Life goes on - without Stephanie

'Give it a year and a day'

'It'll be easier once you've got through all those firsts'

'Life goes on'

Our last visit with Stephanie. We had no idea.

Yes it is getting easier going through all those firsts.

But not because it gets easier, but because all those firsts hit you like a ton of bricks and the rawness of her death hits so bloody hard. But as the next first approaches, you start to prepare. Book the day off work, book something nice to do on the day.

Christmas - not being able to buy presents and write her card, get gifts for the staff, visit her, take her out. I did a non Christmas shopping trip for Stephanie to get things out my system. I already had a bit of a list going before she died in October. I picked things up, I checked the size, the ingredients on treats and toiletries, then I put it back down on the shelf. We bought gifts and a card for the staff and dropped it round as we always did, just this time Stephanie wasn't there. 

I miss wiping her spit of my hands and arms and coat, miss my hair being pulled and I wear it down now more often, I struggled to find a disabled toilet that is clean enough to use.

9 months on when I use a public toilet I still check to see if the disabled one is clean. I can't help it. I did it all the time when I was out, so I knew where I could take her next time on a day out. The trend was if it was clean once, it'll be clean 90% of the time and staff would be receptive to freshening it up if I asked.

For Halloween, Valentines and Easter I'd put together a little parcel of gifts. Things to decorate her room and something to eat and wear.

I send these boxes to the grandchildren as well. Now I pop in a little treat for me and I send the decorations to my son and his girlfriend in Australia, instead.  I still get to buy all the things, I still get to send them.

Stephanie's birthday - I couldn't face work and called in sick. We went to Clifton in Bristol. Her boarding school where she lived from the age of 12-18. We had her home almost every weekend, driving down after work on a Friday with her 4 brothers in tow and back up the motorway home. A 3 hour trip. Drop offs on the Sunday would usually be just the one of us. Or we'd go down as a family on a Saturday and visit her grandmother and cousins.

Mother's Day and Father's Day - These were hard. We still have mother's to buy for, we still have children who will send cards and buy for us. Mother's Day snook up on me because of this. Remembering you're still a mum, but there is one child missing.

On Father's Day we went to Gloucester, for a coffee and some shopping where we used to take her. It doesn't make us feel closer to her, it's just part of our routine that stopped when she died.

My birthday last month, in June. I had some gorgeous flowers from family and friends. The last time we had this many flowers was when Stephanie died. It was nice to have bright, colourful flowers to change the image in my head from before.

Holidays are still a struggle. We would send a card and buy her a gift. We went to Las Vegas over Christmas just to be a million miles away. I sent a postcard to the staff and bought them a t towel for the kitchen. It gave us an excuse to pop back in.

We won't be popping back in again though. There's a new person in her room, some of the staff have changed. But we've decided we'll send our last holiday post card from Australia next month.

That just leaves the last day memory that we saw her and Peter's birthday. The day before she died.

We deliberated going to visit her for the day, but as we were going the following weekend, we decided to go for a coffee into Worcester instead. I don't know what happened to her card and gift from her for her dad. I guess they were going to give it to him the following weekend, then decided not to. Maybe they were taking her out in the week to shop.

The bin lorry ritual. Every Monday morning I'd take a photo of the bin lorry and send it so our grandson (he loves bin lorries) then I'd make my coffee and go to work.

Every Monday morning after that I'd watch the bin lorry as I made my coffee and relive every minute of that day. I'd struggle to get out the house. I was off work for 7 weeks and on my return I'd have to break my journey and sit in the park to have my coffee, find somewhere else to park as I was on half days for 3 months and my leaving time was the same time I left work to drive to the hospital on the day she died.

Life does indeed go on, we're joining in with it more, dwelling less on all the sadness although the sadness is still very much there. Every day Stephanie is in our thoughts and in our conversation.

We have planted a Jasmine called Stephanese outside the front door and have a pot of Angel Wing bulbs that flowered for Mothers Day that were planted with our granddaughter after the funeral.

There's a In Memory Rose that my mum gave us to mark the 6 month anniversary of her death, that was planted with our grandson, it flowered for Father's Day and there was a new bloom for my birthday.

There's always been photos of Stephanie around our home. Now there is an additional frame of her with all her siblings in the hallway, our family. There are 3 more grandchildren to add to the frame as sadly they never got to meet her their Aunty Stephanie before she died.

I'll be booking the day of her death, one year on, off work. We've no idea what we'll be doing yet. Maybe go for a walk in the Forest of Dean where we used to live and wander around the Arboretum, her favourite spot, where she was happy, sitting amongst the leaves.

I'm writing this blog post because we were going out in the evening and we'd be home late so must remember to put the bins out for the morning and I realised that while I'm still aware of the bin lorry and my coffee routine before work, it no longer triggers me. I no longer relive the Monday morning over and over.

But as life goes on around us and our family grows, we live life very differently. Stephanies life serves to remind us of the compassionate people we have in our lives, we're no longer mourning those who have left us, whether they died of their friendship just dropped away.

We're grateful for every minute of every day and make the most of everything we have. 

Life is fragile, it can go in an instance.

Word of the Week - Acceptance.

There are a couple of things niggling me at the back of my mind that I'm worrying about at the moment. Things I have no control over, but if they happen then life as I know it will change in a big way. It will be devastating and the impact will be huge with a massive ripple effect. It's not health related, it's to do with people.

I've no control over it. But what I do have control over is how I deal with it. I have to accept that people will behave in bizarre ways and whilst their intentions aren't to hurt others, sometimes hurt is inevitable. 

Acceptance is hard. My father's death in 2017 was hard. I accepted he had died. I just never dealt with the trauma of his death.

I've accepted our daughter died, but again, it was another traumatic death, that I witnessed, that I didn't walk away from. 

I could've left the room on both occasions, but I didn't, I chose to stay put, chose to stay with my father and my daughter as they took their last breaths. I didn't need to for me. I probably didn't need to for them, but something made me stay. I said after watching my father die that I was never going to do it again, but I did and I have to accept that. I chose to stay, however traumatic.

I'm still struggling with both these events. I've been diagnosed with PTSD, I've received targeted therapy, I'm on medication, I've had a mental health plan in place. I've reached the end of the support that is available to me. The help and support I want is not available. The help and support I wanted was in the first few days and weeks. 

There was help and support from some amazing people and I will be forever grateful, but it has taken 6 months for me to accept that the people I thought would help just weren't there, they didn't call, they didn't didn't come round, they didn't put aside their differences, they didn't make us their priority.

