About

I’DSC01613m a 37-year-old writer and mother currently adrift somewhere in the sea of widowhood.

I lost my husband and soul-mate on a freezing February evening in 2012.

It was sudden – he uttered his last words: “You’ve still got your socks on!”, then collapsed onto the pillow next to me.

The four pack of Guinness he had bought in anticipation of an evening’s TV viewing was still chilled on the kitchen bench when they came to take his body to the morgue.
I’ve survived one year and two months. I’ve created this blog as a space to record my life a year on from when he died.

Hey, what can I say, my counsellor thought it might help…

Thank you for reading.

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87 thoughts on “About

  1. I think this blog is an incredibly courageous undertaking. It is one thing to get those feelings off your chest and down on paper, even if they are all numb. It is a wholly different matter to have others comment on them; I would imagine it’s like twenty pairs of coppers’ feet traipsing carelessly around a one year old crime scene where you’re the tattered carpet.

    I am sending you a huge red heart-shaped hot air balloon full of love. My hope is it will help you – even if minutely – rise up from all of this. Although unbelievable currently, your counsellor is right: one day you will be able to look over the basket and down at those old lands, and you will be able to smile at the fond and gentle memories without them breaking your heart again and again. And you and your daughter will drift slowly to new lands; the old ones always comfortably close.

    Hang in there, Girl. xxxxxxx

    • My god, this is an incredibly tender, thoughtful and astute comment – thank you so much, your huge red heart-shaped balloon truly has arrived at a moment when I needed it. Would’ve thought such support existed out there in the ether? Makes writing this blog worthwhile. Thank you again.X

  2. Much like when I started blogging about breast cancer, it was good to find others going through the same struggle. At the same time, it felt selfish. I’m so sorry for the reason for your blog, but I’m glad I found it.

  3. Beautifully written…just wanted to add that I lost two daughters one day apart in 2010. I kept a blog for one year about them, the second about the family they left behind then with the birth of a great-grandchild placed on the blog I closed it forever. It does help! AJM

    • My God. I am speechless to read that. I am so sorry. Thanks for reading about my loss when you have suffered so tragically yourself. I really do believe in writing as therapy. I have started to need the support of people like yourself, in the ether, as a way to get through it. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. And love. x

  4. Oh my goodness I’m so saddened to read that you lost your husband. I don’t have words,as I know they don’t help much, but my heart goes out to you. Thank you so much for joining us at wePoets. If there’s anything you would like to share, we’d be happy to showcase it.

  5. I just found your blog and think it’s amazing. You’re very inspiring. I lost my beautiful wife in April this year very suddenly so i have some inclination of how you feel. I also write a blog and find it very therapeutic.

    Please keep writing you have a real gift.

    Regards,

    Mark

    • Mark…hi.. thanks so much for your lovely supportive words, we are indeed in this together and it is so heartening to find others out there who share in the same pain. I am so sorry to read about your wife; April is so recent – I wonder how you are doing? I note your blog is lost-without-her.com, I’ll check it out now. I too find writing to be the most effective therapy. Can’t really talk about him or grief any other way. Much much love to you, Mark. X

  6. As a twenty year old I am constantly told “You have the world at your feet” but what people sometimes forget to say is that life is short. I may have the world at my feet but it is never guaranteed. Thank you for being brave and writing this, I am going to live every day more and love life even more if that is possible. I hope you and your daughter can build a new life, past this tragedy, but with space for all the lovely memories. Love and hugs x

    • Thank you so much for reading and commenting sarah, that means a lot. I have to say, my perspective on life has changed in that I really don’t ‘sweat the small’ stuff I the way that I used to. (Although I’m still terrified of flying!) It is truly shocking that life can be whipped away in an instant, so you’re right, you have to live each moment well. Love and hugs to you too. X

  7. Hi, just found your blog after your article in the paper and read it start to finish in one go. Amazing. I’m a year further on than you but many similarities in our stories (11 years together, 5 married) and I feel like I’ve shared a number of the same experiences you’ve had since the dreadful day. Slightly worried that I’ve immediately poured myself a huge glass of red, but have enjoyed glugging it through
    the connection (and tears) of reading your story – Grauniad dating and all. Hang in there (cliche you’ll hate, no doubt!) and don’t worry about the plumber – you’ve just made me feel ‘normal’ with that story! All the best, Jan x

