Monthly Archives: April 2015

Thursday thoughts


Thursday 30th April

Seven long, lonely weeks, and not a day goes by that I haven’t thought about you.
I may look as if things are normal, but behind the facade my heart is heavy.
This evening we go to your brother’s for dinner: he is cooking us a curry.

Out of the blue I ask him if he’s visited your grave. Yes!
I ask whether it was him who left the pink and white camellias. Yes!

Why I suddenly thought to ask him that I do not know.
It just came to me.
So, the mystery of your unknown visitor has been solved.
Your brother took it upon himself to come and say hello to you.

I think that is just lovely.
Love you both so very much. My two wonderful sons.

Talking about you



Wednesday 29th April

On our walk around the town today we stop at the church and light candles for you. We sit for a few quiet moments, and reflect; silently the tears fall.

We are finding it so very hard to accept that you are no longer here with us.

Returning outside, we are bathed in bright sunlight, although it is still a bit chilly, and we make our way to a coffee shop to meet up with a friend we haven’t seen for many years.

We talk and talk, for almost two hours. Remembering our families and children who grew up in the town, and went to the same schools. It was lovely meeting up and reminiscing.

And of course we talked about you: your struggles and your achievements. The difficulties you faced and the wonderful experiences of the world that we were able to give you.

Just before leaving, she passed me a hand-written note:

“We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed in a moment, in the blinking of an eye, at the last trumpet.

For the trumpet will sound and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.

For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality.

Now when this perishable puts on the imperishable and this mortal puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will happen.

Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

(1 Corinthians 15)

I read this through and wondered upon its meaning.

Does it mean that death becomes a door of hope?

Does it mean that the spirit is now free from the prison and the poison in the body?

I do hope your spirit is flying and soaring free. I do hope you are smiling down upon us. I do hope you can feel our presence at your graveside today.

And yet I still cry for you.

So unexpected.

So unbelievable.

Gone in the blink of an eye.

And the sadness we feel is immeasurable.

Mystery visitor


Tuesday 28th April

We bought two new plant pots for you today; a pink and a yellow dahlia. They just caught my eye as we were shopping, and I thought they’d look pretty on your grave.

When we walked up to where you are, it was quickly noticeable that someone had been to visit you. A very bright, fuchsia-pink camellia had been placed in the earth, with its shiny green leaves arranged just so. Upon looking further, I saw another white camellia flower placed on one of the letters of your name.

Who was this mystery visitor? Do you know them? Did they stay long and talk to you? I wonder who it was who took time out of their day to come and see you.

Somehow I feel quite sad, but also touched that you are being remembered by someone in this way. I wonder what you meant to this person?

Month 15 (+1) results ~ normal?



Monday 27th April

Shortly after ten this morning my trials nurse phones to tell me the results from the tests I had almost two weeks ago. I have malignant melanoma, (stage 3c), and have been on a clinical drugs trial, Combi-Ad, since January 2014. It is an adjuvant treatment combining two drugs, Dabrafenib and Trametinib. It is a double-blind trial, so I don’t know whether I was taking the real thing or a placebo. But the monitoring has been incredibly worthwhile.

Anyway, the drugs part is now over, and I’m seen every three months, for check-ups in dermatology, haematology, oncology, and also have CT scans.

My nurse was happy to report that all is normal, with no evidence of metastatic disease. Plus, my thyroid gland shows normal levels from a blood test, as the oncologist thought it did perhaps look slightly enlarged.

So there we have it. I am normal.

But that’s not what I feel right now. Very far from normal. I wish everything was normal, like it was before. Before we lost our son. I cannot get used to this new normal. I seem to be ‘well’, but that is nothing to celebrate without my son being here. That sounds a little selfish, but I just wish we had had more time with him. We had so many plans, so many more places to visit, so much more fun and laughter to have.

Early afternoon sees us visiting our son’s graveside, to remove some of the old greenery from the floral tributes. We bought a basket of yellow marigolds, that should bring some bright colours for him.

This now, has become our new normal. Standing beside his grave: talking, wishing, tidying, crying, just wanting to be close to him.

I don’t like this new normal at all.

Love you


Sunday 26th April

Having come to visit you today and standing by your grave, it is so difficult to say goodbye and walk away. It’s as if we are turning our backs on you, and carrying on as normal, without you.

That is so far from the truth. We are struggling to cope with the adjustments we are having to make. We believed you would always be a part of our family life. That we would always be together. Planning days out, booking holidays, having fun, looking after you. Much of the last thirty years was centred around you. Our son. With special needs. A loving, caring, gentle child.