It's taken 6 months for me to accept this, to move on from questioning why? What did I do wrong for them not to care about us when we needed them the most? For them not to drop everything for us in our hour of greatest need? 

With acceptance comes peace. For too long I've been focusing on regret. I realise now people come in and out of your life, some for a long time and some for a short while. But it's the quality of the time spent, not the quantity.

I accept it's hard to know what to say to when someone dies. I've been in that situation so many times.

I accept that it's hard to know whether to call in or worry that'll you'll be intruding.

I accept that while you'll thinking about the above, time passes, then you start to feel awkward about the gap left.

I accept that maybe some people will feel triggered and can't cope.

But no matter how hard you are finding the situation, for us, it was harder than you could ever imagine and that knock at the door, that message, that late night phone call, that invite for coffee, that hug and and even those awkward silences meant the world to us and always will.

We accept our circle of friends and people we can turn to has grown smaller but it has also grown stronger.

Word of the Week - Triggers

Triggers

Every Monday morning sometime between 7.40 and 8am the bin lorry arrives. One week is the black bin, general waste for landfill, the following week is the green bin for recycling.

Every Monday morning around this time I'm stood in the kitchen at the window, making my latte and putting my lunch together and preparing to leave for work.

I've had this routine, every day during term time since March 2022.

On Monday 7th October 2024 at 7.43am the bin lorry drove into view. I took this photo for our grandson and sent it to him in Northern Ireland. He loves bin lorries. I finished making my coffee and I drove to work, parked up in the staff car park and got on with my working day.

I left work at 1pm, collected Peter and we drove to the hospital where Stephanie had been taken after being unwell that morning. We got home that evening at 9pm and our lives had changed forever.

Stephanie, our eldest child had died, without warning, no illness, no long term health problems that indicated this would happen. Here one minute and then no more.

Every Monday morning the bin lorry arrives in our street. I stand in the kitchen window making my latte and putting my lunch together and prepare to leave for work, just as I did every other Monday morning and every other day. But now, I do so with a heavy heart. I dread Monday mornings, even more so, black bin days. I dread Sunday nights when the bins go out. I dread Fridays at the end of the week as I know Monday is coming and I dread Tuesday mornings, because I know that there is only 6 more days without the bin lorry before I get triggered again.

Outside our front door is a pot full of tulips. They're another trigger. The bulbs were given to us by a friend, they're called Angel Wings. I planted them with our 5 year old Granddaughter the day after Stephanie's funeral. As she watered them she said 'stay hydrated Stephanie' I hear her voice and I'm taken back to that day, every time I step outside the front door. I waited every day for them to flower. I wanted them to flower for Stephanie's birthday in February. They've started to flower now, in time for Mother's Day.

Mother's Day. Now that's been a trigger I hadn't considered. It's hit me smack, bang in the face. I still have two mums to buy for. I still have 4 sons to be a Mother to. I'd seen all the promotional emails giving me the option to opt out of. I'd not given it a second thought and it appears no one else had either, why would or should they? I'm still a mum, I still have a mum and a MIL. Stephanie's absence is even greater.

Hospitals and ambulances trigger me. I had several medical appointments within a short space of time after Stephanie died. Going into hospital was horrendous. It wasn't the same hospital, but nether the less, it was triggering. I ended up in hospital on Sunday. I sat quietly, I couldn't switch my brain off, but I practiced my breathing exercises and knew I had to be where I was, I couldn't avoid it. I had to deal with a medical emergency in work a few weeks back, it was mentally, physically and emotionally draining, but I was on auto pilot throughout. Once the paramedics took over, I was an absolute wreck. The incident was too similar to the last moments I spent with Stephanie before they rushed her into theatre.

I don't always know what the triggers are going to be though. I can be in a supermarket and be triggered by a 6 pack of donuts that I can no longer buy and drop in. Or in a clothes shop and see a jumper with a tight waist band that would be ideal for her that would stop her pulling it up and flashing her belly. Or in a toy shop and see a rattle that doesn't look like a baby toy and isn't too hard and won't hurt anyone when she tires of playing with it and lobs it in their direction. Or I see the perfect drinking cup that won't leak in her bag when we're out and about. None of which I can no longer buy, yet I still automatically reach for, because apart from the donuts, they're rare finds and were always on my list of things to look out for and now I see them everywhere.

I can move the flower pot, I can change my morning routine, but I can't stop the bin lorry coming, I still have to leave the house by 8am for work. I can't avoid things that trigger me, maybe time will change this for me, maybe it won't. Maybe I'll just get better at dealing with the triggers. Some days, weeks are better than others, sometimes there are too many triggers altogether, like there have been this week.

Hospital, bin lorry, Mother's Day, pictures in the local paper and online of a student at the school I work in who died over Christmas, the tulips flowering. It's just all been a bit too much.

Is blogging useful anymore?

I know it is for me. But is it useful for anyone else these days?

I started on Social media in the days when social media was just starting out.

In the days when you could ask a question on twitter, didn't need a hashtag to start a conversation and met people far and wide with the same interests as you almost immediately and actually made friends, you socialised, shared happy and sad events both online and eventually in real life.

Oh those were the days.

Blogging events, days out, support networks, opened your heart, shared tragic events, reached out, celebrated milestones and received love, support and understanding.

Nowadays it's all adverts, self promotion and pure hatred in some cases.

I used to churn out 2-3 posts a week. Sharing posts about raising a family, life with teens, schooling, discipline. I'd actively seek others in similar situations, avidly read their posts, look for tips and support. I'd joining with blog linkies, read and comment and know I wasn't alone as a parent.

Then we became expats and life changed and I wrote about life abroad, loneliness, isolation, new adventures, travel, charity work and volunteering. My interests changed as the children grew up and left home. I took up photography with an interest in construction when we moved to Dubai and documenting the ever changing skyline. I grew vegetables in the sand, we called our garden. I blogged about international travel and relocating pets. I talked about grief, about health, becoming grandparents, being a landlord and finally about repatriation. 

And now I don't feel I've anything left to talk about. Why? Because social media has got so big, it's just about all covered now. A hashtag is meaningless these days. There are a million and one 'how to guides' no one needs to know how to pack a suitcase, survive the menopause, or read a 1000 word review about a back pack.

So is there anything left to blog about? or has blogging had it's day?