    • Hey jan! That is so gratifying to have found you and for you to have found me. Thanks for reading and commenting. I have been surprised by how many widows have been up to exactly the same amount of recklessness as I have – and you’re right, it has the effect of making you feel a whole lot more ‘normal’. Interested to know how you lost your hubbie? (if you feel like sharing of course). Hang in there – I don’t mind so much actually! Because it does feel like a case of hanging in as opposed to keeping your chin up etc etc…Stay in touch – please! X

  8. Hi, ‘mine’ was bowel cancer, diagnosed about a year and a half after our marriage – he lasted another three and a half years, which was quite different to your situation but in some respects
    a real blessing. He was really strong, but a bit of a bugger – even forcing me to go to the funeral director before he’d died to arrange it all! Surreal at the time, but incredibly useful as he even managed to choose the final tune at the crem…Prince Buster’s ‘Enjoy yourself…..it’s later than you think!’ It’s certainly been my motto ever since – people who think there is a connection between enjoying yourself now and forgetting the love of your life simply don’t know what they are talking about.

    X

  9. I lost my wife to lung cancer almost 4 yrs ago now

    We had almost 3.1/2 years together after being told about the cancer before she lost her battle for life. During that time, I wrote a diary-type blog separate from my main blog, which documented our life together in those last years. This helped me immensely. People I’d never met or was ever likely to meet proved hugely supportive – often more so than family and friends . . .

    my online ‘friends’ were there to support and comfort me

    while despite their best intentions, family and ‘real’ friends, instead of supporting me, often needed me to support and comfort them

    I am sorry to read you have lost your man. I hope you find writing as therapeutic as I did. [From a quick glance at some of the comments on your posts, you too have found a group of supportive fellow bloggers to help you through this stage of your life]

    wishing you all the best !

    • Duncanr – hello! Thank you so much for your warm and supportive message – and for reading the blog.I absolutely agree that often it’s people across the ether who are, in a funny way, hugely supportive. I often try to be a certain person for family and friends, whereas letting thoughts out in thisd way is ultiomately freeing. And receiving messages from people like you is validation indeed that I am doing something right in this bloody awful process they call ‘grieving’. Many thanks for becoming a ‘supportive fellow blogger’! Lucie x

  10. I think what you are doing here is a very good idea, as I always believed talking with a stranger or distant acquaintance about something can be more helpful than talking about it with friends or family. When talking with someone close it is always easy to leave things out, make the assumption that “he already knows what I’m talking about”. But sometimes things go deeper than what one wants to talk about, need more reflection on what came before, what lead to that certain point in time and space. Talking (or writing) to a stranger forces you to reflect on these things, as you have to make certain that the other person gets the whole picture, leading one to see things differently, see the whole wood, and not just the trees.

    Take care, and good luck.

    • Absolutely spot on. I find exactly that – sending thoughts out there into the ether is somehow easier than talking to those closest to you. I find I just don’t talk about Mark now. Writing about him and us and me is so much easier. I think family and friends find it difficult to deal with. Strangers offer perspective and support in a different way. Thanks so much for reading and commenting. It means a lot.

  11. Hi I have been searching the internet and found your amazing blog which I will come back and read in full. I am in the position of “preparing” myself for the 2nd time around for widowhood whilst hoping like hell it does not happen. My wonderful husband of 12 years was diagnosed with Stage IV bowel cancer 6 years ago and was given 2 years to live. We both went through a period then of accepting he was not going to be around for too long. Well things went much better than expected and after surgery, chemo and radiation he has been clear until 3 weeks ago when we learnt the cancer has returned. He will start Chemo next week. Doctors “hope” the chemo will work to shrink the tumour. We are alternating between a pragmatic “lets get on with the treatment” attitude and complete emotional devastation. Or at least I am. My dear husband is not always easy to read and portrays a stoic exterior whilst wandering around sleepless at 3 am. I was looking around for others who might be in the same position and found you. On the one hand the control freak that I am wants to face the reality that I am likely to be a widow at some stage in the not too distant future, but on the other hand to prepare for that makes me guilty. And of course overwhelms and frightens me. And then I am told to “live in the moment” and “not get ahead of myself” . Yeah right. That’s easily done. Although I also hear the wisdom in it. Anyway its going to be a journey whatever happens and knowing there are wonderful people like you out there writing with such honesty and compassion about your experience, makes a big difference. Thank you.

