Second Anniversary

Hello everyone,

I am writing to you as I need your loving help and kindness as I walk through the next 11 days.

Two years ago today, Tom was in the hospice. He was on the syringe driver pretty early on. We did not know how long he had left, and went morning, to afternoon, to evening - to those long nights.

I was lucky as I could be with him around the clock. What a relief it was to be with him after months and months apart when he was in the hospital. I had a recliner chair that I could put back and so lie next to him at night, holding hands through the frame of the bed that kept him safe.

He and me, together again, holding hands and loving each other - but that sense of security gnawed away by anxiety (mine), agitation (him) and the thrum of the hospice outside the door, 24/7.

On some days, I was asked by the staff not to leave the room. They did not elucidate but that was when they were wheeling someone who had died to the lift - to “take them downstairs”. That awaited us - and I knew it and it horrified me to my core - but I couldn’t show it, couldn’t speak it or give it its name - death.

Tom was confused in these early days there, nearly two years ago. He thought he was on a cruise and insisted I go and explore the ship. I went and walked the corridors of the place - seeing through open doors, all the people who were dying, alone, mouth-breathing. And then back into Tom’s room, telling how I had walked the decks and seen the Captain, and how lovely it all was, smiling, holding his hand, touching his cheek, reassuring him as best I could as, inside, my heart broke and broke again. Many of you reading will have had similar experiences.

My friends - it is so hard to remember the suffering but I hold on to Tom’s love and courage, to his stalwart bravery and his determination to hold on for as long as he could. I will post again as I get closer to the anniversary as I know you will all understand.

I am lucky to have a new relationship getting underway, in my life, a feeling like seeing snowdrops peeping through the earth after a long Winter. This does not mean I don’t still think of Tom, or miss him, or love him any less.

My friends, thank you for being there for me as I have walked this long road of grief - and for understanding why I need to post this today.

Hold tight where you are, let’s link arms and walk on together x


@Vancouver you express yourself so eloquently. You are still grieving for your husband but you manage to give us all hope of a brighter future. Take care.

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Those memories sadly are always vivid and etched into our heart and soul and will never leave us but at the same time it shows how very precious love is with all it’s emotions and that we should never take those we love for granted. As you enter your new relationship, thank Tom for showing you the very meaning of love, life and yes death. He would be so proud of how far you have come.
My lesson is to truly live in the moment as we all know the future is not ours to plan for. Sending you a big hug and whatever you do in life do it being just you
Lyn x

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@Jan17 @sarlyn - thank you, my friends, thank you xx

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Hi @Vancouver,

The second anniversary of the death of my lovely wife Christine was on the 6th January. It was very hard indeed yet I am still here, at the start of my third year without her. I am determined to try to make this year a tiny bit more bearable than the last which was absolutely awful.

I know how hard it is. Thinking of you, sending hugs and best wishes.

Simon x


A sad read, I Just wanted to say, my thoughts are with you.
I’m so sorry for you.

I lost my Dad late last year and my world has become a black hole.
He was everything, both parents rolled into one and now I am just a shadow of my former self. :sob::broken_heart:

Sending a virtual hug. x


@Vancouver As you’ve said it’s the suffering that is so hard to recall, to see them being swept up by the pain and confusion and trying to hold on to them for one more moment, always knowing in your heart where its taking them and that this time there’s nothing you can do to stand in its way. It cuts like a knife, those memories, sharp technicolour, back at the bedside. After 14 months or so all I have found I can do is to let it in, the grief comes once again but now I am the host, it visits on my terms and I know before long it will go and leave behind love in its place. I don’t think those moments will ever dull, but in some ways I know I would miss them if they did, they stand as testament to what we can endure and achieve in our darkest days. For me those memories complete the story of our life, the pain endured always outweighed by the joy it creates