For me, I've always blogged for my sanity and the occasional sponsored post. It kept me sane for 12 years as an expat. It documented our lives abroad. Our lives were different, it was interesting for others to read, it wasn't necessarily better, it was just different. It was interesting for our friends in South Africa to hear our take on their country as foreigners, how we experienced things they took as being the norm, things they took for granted, that were different for us on a visitors visa. Like obtaining a drivers permit for our son, or getting utilities set up, opening bank accounts. Our family and friends were fascinated with our travels in South Africa, the photos of Safaris, the extraordinary houses we lived in, the charity work I did. But as the sun always shone they weren't always interested in the struggles we had or understanding of the difficulties we faced or the fear we lived under from time to time.

Dubai was utopia for all. We were lucky, but it still fascinated people. It wasn't restrictive for me like many people thought, but you couldn't convince them. We were also living the dream, so how could I not be happy 24/7?

But has any of it been useful to anyone else?

There have been blog post about relocating where people have contacted me to ask for further information about moving their pets to another country, about choosing shipping containers, working abroad, visa applications and lots of enquires during covid when I was travelling between Dubai and the UK, know where I was getting my testing done and how to obtain permission to fly. But now 3 years on, that information is no longer valid because so much has changed. It was relevant at the time and was useful to others.

Now I'm just going to work, sharing pictures of DIY around the home and garden, pictures of trips in the camper van, talking about my health, visits with the grandchildren and holidays.

I'm still documenting my life. I share with Project 365, a photo a day and a weekly diary and I co run a weekly Linky called #PoCoLo. But I'm no longer writing anything that may be of interest to others, nothing that may help or inspire other people. I'm only writing for me and maybe the grandchildren who may or may not read these posts long after I've gone and have a fantastic legacy of what life was really like for their grandparents from 2009 onwards.

A few weeks ago I wrote a post about dealing with grief and moving on, it was scheduled to go out on Monday. There was a nagging feeling that something was going to happen. I'd shared this feeling with Peter and a friend. I was frightened to go home. I was frightened to go out. I was eating or sleeping. I was losing weight. I had a head ache. I was encouraged to write it all done and go and see the Doctor. Even I knew it wasn't right.

I didn't go to the Doctor but I wrote it all down, I felt better. I really did feel better. I'd let go. I was talking. I had 2 weeks where I felt lighter. 

Then the absolute worst happened. Our daughter died. I carried on talking and writing. I've had a couple of what I suppose other people would call 'break downs' over the past few weeks in response to 'you're the bravest person I know' 'if anyone can do this, you can Suzanne' when I've replied with 'no I'm not brave' you've just justified that as your excuse for leaving me to sort everything out. I'm not everybody's everything. I'm not everyone's go to person. I'm the one who gets things done because I'm usually the one who takes their tears away, the lack of tears is often seen as lack of emotion, but for me it's sheer shock and stunned silence. I'm not afraid of crying. I've cried this week until the tears don't come anymore, I'm not frightened of crying. I've cried in the coffee shop, I've cried in front of friends, I've cried in the photo shop, at the hospital, at the neighbours, to the cat, with my work colleagues who have visited, anyone who has shown me the slightest bit of care and concern, anyone who genuinely has looked at me and without a word has conveyed 'oh Suzanne, I just don't know what to say' 

There is nothing to say. We've received so many kind words this week, phone calls and visits, along with flowers and cards and a food parcel from my amazing colleagues in work. Invites for coffees for a change of scenery, to be able to talk about Stephanie. Chats on the street with the neighbours who have met her and known us since me moved here in 2002, despite us moving away for 12 years and coming back.

It may feel like a strange thing to be blogging and laying everything out for all to read, but for me writing everything down has always been easier than saying things out loud. There are times I haven't been able to speak, to find the words, but they've been there in my head and the frustration at not being able to get them out has made me so angry. 

I found writing the eulogy of Stephanie's life so cathartic. It was easy, there was so much to say and once I started it just flowed from the start to the end. I asked one of her brothers for some input at one point as I wanted to makes sure their words were heard, as she was their lives also.

Sometimes looking back and reflecting triggers memories I'd buried and it is painful, but over time it makes it easier, it helps to see how far we've come individually and as a family. 

The night Stephanie died will be etched in our memories forever, the emotions and the feelings, the last touch, look, words. The actual timings, order of things and the process will be lost forever, the order of events will change in our minds. But it is recorded in messages that after the initial calls made to our sons and Peters sister, it became impossible to speak, the words were too hard and a serious of cut and paste messages followed, which we then used for days to tell extended family and friends. 

Friends in the real world and online who have lost a child themselves, who have lost a child in the past few weeks. I've been posting photos on instagram, it has helped me. Peter has read through the responses. I'd say only 10% of the people who have commented were physical friends first, and maybe 50% have become real life friends with Peter having met many of them. Blogger friends who have met Stephanie, people who know Stephanie through the power of social media and my endless battle with clean and tidy disabled toilets. 

I've continued to blog since Stephanie died, to record our journey as we grieve. To record the happy moments, which are becoming more frequent. How the sadder moments, physically hurt less. how we are learning to cope and deal with those moments. The grief of missing her isn't less, it's just recognising when it is approaching, being able to stop and pause and accept it, take a deep breath and allow it come, rather than fighting it off, trying to push it away.

There's so much more to be said about Stephanie, about my grief, but that is for separate posts.

Dealing with grief and stress. It's time to move on.

This post was written in September. Things have changed dramatically since I scheduled it, with our world being turned upside down with our eldest daughter dying at the age of 36 very suddenly and very unexpectedly on the evening of on October 7th 2024. 

There was something inside me that just knew I had to clear space for to be able to deal with what was lying ahead.

I'd been really struggling in September with my emotions. It was the first anniversary since Bob The Dog died on the 29th and I'd been thinking about him daily. It was my father's and my grandmothers birthdays and I don't know if it was the right thing to do or not but we decided to visit the crematorium for the first time in ages.

We never collected their ashes, they were interred by the crematorium staff without an additional service and we were given a plot number. The crematorium provided us with a grid reference so I know what area their ashes are in. We have a plaque on a 10 year lease, due to be renewed in 3 years. I don't think anyone else visits my father and when I arrived I couldn't locate it and just assumed we'd only purchased a 5 year lease. I wasn't sad, just accepted it and prepared myself to leave the flowers at my grans plaque. One of my aunts or cousins must be renewing hers.

I found my father's plaque further down the row than I'd remembered. I only visit the crematorium these days when there is a family funeral. There aren't many of his generation left and the contact becomes less as the older generation die. 