    • Joy – firstly I want to say I’m so sorry to read your story. To be widowed once is horrific enough, but to have that worry on your mind now for a second time must be incredibly hard to bear. I sincerely hope that all is well with your husband. I want to say also thanks for finding me. Part of the reason for starting this blog was to find others in my position, as widowhood is so isolating. The fact that others are out there sharing similar emotions and experiences is strangely comforting. Thanks for reading and for commenting on this blog. And keep in touch. xxx

      • Hi Thanks so much for responding – but I fear I have misrepresented myself. I have not been widowed. When I referred to the “2nd time around” I was referring to the first time my husband had cancer and the doctors gave him a prognosis of 2 years to live. At that stage I was “preparing” myself for widowhood. I can see how my words could have been confusing, but I hated the thought that I had misrepresented myself. Sorry about confusion, but lovely to meet you even though such great sadness inspired your blog. xxx

      • Oh sorry Joy, totally misread. But I guess you are facing grief of sorts for the second time, even if that is not through widowhood. So sad to read your story and posts on your blog. Keep going with it, I’m sure you’ll find it therapeutic. Much love x

      • I came across your blog by accident but found it comforting and humorous in an odd way. I lost my husband in October, he was diagnosed with cancer in August and although we knew it was terminal, it was totally unexpected when he died. I always thought I was independent, but now feel vulnerable and cry at the most stupid things. People keep saying how well I’m doing, but they don’t see me crying behind the closed doors. Was proud of myself getting through Xmas, now have to manage the New Year! Take care of yourself, as I think you should pat yourself on the back for expressing your feelings and emotions the way you do on your blog. Hope 2014 is a better year for you and your daughter x

      • Hi Linda, I’m so glad you found me and I found you! October is so recent – I wonder how you’re coping? Interesting what you say abuot feeling vulnerable despite being an independent, strong person – I think this is what will ultimately get you through, as I feel the same. I have plundered my inner resources and found that I am ‘coping’ despite myself. I hope the same for 2014 for you, and thanks for reading and commenting. X

  12. I have just found your blog, whilst looking for financial advise following my own husband passing suddenly 4 months ago, and my father in law less than 2 weeks ago, also suddenly. I shall bookmark the blog and come back for a good read when I am at home. I too have been told it is good to write things down, I am not sure I am ready to do a blog, but i am considering a notebook (an evernote has been started!) . It amazes me that not only can the pain and hurt of the bereavement be so all consuming, but that there are people out there that not only have been through it, are willing to talk about it and help others, and then there are others that have been through so much worse. I have always had the “there always someone worse off than me” practical mindedness, but there are some days when I really don’t believe there can be. Thank you for being brave enough to write openly for us to read.

    • Hi Donna and thanks so much for reading and commenting. I agree, I sometimes think there are so many others worse off than me, but it’s not consolation is it? Those moments when the reality comes crashing down, life seems so bloody unfair and rotten to the core. I hope you do write about it – it is so therapeutic, it has become an integral part of my ‘grieving process’, and actually, hearing from other people in the same or similar position really does ‘help’. Let me know if you decide to start blogging. Sending strength and love. X

  13. Hi, I’m a journalist, am writing a piece about surviving loss and wondered if I could have a chat with you? Would you email me and I can explain more? Many thanks and hoping to be in touch, Joanna

  14. How is this for weird….. My husband originally from Sunderland died 12 weeks and 1 day ago from acute aortic dissection. We had been married 14 years and his funeral was held on the 16 th anniversary of our first kiss. He dropped dead in front of me and our 2 children aged 9 and 11. He was fit, healthy, on no medications and having experienced no symptoms of anything. “They” think he might have had an undiagnosed connective tissue disorder……the kids have to be screened. To keep me sane and maintain my relationship with my husband, I write him letters/ journal most days and I think it helps me a lot. Despite the company of my great kids widowhood is a lonely, empty place I had absolutely no expectation of experiencing so soon.

