town but still rural enough to provide the space and freedom we craved.

One family member, however, had no doubts at all. For Rigby, Lewis was home. Back on the mainland, he had seemed… different. Slower. Less like himself. His health had been questionable - he had undergone knee surgery in early 2022, but his muscle loss continued, puzzling everyone. Deep down, I felt like the island could heal him. And in many ways, it did.

The moment we arrived, Rigby was alive again - bounding through coastlines, splashing in the sea, exploring woodlands. For those first few months, he was truly himself. Then, just five months after our return, we discovered the heartbreaking truth: he had been living with a slow-growing malignant sarcoma for years. A rare juvenile cancer.

We chose life-extending surgery, giving him almost five more months of the island life he adored. He made the most of every second, and when his time came, I felt a strange sense of peace. The stars had aligned to bring him home, where he could live out his final months in joy, and now his soul was free over the land he loved. His body rests here, and so does my heart.

The winter that followed was tough - not just because of the loss we faced, but because Hebridean winters are a challenge in their own right. When you first move to the islands, people warn you: “Let’s see if you last a winter.”

Summers here are dreamy (despite the midges). But winters - they test you. The winds howl, ferries are canceled, food shortages creep in, power cuts are common, and storms keep you housebound for days at a time. But for us, none of that compared to the weight of grief.

Still, we embraced the season. We walked in all weathers, visited beaches whenever we could, spent time with friends, and rested… a lot. It was a winter of endurance, a winter of memories, a winter of love. And though it broke our hearts, I wouldn’t change a second of it.

In the wake of our loss, life seemed to hit us with a series of challenges… first, a minor car accident, then three weeks of flu running through our home. It felt like we had reached rock bottom. But through it all, the island held us. There is a quiet healing here, a deep connection to nature that soothes even the rawest wounds. The space to just be reprograms your mind in ways you don’t fully understand until you live it.

And now, after a year of transition, loss, and reflection, I feel like I am emerging from winter - like a butterfly finally breaking free from its cocoon, ready to embrace all that spring and summer have to offer.

This past year has not been easy, but I know, deep in my bones, that we are exactly where we are meant to be.

Here’s to another year of island life.

Til Next Time | Lesley-Anne