I'm sad that I never collected Bob the Dogs ashes. At the time, my thinking was, I never collected my father's, why would I want the dogs? But with a person, people let you talk, people want to talk. And whilst people do that with a dog also, it's only for the first few days, that they understand and seem to allow the grief. Even when they've lost a dog themselves.

I'm not sure what I'd have done with Bob's ashes, scattered them on the Malvern Hills, where he loved to walk, kept them in a pot in front of the fire, where he loved to sleep, planted them in the garden where he loved to sun puddle, taken them back to South Africa where he came from. My friend bought me some forget me not seeds that are planted in a pot in the garden and she gave me a bracelet, I've worn everyday, that sadly I lost on holiday in August. 

Whilst the vets were absolutely brilliant when we had Bob put to sleep and my friend came to say goodbye to him, there was no service, no gathering of those who loved him, nothing of memories, no drink in the pub. The vets sent us a pot of his fur. I took a paw print in some clay the day before he died and I put his collar, tag and a piece of his bedding in a little frame. I've put these bits and pieces together in the garden, changed my phone screen, written one last piece, shared one last photo and decided the time has come to say goodbye, let go and move on.

It took a long time to come to terms with my father's death. I actually accepted his death, the moment he died, but I didn't grieve for him for a long time. His death was sudden and traumatic. I had to deal with the police and coroners office. I was separated from my husband for 6 months in total, apart from him coming to the funeral. I was dealing with the youngest child just finishing school and trying to support him into the work place. I had a nightmare neighbour making my life hell. My eldest son was emigrating to Australia within 3 weeks of my father's death and a week after that, my middle son was being deployed to Iraq for 6 months, whilst having to deal with planning a funeral also. Over the next 5 months I was also diagnosed with pneumonia, I cleared my father's belongings, sold my mums house, flew back to Dubai to move house ourselves, returned to the UK to finalise mums new house purchase. I wasn't able to start my new job and I became isolated again back in Dubai. A few months later I was back in the UK for my SIL's funeral, also my friend, taken by cancer, I missed saying goodbye by 2 days, our last conversation being over the phone. During this time I also had a bone marrow biopsy, was seeing an oncologist and having regular iron infusions.

Towards the end of 2019 I was flying back and forth to the UK, Northern Ireland,South Africa, out to Australia I'd created a new norm of not being in any one place for any length of time, never being anywhere long enough to have to adjust, never having time to settle and get into a routine, never have time to think. Then we were advised to evict our tenants in our UK home, due to damage and non payment of rent and by December 2019, I picked up the keys to our damaged house, moved from the flat in South Wales and rented that out and arranged for the cat and dog to fly to the UK the end of January 2020, with the plan being for Peter to move out the Villa into an apartment and for me to get a teaching job in the UK and fly out to Dubai during the holidays and I'd lined up house sitters for the first year, regardless of whether I got a job or not.....then covid hit.

I managed to get back from Dubai and was isolated in the UK till the end of August 2020 when Peter was finally given permission to fly to the UK for 3 weeks. Then 2 weeks later, I got permission to go out to Dubai for 3 weeks to organise shipping for half our furniture and all my things. Covid caused major stress as did the evergreen container that got stuck in the Suez Canal and I ended up homeless for two weeks back in the UK and had to fly to Northern Ireland to stay with my son and his wife. Furniture arrived the night before I flew back to Dubai, the house sitters had to deal with the boxes and the sofas ended up in the neighbours garage. The iron infusions continued throughout this period.

I got back to Dubai for Christmas, Hubby got stuck in Saudi for Christmas as the borders closed behind him. In the New Year I was in hospital for a week, before returning to the UK. I then returned to Dubai in April with the neighbours dog and cat sitting. The UK government banned direct flights, introduced hotel quarantine, we moved out the villa and into a hotel, finally got a flight home and paid £2,600 for 10 nights in the Crowne Plaza over looking the car park at Birmingham Airport. 

2nd container arrived, just as much of a battle to get to the house, no unpacking, due to covid. 6 months later, I got a job, 2 weeks later I caught covid and was really ill for a week. We were still mask wearing at that point (March 2022)

By now we had 2 grandchildren, lots of lovely visits and happy times and major surgery for the youngest for the first 18 months of his life. The rest of 2022 went well. We went to Australia to see our son.

2023 was good, well the start of it, with a new ground floor extension, I started for the first time to really get my head round my fathers death, I'd been reliving the night over and over, the helplessness of just sitting there watching someone die. I'd been so stressed with everything else going on in my life, I'd just not stopped to process exactly what had been going on that night. I was dealing with everything as a separate emotion. Everything I was doing was huge. Everything that had happened was a major thing in anyones life. 

Then Bob died and it hit me bloody hard. We'd just returned from Australia. I cried for weeks, then I cried some more. I cried longer than I did when my dad died. I cried more than when I did when my dad died. I wasn't crying for my dad. I was crying for my dog. My dog who was with me every day throughout everything, the only time my dog wasn't with me, was when my dad died.

We bought a camper van, we called it Bobster, grandsons health improved, mine settled (for a while) the garden took shape. Peter went to Egypt. I went to Paris, I made some great friends in work, then I lost my job, I fought to get a new one in the same place. We went to Turkey. Spent the summer with the grandchildren, I went back to work and approached the first anniversary of Bob the dog's death.

I realised I'd been holding everything in. I'd not had 5 seconds between each event to be normal, to feel normal, to breathe, to have a bit of space. I don't feel anyone has ever acknowledged how I've just gone from one stressful event straight into another, how could they? They've all been doing their own things, been caught up each time in a bit of what I've been doing whilst dealing with their own stuff. Maybe they've found things just as hard at times, maybe at the same time as I have, but maybe their gaps in-between have been longer. I know I've heard an awful lot from people about how well I do things, how well I manage, how they couldn't have done half the things they've done if it wasn't for me to help them.

A friend asked me last week if I had considered how much stress can affect our lives and our health. I asked her 'what do I have to be stressed about?' 'I don't have money or relationship issues' 'I've nothing to complain about' she looked at me for quite some time.

I was diagnosed with Generalised anxiety disorder a few years after my father died, I didn't have time to deal with it, I wasn't in one place long enough to deal with it. Last month I was suffering with severe stomach pains. My husband nagged me to go to the GP. I hate going there, more blood tests, migraines, pain killers, my age, it must be the menopause. I went, I casually mentioned my gallstones, diagnosed in 2019, they weren't on my records, they'd been emailed through. I'm now waiting for surgery. I'm guessing the GAD isn't on my records either. I'm going to have to face up to that now as well. 