    • That’s sent a shiver down my spine. My husband was from Sunderland too, and had no previous symptoms. Fortunately we had three more years with him after he first succumbed, but he was one of the ‘lucky’ ones. Aortic dissection is apparently nearly always instantly fatal. I am so so sorry for your loss. You dont say how old your husband was, but I imagine he must have been quite young to have kids of that age. Really interested to ‘chat’ with you privately when or if you feel inclined. My daughter too has to be screened and ‘they’ too suggested it may be connective tissue disorder ( although latterly seem to have ruled this out). Wonder where you are geographically too. Let me know if it would be ok to email you on the address you have provided. Thinking of you, wherever you are. X

      • Bryce was 47. He still has family in Sunderland but we moved to Australia in 2000, and used to visit the uk every year or two. I’d be happy to chat privately (but just be warned I’m avoiding red wine for fear of overdoing it ………and because it makes me less patient with the kids who now need me more than ever !!!)

  15. Hi there, have only just found this blog after months of searching for God knows what.
    My husband passed away Feb 2013 following a 10 month battle with cancer and he finally gave in on his birthday, at home in his own bed, surrounded by myself and our children. I have devoured your writing as everything makes complete sense to me – who needs the self help books when we have you?! Thank you for sharing your story and confirming that I am not going mad as there are many others riding on this shitty rollercoaster ride that is now our everyday life.
    Keep your chin up Chuck xxx

    • Andrea! Thanks for finding me, and everyone else on this blog! We all keep each other buoyant and confirm that madness is not occurring! Have you joined the WAY foundation? Can recommend as another source of support. I was so sorry to read your story, but glad you have commented. Love and strength to you! X

  16. After spending the day blundering and blubbering over the most ridiculous things; I felt compelled to find a kindred spirit who might be feeling this same insufferable pain and disembodiment from real life; and here you are; I literally burst into tears at many of your experiences, as they have also been mine…I lost my dear Ray in September due to a freak medical mistake; he was in good health and we were planning a yard sale after his routine procedure on that fateful day. I found myself instead frantically calling his family and chasing the ambulance through rush-hour traffic in a panic. He never came out of the coma and they tested for brain activity and there was none. I was stunned…his family and I found ourselves talking to the Donor Network and painfully decided to donate what was acceptable for whomever might be in need. I spent the next two days alone with him, seemingly in a peaceful slumber; awaiting the team that would perform the operation. I said goodbye to his still warm, soft and breathing body as they wheeled him through those double doors, never to see him “alive” again. Next time I was with him was at the mortuary; a shock to my very soul; to touch the now lifeless and cool skin; the silver hair combed so perfectly; the calloused and still paint-stained hands that had created both homes and beautiful art over the past decade…he was a finish carpenter who worked on fine mansions and also a visual artist who was prolific and so talented. I still cannot fathom it…we were together almost 22 years and he would have celebrated his 70th birthday this January 20th. I had planned for a grand party for him; we had just attended his 50th high school reunion the week before, where he reconnected with all his old friends and classmates. Instead, I’m sitting on the earth next to his marker, with an idiotic balloon that says “Happy Birthday” some heart balloons marking our anniversary of our first date, and a solar powered angel watching over him. His mother and sister; his daughter and granddaughter have brought flowers and a cross and some poems written just for him. I dissolve into a heap of sobs over the very thought…
    Well, I am so glad to have found your blog and didn’t intend to write this much; but it just came; sharing these feeling with someone I know is going through these same emotions, questions, and quandries is somehow soothing to my weary heart. Thank you for your courage in expressing what you have been going through and feeling…warm hugs and caring thoughts to you, ❤ Kat

