My beloved husband, Kent, died in January 2012, 3 years after diagnosis of a brain tumour. Our son was 2 1/2 and our daughter 3 months old. He and I were far too young. I am now hurtling through the black space of life without him.

Wednesday, 12 June 2013


You are sitting on me when I wake each morning, and I have to heave my way through your weight to get out of bed. You surround me all day, turning the air around me to wet concrete, and my body aches from walking in you all day. You fill me eyes with tears and my heart with pain, my head with anger and my mouth with shouting. You stand in the way of me making wise decisions and focusing properly and thinking clearly, and you rob me of my patience. Sometimes you render me useless, sometimes you strike me to the floor. You follow me to bed at night and I try to fight you off in the dark but you never give up. Lately, just as I drop off to sleep, you have been tapping me on the shoulder and waking me again, flinging unwelcome, uncontrollable tears at me before I'm barely awake.

The bad that you are is a mirrored reflection of all the good that I had. Your power and immensity are the same magnitude as my love for my husband. And that is why I will live with you forever and why you are winning this battle.

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