I've had this feeling of impending doom sitting heavily inside me for a few weeks now, a fear that something very bad is going to happen. I don't know what, where to when, but it's been stopping me from sleeping, eating, functioning.

The next time the GP asks me if I'm feeling stressed, I guess I'll have to say 'yes I am' It's time for me to move on, it's not doing me any good thinking I'm ok, I'm not really, am I?

Birthdays no longer celebrated

It would've been my Father's 85th birthday on the 7th of September. He died aged 77.

This is one of my favourite photo's taken of the two of us.

He used to moan about me taking photos and putting them on 'that internet' then he'd ask all day if we had any likes and 'how many?'

I took this photo on the Sunday on our last day out together, he died on the Tuesday. I'm so grateful for the those last 3 days we spent together. I'm so grateful for being in the UK when he died. But I'll be honest, I'm still not grateful, 7 years on, that I was there when he died.

It would've been my Gran's 115th birthday on the 14th of September. She died in 2006, one month after her 92nd birthday. This photo was taken on her 90th birthday. She's pictured here with my Father and my Uncles. They both died aged 66, in 2011 and 2016.

September is a sad month for me remembering my father and my gran. I still go to pick things up for them for their birthdays. The clock I bought my father for his birthday the year he died and I never got to give him has finally stopped working.

The second hand stopped working a month ago. I need to chuck it out, I don't want to be a hoarder like he was.

I still have the card, which sadly came true, along with emptying the sheds, the attic and several rooms.

There are times I pick up tea towels as souvenirs to give my gran, but put them back with a little sadness that she is no longer with us to give them to her, but I still use the tea towels she had daily, the tea towels she had pinned to the kitchen cupboard door that were given as gifts for her.

Whilst I feel sad, I'm also grateful to have these wonderful people in my life for as long as I did. For my children to have had a great grandmother they can remember spending time with and for them to have had a grandfather in their adult lives.

No time to die - are you prepared?

I may have pinched this title from a James Bond film, but it is what keeps popping into my head when I think about death.

I don't think about death in a negative way and I'm certainly, not to my knowledge, going to die anytime soon, but over the past few years I have had a couple of scares with blood tests that have led to a bone marrow biopsy and tests for leukaemia as well as currently waiting for the results from scans for a mole behind my eye to check it hasn't grown or changed shape since the last test 8 months ago. I also had a mammogram last week and a recent smear test. Peter had a prostate scare around 15 years ago and he has had his 'over 65 poop in a tube test'

When you reach a certain age, all of sudden everything is geared for dying. Adverts on the TV for the over 50s for funeral plans and constant reminders we're getting near to the end of our lives. Stairlift and bath aid leaflets through the door. And reminders from the NHS that you might have cancer, let us check you over.

We're not infallible, it's the only certainty in life that one day we will die. I don't know if it is age related, I'm 52, that I think more about death, but it certainly stems from watching my father die when he collapsed at home suddenly in 2017.

We weren't prepared for his death, it was sudden and such a shock, but then as time has gone on, I've realised it was inevitable and with hindsight, it was amazing he lived as long as he did after his heart attack in 2012 and his life style choices. I'm also grateful that he just died, no downhill spiral, no worrying, no waiting to say goodbye.

In a way though we were prepared for his death, he had everything in place we needed to ensure a last goodbye. His paperwork was in order, he'd discussed it with me a month prior to his death. He'd written out his funeral requests, psalms, songs and provided us with a brief history of his life for us to use for his eulogy. He kept up to date records of family and friends so we were able to contact everyone straight away and he had a funeral policy in place. 

So we've written our wills, we've informed the daughter in laws where our paperwork is kept and discussed our funeral plans with each other. No religion, play ELO Mr Bluesky for me, no scattering of ashes, no sitting on the window sill in the downstairs loo and no turning us into pieces of jewellery. 

We've told the kids to do whatever they want with the stuff in the house, take it, skip it, house clearance, unless there is anything they want. We've got the solicitors acting as our executors as our children are far and wide, just don't leave the house standing as shrine to either of us.

As for our old age, the bit before we die, if we need care then we can pay for it, have people in to clean, mow the lawn. We're tech savvy so there's no reason why we can't carry on managing our own lives before we consider or need a care home. But the bit before that, the 'adventure before dementia' where we spend as much of our money as we can buying a camper van, travelling the world, sorting our home for our old age is all underway and we're just not worrying about anything else.

This was one of the stands at the Three Counties Fair in June. My first thought on seeing it was 'what?' then I realised it's exactly what I've been talking about, Death being inevitable. Quite a few parents hushed their children's questions and moved them on, avoiding the subject, missing an opportunity to normalise talking about death.

Is death something you talk about? Are you honest with your children about where people go when they die? 

Week 36 One Daily Positive and Project 365. Back to School

Such a privilege to witness this change in history. So sad to hear of the death of Queen Elizabeth II, the end of an era and all I've ever known. It's triggered many memories of my Father and Grandparents and recalls of their memories of King George VI reign, his death and the Queens Coronation. 

I've been very moved by King Charles III composure and the rest of the Royal family as they've talked so openly about their Mother, so soon after her death.

245 Saturday Early morning walk into town with Bob for a coffee then afternoon spent cleaning the conservatory and watching movies.

246 Sunday Up early, off to Monmouth to drop off the spare keys for the flat to the new owner, took Bob with me for a walk and had a coffee. Visited the Twins for an hour, then on to see the Things with a birthday cake, then off to see our grandchild for the afternoon. I called in at my old neighbours for a cuppa, the whole family were there, lovely to see everyone. Home at 7pm and watched Disney+

247 Monday Back to work, went swimming on the way in. 3 days of training and admin this week. I'm working with year 8 and 9 this year, following last years students for continuity which is nice. Afternoon and evening spent watching TV. Massive thunder and lightening storm disturbed the cat and dog, so bed late and a bonus call with Peter.

248 Tuesday Decided to take the car due to the predicted storms rather than cycling. Stopped at the shops on the way home to pick up a birthday gift. Spent the evening blogging and watching TV.

249 Wednesday Went swimming on the way to work. I've taken out an annual membership, so as long as I swim twice a week I'm saving about £10 a month. Started sorting out the loft room with piles for selling, donating and recycling/binning.

250 Thursday A longer day at work and a food shop on the way home. Afternoon and evening spent glued to the TV. There were lots of tears.