It is natural for us to have wanted you to remain with us forever. That was how it should have been.

You have been taken from us, but the love we have for you will never ever be taken away. The depth of our love for you, that all your family, friends and acquaintances had for you, will ensure some things will live on forever; memories, events, and that special place that you hold in many peoples’ hearts.

Love you lots.

To the moon and back.

Love you more.

And all the world.


Missing you


Saturday 25th April

Not a lot to say today.

Feeling lost and lonely without you.

Missing your company, missing you so very much, missing everything you did for us and with us.

But we’ll keep putting one foot in front of the other, and try to overcome these obstacles of painful distress.

It just doesn’t seem right that you’re not here with us.

Sending love and kisses to heaven xxxx

Our son, now forever young x

Graveside musings


Friday 24th April

It’s grey and damp, and the mizzle sticks to your clothing and hair, covering you with a fine beading of moisture droplets. The songbirds are singing their springtime melody and a grey squirrel skitters down the trunk of a tree.

The council gardeners have been along this morning, mowing the grass, and tidying up the cemetery. And we have decided to do the same at your graveside. It’s been sixteen days since your interment, and some of your funeral flowers are not looking their best. We pick out those that have wilted and gone a bit brown. Your name in letters though, still looks amazing; the white chrysanthemums have been splendid.

We have brought along a new, heavy, stone rose-bowl pot, in which to place sprays of flowers. Today we have chosen orange and white carnations for you.

We stand silently, remembering, reflecting, reminiscing. It is such a peaceful, but sad place to be.

You are not alone. We will always be with you. We’ll look after you.

Sleep tight my darling boy xxx

It’s Thursday again


Thursday 23rd April

I don’t think I like Thursdays anymore at all. It’s now six long weeks since that dreadful evening when I couldn’t bring you back to life. Despite mouth-to-mouth and chest compressions, you slipped away and gained your Angel wings. I tried so hard, but you had gone. And now our lives have been changed irrevocably

I will always remember your face as I turned over your warm, but lifeless body. In our bed, snuggled under the duvet, finally at peace and pain-free. No more doctors, scans or chemotherapy.

Visiting your graveside has become a daily pilgrimage. We water the flowers trying to keep them fresh, we touch your wooden cross with the simple brass nameplate, and we talk to you.

Our younger son thinks this is a little unhealthy because it makes us sad and unhappy. But I find standing beside you and speaking to you strangely comforting. We just want you to know that we are close by, that we think of you all the time, that we don’t want you to be alone.

Our son. Our Angel.

We love you. We always will.

We. Just. Miss. You. So. Much. xxxx

Feelings of jealousy


Wednesday 22nd April

Jealousy. A negative emotion with feelings of insecurity, anger and anxiety. Jealousy is not a good trait to possess.

I don’t think of myself as having a jealous personality, or jealous thoughts.

But today I was jealous. And I felt bad.

We had gone for a coffee and as we were leaving we bumped into a young girl who had been on the same oncology ward as my son. She was having chemotherapy for a brain tumour. We spoke a few times in the day room when we were in hospital at the same time.

As we parted and quickly walked away, both my husband and I started sobbing. I said to him “Do you feel as jealous as I do?”. He said he was thinking the exact same thing. Why was she still alive, and our son was not? Why was she able to be walking about, and not our boy? Why did the treatment work for her, and not for our child?

Just for a moment I had some really bad thoughts. Not wishing this girl any ill, but I did feel so negative about life, and so betrayed. The battle we had put him through, the anguish and the hope. All so futile and pointless now.

It’s two weeks since we buried you.

And I just feel cheated. And it’s not fair.

Lighting candles



Tuesday 21st April

Your funeral was two weeks ago, in the same church where you and your brother were christened, where we were married, too.

We go there today to light candles for you. To let you know we are thinking about you all the time, and that we miss you terribly.

We sit, watching the flames flicker, the sunlight casting colourful shadows on the stone floor as it glints through the stained-glass windows.

Two weeks ago, so many people came to pay their respects and show condolences. You certainly left your mark on our town. Memories of you are so far-reaching. Such an individual, loving, caring character you turned out to be. Our son.

Going to your graveside is no easier, but we still water the flowers for you, talk to you, and end up weeping. We just cannot understand why this had to happen. We tried so hard to look after you and protect you.

We just miss you xxx