    • Wow. What a heart-breaking story Kat. I’m so desperately sorry for your loss. Thank you for finding me, reading and sharing. September is so recent too – no wonder you are still stunned. It’s a very slow process, becoming ‘unstunned’ – i think i still am in a lot of ways. cannot believe it either. I read your description of seeing Ray in the funeral home with chills running down my back. I remember it only too well myself – the hands, the hands, there is something so significant about the hands!! I wonder is it because we held them, we were caressed by them, we saw them curled round glasses and mugs..? I too find it comforting to know I’m not alone, that I’m not cracking up. Sending you much love and courage for the months ahead. Lucie xx

      • Oh wow, your name is Lucie? I have to tell you; we would go out of town often, and when we came back home, Ray would always just open the door a crack and say in his best Ricky Ricardo voice…”Lucy! I’m Home! ~” …I find myself doing that, too; when I get home it’s the most difficult part of the day, arriving in the driveway and peering out to see if he will emerge from the garage, so glad that I’m home…but he doesn’t, and I am devastated again and again.
        I still say that; “Lucy, I’m home”…but it’s very melancoly and trails off into “but you are not”. funny how sometimes I think I torture myself with these little traditions, because I want to feel the pain; I don’t want to get over it. I want to miss him with all the angst I have. And yes, the hands have something very special about them; the caresses, the hugs, the talent within them; the scars and callouses of a hard-working man, who was also tender and gentle. Well, I’m so glad to be able to share these thoughts and experiences with you because no one else will understand. Thank you, Kat (his nickname for me)

  17. Dear Lucie,
    I came across your blog quite by accident to be honest. I have close friends that lost an 18 month old son in May of 2014 and I am always looking for good information for them – connections that can help.

    I am so very sorry for your loss. I am a 42 year old wife and mother of three and have been with my Rob for 17 years. I cannot begin to imagine the heartache and my thoughts and prayers are with you.

    I work for Everlasting Memories, an online retailer that specializes in cremation urns and memorial jewelry.  I was wondering if you would have any interest in doing a product review.  We have so many great products that I honestly feel can help parents, spouses, families that have experienced loss.  Getting an honest review not only helps us maintain the integrity of our products and shows us what is working and what we need to improve on but also lets us provide the best products we can to those that are grieving – and that matters most of all.  I have a particular fondness for our photo engraved keepsakes as they honor those that are living as well as those that have passed (I have three of each of my children).  I would be happy to send at no charge any keepsake of your choice.

    The links to our site and to our photo engraved pendants are:

    http://www.evrmemories.com/
    http://www.evrmemories.com/Photo-Engraved-Jewelry-s/172.htm

    I am happy to answer any questions you might have and the best way to reach me is via reply to my email.  I also have a company email where you can contact me and that is hallie@evrmemories.com.

    I apologize for doing all this in response to a blog comment but I couldn’t find an alternative way to reach out.

    Thank you so much for your time and I look forward to hearing from you soon!

    Best Regards,
    Hallie Schumaker
    Everlasting Memories
    http://www.evrmemories.com

    hallieschumaker@gmail.com
    hallie@evrmemories.com

  18. I found your blog via Francesays. I think what you’re doing is incredibly courageous. It must hurt to write all this down and yet perhaps it’s cathartic, too. I’m sure that others going through the same thing will find it comforting to know that they are not the only ones. You will be helping many others. I hope I never find myself in the same position as you but, if I do, I know where to come for solace and solidarity.

  19. thank you so much for all these posts. I lost my husband in November last year to cancer after having only been diagnosed 13 months before. He was 40, we were together for 15 years, married for 6 and have two boys aged 4 years and almost 2 (in April). My husband held on so that he could celebrate our oldest son’s 4th birthday but passed away only 5 days later.
    Your blog is putting words on paper (screen) that is otherwise hard to express. I have used them a lot to try to explain to friends how I’m feeling (as I am the “first” in in my and my husband’s group of friends who have witnessed this kind of loss (i.e. young and with young children..)…and, however sad it is, cause you really wouldn’t wish this on even your worst enemy, it is kind of good to know that you are not alone and other people are feeling the same.
    And thanks for being so honest about it all….I find so many people shy away from the truth…
    Thank you!! Keep posting..