251 Friday Sorted a bit more of the loft room and did the ironing, all with the TV on. Decorated the living room and blew up balloons to celebrate my Friday night chips and wine friend. Peter started his journey home and is spending the next week in Dubai.

On the blog this week:

Have you ever met or seen the Queen?

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

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I'm not frightened of dying, it's survival that scares me

Last night over Prague we hit a patch of turbulence, it was that rough that the cabin crew didn't even have time to put the trollies away before the Captain told them to take their seats.

There were quite a few audible gasps from my fellow passengers, but I just sat there, looking out the window at the wing, tipping and bumping in the sky.

I used to be frightened of flying, I used to be frightened of heights, but that is an irrational fear and my true fear I faced all those years was my fear of actual death, but over the past year and a half I've come to realise that I'm not frightened of death either, I'm actually frightened of survival.

Summer 2017 my father died suddenly at home, I was with him within minutes of his collapse and I could tell he was dying. An ambulance had already been called, but I rang them back and went through the protocols with the operator, I was remarkably calm and in control of myself. I wasn't asked to start CPR or do mouth to mouth. I just followed instructions and sat there with my father watching him die until the emergency response teams arrived and took over.

Over the past few months, I've re lived that scene many times in my head, I've separated the sudden death of my father from the scene and I live with the feeling of helplessness watching a person die, not in pain, not aware, not communicating their wants and needs, no blinking of the eye, no rising of the chest, just life escaping them, slowly and there being absolutely nothing I could do to change the outcome.

I'm grateful my father died the way he did, quickly, painlessly and with his family around him, but as much as I didn't want him to die, I also didn't want him surviving and not having a quality of life, whilst waiting slowly for nature to take its course with every goodbye I made getting harder and harder for both of us.

My father died that night, I survived, but the events live with me, they haunt me. I have no regrets, July 11th 2017 was my father's time, he'd lived a full life. I know there was nothing I could've done, nothing different I could've tried that would have changed the outcome, but I live with a feeling of feeling totally helpless. His life was out of my control, like the turbulence last night was out of my control also. I've flown numerous times, I can accept the turbulence is out of my control. I wouldn't survive an air crash from 37,000ft so there was nothing to fear.

I've only watched one person die, I need a bit more time to accept that.

Getting on a plane and visiting the countries my father did gives me a lot of peace, you can read my guest post here. Finding peace in travel.

How I'm grieving one year on since my fathers death

I thought we'd got through all the 1sts since my father died suddenly on July 11th last year, until my birthday on June 26th, the moment my mum walked into the coffee shop that morning. Last year my father was with her. Of course there is still the anniversary of his death to get through and then the funeral 2 weeks later. Then we're done or are we?

For me, my start to the summer is mimicking last years UK trip. Helping the teen find somewhere to live, visiting child 4 in Belfast to say good bye before his overseas posting and typing up 1000's of names on a data base for a charity in South Africa. Mum and I even visited the Speech House for afternoon tea where I took this photo.

The same place this one was taken 3 days before my father died.

As an expat my greatest fear was not being able to be there for my parents and my children should there be an emergency and not being able to get there in time to say our last goodbyes. Travelling for nearly 20 hours back in 2012 from South Africa with no way of communicating was traumatic, not knowing if by the time I arrived at the hospital my father would've have survived his surgery or not.

After that trip, every subsequent trip I made then became my most feared trip. As much as I enjoyed the time with the family, the moment I arrived I was fully aware that I was already dreading the goodbyes, the last hugs, the last kisses and the last words, knowing that at some point in time and soon, I would be coming back to the UK with the full knowledge that my father would no longer be there.

My father was a very opinionated man and ran commentary on every situation in life, he would wind me up to the point of an argument, with neither side backing down. We both viewed the world as explorers, we shared a love of sport, particularly football, but we viewed life from different vantage points, his mostly from the 'good old days' mine from the present.

The last few weeks of my fathers life were special, we talked so much, we did things together, we always did, there were arguments of course during that time, but I have no regrets, no words left unspoken, no words spoken regretted.

On the night my father died, I said to the teen 'come on we're going to Nanna and Grandad's, be a good grandson and come with me' my niece was there with her 3 boys also. We had a drink and my father started on one of his favourite topics, yet rather than have an argument I just simply said 'I'm not doing this' we said our goodbyes, nicely and left. 3 hours later, I was back sitting at his side as he lay in the hallway, waiting for the paramedics to arrive.

That night I sat with him, I was relatively calm, I knew there was nothing I or anyone could do. When the paramedics took over I collapsed, I couldn't breathe, I phoned my husband and a friend. I stood on the street with the neighbours, then I spent several hours going over all the details with the police as it was a sudden death at home.

The following days I didn't wash, eat or sleep. I couldn't talk to anyone without gulping huge intakes of breath. I walked round the town asking in my head 'why are you smiling? don't you know my father just died' It's a small town and I wasn't able to go far without someone offering their condolences, many times I held it together, said 'thank you' often I fell apart, leaving people staring at me blankly not knowing what to say or do.

All of a sudden I went from saying 'my father died last night' to 'last week/month/year' Mum moved during this period. I returned back and forth to my home in Dubai. My father was a hoarder, thankfully everything was labelled, but trying to sell it all has been a battle. A challenge I've accepted, willingly. I shout at him for leaving me all this crap to sort/sell/donate/throw. I look through his things and wonder why he never showed me this stuff when he was alive. I get angry with him for leaving us like he did. I get emotional, I cry. I can't watch the World Cup without crying, or pass merchandise in the shops without automatically wanting to buy him something. I can't attend a sporting event without getting upset, as he'd be back at home trying to spot me on the TV, while mum relayed the information via face book. I can no longer argue with him, tell him he's wrong and I miss all that.

But as time has gone on, I cry less, but I never stop thinking about him, good or bad. I cried as I wrote this sitting in a coffee shop in Belfast, people were looking at me, I didn't care. Because I fear the day that I don't cry for my father, the day I no longer shed a tear.

There are days, whole days when he doesn't enter my thoughts, but they are rare. He'd be so proud of the teen with his new job, he'd be excited for child 4 as he heads off on another tour with the army, he was so excited when child 3 told him he was going to Australia a couple of weeks before he died, he'd be so looking forward to seeing him come back in October for a visit. He missed child 2's wedding last month.

