Wednesday 11th November

A year ago, on this date, you had surgery.
A biopsy of a lump on your testicle.

Our lives were normal one minute, and then in a split second, everything changed.
It hits you like a brick wall.
Right, smack between the eyes.
It stops you in your tracks.
It takes the wind out of your sails. And you flounder.
It takes your breath away. And you struggle to breathe, to function, to be.

And then you’re catapulted onto another out-of-control rollercoaster, and you’ll never be allowed to get off. Not. Ever.

Everything you thought you had, becomes fragile and vulnerable.
All your hopes, dreams and plans are put on hold.
Or they quite simply just fade away, because they’re no longer possible to attain.

Reassess.
Regroup.
Rethink.
Rearrange.

I had lost my father to pancreatic cancer in 2009.
I was diagnosed with malignant melanoma in 2013.

Not again.
Not our family.
Not you.
Not you.
Not you.

My dear, sweet, innocent boy.

Love you to the moon and back and all the world and round the planets and back again.

I miss you.

My Angel xxxx