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.

Tuesday, 26 November 2013


I wrote this about the little girl last week on my other blog:

I was crying the other day. In her room, as it happened. She came to the almost closed door. "Me come in?" She came in and stood beside me. "Me rub Mummy back. Make Mummy better. Mummy want big Daddy. Rub Mummy back." She stroked my bare arm. "Me pat Mummy arm." She went and got a stool so she could climb up on to her change table and stand up and look at the photos of Daddy, while I watched. "Mummy not crying anymore."

It happened again a couple of days later. She raced in to the room, saw me, paused to take stock, then came over and sat beside me on the sofa. Not only did she rub my back, she also reached up and put back in to place a little piece of my hair that had tucked in to my mouth. She truly cheered me up. Not just because I felt I ought to. That girl is a pot of gold.

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