He's missed by us all, he'll never see Thing 1, 2 & 3 grow up, his great grandchildren, or the great children my mum will get to know. Thing 1 who is 4 said to me the other day 'My grandad died, your daddy died, do you miss him? I do'

This is the post I wrote marking the end of 2017. Managing grief 5 months on.
Although i am not my mother's carer, I do need to support her with stuff while she adapts to life on her own after 53 years of marriage. Living in a different country is challenging and our story appeared in the Daily Mail, you can read about it here.

One daily Positive - Week 11. Nicholas Parsons and home to Dubai

Both a sad start and end to this UK trip, arriving for my SIL's funeral and leaving 2 days after the death of my Uncle. This happened in 2016 also, when I came over for my father's youngest brothers funeral and my mother's eldest brother died the day I left. I finished the week back home in Dubai. Fell back into local time straight away, tired and had no milk, the garden had survived, one house plant was a bit worse for wear and it felt strange not being met by the cat and dog.

70 Sunday Our Easy Jet flight from Belfast was delayed by an hour, said our goodbyes to child 4 and 4a, who we'll see again in Dubai at the end of the month. Collected car hire and then the teen from Stratford and dropped him off at my mum's where he's staying till the end of the week. Mother's Day gifts from child 4, 4a and 5.

71 Monday Collected child 1 from Gloucester and hubby suggested we visit Bicester village for a day out, the roads were really misty. I took Mary's (over40andamumtoone) birthday gift with us and called her on route and she joined us for a coffee or two. I must say both Peter and I were impressed with how she handled Stephanie and dodged flying drink bottles.

72 Tuesday Collected MIL from Keynsham and headed off to Street for the day for shopping and lunch. Had the start of a migraine. I know I'm over doing it, but our remaining time in the UK is limited and I lost 4 days to the snow. I took Peter to me local pub to meet Geoff, the landlord, who bought my fathers car. I tend to treat the pub as an extension of my living room as the teen is still living in the flat.

73 Wednesday Woke to the sad news that Uncle Tim died last night. It was something we were expecting and it hit me really hard. Tim was my father's best friend from birth and I can't recall any event over my lifetime of 46 years that he and his wife, Aunty Pat who died in 2012, hadn't been part of. I had a horrendous migraine and really didn't want to go anywhere, but child 2 had his suit fitting appointment for his wedding in June and I was dragged to Gloucester, called in to see ex MIL on our way back and went straight to bed. Peter went to see my sister, mini me and Thing 1, 2 & 3. Managed to get out in the evening to see Nicholas Parsons at the local theatre, it was very good, despite the migraine.

74 Thursday Took mum to visit my cousin, Tim's son, I hadn't seen him during the hospital visits and as I won't be able to attend the funeral, we drove to Aberdare for the day. On the way back we stopped at the crematorium to order my father's memorial plaque. It was a sad time for both mum and I, first time back at the crematorium and we saw where my father's ashes were buried. In the evening Peter and I did a whistle stop tour of saying goodbyes and met friends in the pub for a quiet drink and replied to 2 of the 3 wedding invites we have to look forward to this year.

75 Friday It's not often Peter and I fly together, we joke we're like royalty. We sat together upstairs on the Airbus A380. I require a window seat when I fly so I have something to lean against. Peter was pleased with the extra legroom and storage but I was disappointed as I may as well have been sitting in an aisle seat, I had nothing to lean against and spent most of the flight in pain and tears.

76 Saturday I didn't get much sleep, woke early and fetched milk, caught up with some blogging while Peter slept as it's back to work for him tomorrow, unpacked, collected the cat and dog and had a manicure, pedicure and new gel polish while Peter did some food shopping, a relaxing day and an early night ahead.

On the blog this week:

My Sunday Photo - Coventry Cathedral - Mixing the old and the new
Triumphant Tales, Tweens Teens Beyond, Best Boot Forward and PoCoLo linky
What it's like being a woman living in Dubai.

One Daily Positive - Week 5

It's been a crap week. For those who've been reading my blog for a while, thank you for sticking with me as it's been all doom and gloom the past 6 months, starting with me being ill, my dad dying and me being isolated from my husband and home for 5 months, then a house move, still having health problems and seeing an oncologist and now the sudden death of my ex SIL. Fo those of you who have just started reading my blog, sorry, I can't guarantee it'll get any better. As I live in Dubai, life is always going to be slightly more complicated being so far away from my loved ones.

I'm pleased to report though that my mum finally moved house this week, quite an emotional time for me also as when I next visit the UK, my dad's entire life will be packed into 3 keepsake boxes and his essence will not have moved with my mum, I'm really not looking forward to my next trip home, for a funeral either.

28 Sunday Woke up to the news my ex SIL had died late last night, she was more than just that though. She was my friend and a surrogate mother to my children since we left the UK. She battled and beat breast cancer in 2016, but sadly it spread to her lungs and brain and she was given only a few months to live just under 3 weeks ago. She remained positive, had great strength, but sadly 36 hours after being admitted to hospital on Friday, she passed away. This photo was taken in 2013 when she and my niece, Lizi, came to visit us in South Africa. RIP Christine.

29 Monday Took Peter to the airport he's off to Saudi for the day, dropped my car off for a service and to get the window and air con repaired, met a friend for lunch and she gave me a lift home, will collect the car in the morning. Had my nails painted to reflect the colours of breast cancer support and awareness. Shocking pink for Inflammatory Breast Cancer, grey for brain and ivory for lung.

30 Tuesday Peter got home in the early hours as his flight was delayed due to technical problems and they had to change planes, he dropped me a the garage to collect my car, I did some shopping, and coffee and blogged and visited Safa park to take some more during/after photos of the Dubai Water Canal.

31 Wednesday Dropped Bob at Paw Parking and met my friend at Kite Beach for lunch and a stroll. Some 15kms and 4 hours later we got back to the car. Came home had a bath, a little sleep, then off to the pub for quiz night, we won again.

32 Thursday I spent the day cleaning the house, I struggled to get motivated, it's been a difficult week. I finally got round to food shopping at 5pm and hubby surprised me by meeting me in the supermarket to help out. By the time I got to sit down the cat had pinched my chair.

33 Friday I popped out in the morning to get some meat and have a coffee, met a woman at the mall and we sat chatting for a couple of hours which cheered me up no end. In the evening we had friends round for a BBQ and had a fantastic evening, one of the best for a long time.

34 Saturday We headed out to the beach for breakfast, coffee and a walk. I sat in the garden blogging and had a nap late afternoon before taking my friends car back from last night and joining them to watch the rugby and have dinner.

On the blog this week:

My Sunday Photo - Dubai Marina Now and Then 2015-2018

Triumphant Tales, Tweens Teens Beyond, Best Boot Forward - Getting out of a rut and blowing my own trumpet.

PoCoLo - Where are all the expats?

Managing grief 5 months on.

It's a sad post to end 2017 with. It's not been a sad year, there have been some great times, in fact 2017 started very well with Peter and I visiting Egypt, the UK and Hong Kong. Despite my father's death in July which was tough and something I'd been expecting, we still have some lovely memories of the year. It was still a shock when he died so suddenly, although he'd been in ill health for many years and had had a heart attack in 2012, it was still very sudden.

I never realised what the impact of losing a parent was like. I'd seen both my mother and father grieve  for their mothers (I'd never known my grandfathers) I was very close to my paternal grandmother, I focused on my own grief, I didn't really pay much attention to what my father was going through at the age of 66. I just thought he was lucky to have had his mother around for so long. I was 46 when my father died, I feel cheated.

I live in Dubai and previously we were in South Africa. For the past 7 years, returning from visits to the UK has been upsetting, always, without exception, worrying I may never see my parents again or not being able to get there in time, as has happened with other expat friends, when a family member has been taken ill suddenly.

When my father had his heart attack in 2012, it took me 48 hours to get back to the UK, 24 hours in flight and transit, no communication and not knowing if my father was alive or not until I got to the hospital in Cardiff as he was coming out of surgery.

I was fortunate enough to have been in the UK this year when he died, just a mile down the road when my sister rang to say he'd collapsed, I arrived before the paramedics and without sounding too dramatic, I sat with him as he died.

It has been a painful and difficult summer, but it's also been lovely to spend so much time with my mother, children, family and friends. Sadly 3 of my close friends lost a parent this year also. One in January, 5 years after the other parent died, another 2 weeks after my dad died and another 2 months later. My fathers cousin on his maternal grand mother’s side, wife died 5 days later also. His daughter who I consider a cousin and whom I’ve been in touch with most of my life called me to ask for the family list of phone numbers as she knew it would be up to date. It must’ve been a terrible shock for everyone to receive the 2nd lot of bad news in such a short period of time.

We've had a lot to do this summer, mum is moving into a brand new 2 bed flat in town in the New Year. We sold the house a week after putting it on the market, 2 months after my father died. My parents were wanting to downsize and move, but my father kept putting it off, as his idea of downsizing meant still having somewhere to store his vast collection of items that he would not/could not part with. So the task began to sell everything as quickly as possible to get the house ready for market.

Although we have a flat a in the UK where I could stay, it wasn't my home. Peter remained in Dubai, keeping the roof above our heads and flew to the UK for the funeral and again in September. But I didn't have him to come home to everyday, I didn't have my routine, my home. I did have my friends around me, but they were dealing with their own grief and I just needed some support from Peter, which of course he did give, but over Skype is very different from just being there, to give me a cuddle and hug me when I cried.

Mum has always said 'One year and a day' in reference to any decisions being made after a spouse has died in regards to moving on. But because I was in the UK for an indefinite period of time, we just decided to get on with things. Would life be any easier going through everything and selling up 366 days later?

We've literally stripped the house bare, emptied the attic, study, games rooms, 2 sheds and a garage. We've sold a train set, toys cars, pub and sporting memorabilia. There were 4 sets of golf clubs, 20+ fishing rods and all the associated paraphernalia. Stacks of newspapers, a pool table with 10 sets of pool balls. We sent a whole truck off to auction, sold things at boot sales, donated clothes to charity shops and done more skip runs than I care to recall, getting rid of furniture, video cassettes and enough paint and DIY products to start our own shop.

This has meant each and every item that belonged to my father has been examined, handled, plugs have been rewired so we can remove items from behind furniture. Furniture has been dismantled. It feels like not only have we got rid of my fathers stuff but we've removed every last trace of his essence, his being. When I next return to see my mum, she'll be in her new home, there will be no physical or emotional trace of my father in there.

It was an intense 5 months and now I'm back in Dubai, we moved house ourselves this month. I've had to tell people over again, as if it's all fresh and only just happened that my father has died when they ask where I've been all summer. But the hardest thing for me has been packing and moving. I feel like I've started all over again with my fathers things. There is so much of him in our home, even though he's never visited here, although he did visit us in South Africa. There is furniture we had in the UK and SA that he sat on, there are items he fixed, there are gifts he bought me as a child from his travels. His old story books his granny gave him as a boy, that he passed onto me recently. Company pens and other paraphernalia, popping out of drawers and cupboards, photos on the fridge of him with his mum, with my kids.

When mum and I went through my fathers things together, she attached a story to various items before dismantling or selling them (need to know anything about fly fishing, then seriously she's the woman to ask) I'm now going through the process again, 5 months later, reliving family events, childhood memories with Peter and they feel fresh, the grief feels like it did in the first few weeks again. I feel ill, sick. I'm not sleeping.

When I got on the plane last month to return to Dubai, it was knowing that this time my father wasn't going to be there on my return. I've not left my mum on her own she has my sister and niece and family in the same town. But this is my story of my grief, what I've done, how I've coped and how I'm not really managing. They have their own ways of dealing with things. Christmas will be hard for them without my father there, even if it is missing his moaning about the cost of things. But I'm not really sure much thought has gone into what I'm going through, how I'm coping because I just get on with things, or take over (as i'm often told) because I don't share how I'm feeling. I guess I just understand what is going on in the UK, but no one understands what it's like to live so far away, even if it is through choice. I've missed out on so much stuff back home, but I've done so much more stuff by living away.

I know my father was proud of me, despite never saying it, he wasn't one for emotion. I can hear his words and often say them out loud as we sold his stuff, dismantled the furniture. 'that's a good piece of wood there Suzanne, save those screws' but he would not have been proud of me for doing all the above, because he would have hated every minute of it. Had he survived the stroke and we'd had to sell the house, the stress of us selling his stuff would've killed him regardless, he wouldn't have let us get on with things in our way, he's have shouted at us from the sidelines to stop telling him what to do and it would've all been very unpleasant.

So in a way, my father had the best death that was possible for all of us, he always said 'I'm just going to go one day' and he did. At home, with his wife, 2 daughters and his youngest grandson. Peacefully and without pain and now we're just doing what we have to do, in our way, whether it's right or wrong or being done too quickly, who cares?

This is the last photo I took of my father, 3 days before he died.