    • Hi there Trine. Firstly, I’m so sorry for your loss. How shattering for you and your children. Thanks so much for the vote of confidence and for taking the time to read my musings! I have found great comfort in messages from others in similar positions – I think it’s helped me enormously throughout this ‘process’. I’m glad some of what I’m expressing is resonating. It is so bloody hard and you’re right, you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy. In solidarity and gratitude. Lucie xx

      • Hi lucie
        Just a huge congrats on the book. I didn’t realise it took you so long to start writing although it makes perfect sense. I’m only three months down the track and my mind feels like a pinball, can’t for the life if me concentrate on anything for more than a few moments at a time.

        And what a testament of love that you are able to share, I’m sure he’s there watching over you and pushing you along..

        Trine x

  20. Hello thanks for a wonderful blog. My lovely husband died totally unexpectedly late 2013. I m in my early 50’s. Sadly we had no family & I am very much alone. Gosh, how I hate weekends. I just hope I can be one of this on line community to gain & give strength. I’ve never “followed” anyone before, o please forgive any bloopers.

  21. I hope that one day I can articulate my grief with suh humour & grace. At the moment all I can say to those who ask is to tell them that I’ts bloody hard & that I am consumed with loneliness (I see no point in saying “fine” & pretending all is well).

    Sorry, bu I don’t understand how to register to “follow”. I did the first bit & got the email but then got rather lost.

    • Dee you do right not to use that word ‘fine’, even if it’s really the one people want to hear. My counsellor suggested I rehearse a stock phrase for such eventualities, such as ‘I’m not good today, but if you don’t mind I’d rather not talk about it,’ thus giving both yourself and the questioner a get-out. I’m sure you’ve rehearsed these sorts of phrases already. Fact is, it is a unique kind of hell, but thank god we have each other at the end of a keyboard. X

      Sent from my iPad

      >

  22. Omg I have never written a reply on the ‘tinternet (well apart from reviewing a robbie concert or rating one on my many amazon purchases)! I do feel however feel compelled to post about your suburb blog. I found your blog this weekend when my friend told me about a new book being released which she thought I might identify with! I also lost my wonderful husband who happens to be called Mark two years ago (he died on our 19th wedding anniversary). He had ms and it was very advanced but his death was totally out of the blue! I have two boys 16 and 14, the eldest has just had his prom and this along with the prospect of the summer hols coming up sent me on a mini downer ( hubby missing out on these small but significant moments are crap)! Sorry about the ramble but today would have been his 47th birthday. (Like you I feel these ‘days’ are no sadder than others) ,but finding your blog and the fact that your book is arriving on my kindle tomorrow it seems the right time to respond!
    Good luck for tomorrow
    Joanne

    • I’m so pleased you chose here as your first foray into commenting Joanne! thanks SO much for the words of support, for buying the book and for sharing your story. I do hope some of the book resonates with you. If not, I’m a total deviant! sending much love and hugs your way? Lucie xx

  23. Hi Lucie, I started to read your book about lunchtime ( so not read much) what have read though so resonates with me, I think we share the same sense if humour! As well as Mark dying two years ago, someone decided I hadn’t been put through the wringer enough so whilst on holiday last year with my mum,dad,and boys my dad died suddenly ( me performing CPR until the ambulance arrived, I knew he had died before but there was no way I way giving up) a pm revealed ischemic heart disease, he had no obvious symptoms. He was overweight due to being in a wheelchair having been the victim of a hit and run some 16 years earlier! You honstley couldn’t make it up!
    I think having a sense of humour (from my dad) and the strong desire to not let this s**t define you keep you going.
    We’ll I must get back to your beautifully written book.
    Congrats
    Joanne

    • Jesus, that is appalling. You’re right, you couldn’t make it up. Humour keeps me buoyant Joanne, along with that desire not to be defined by grief you talk about. Sounds like we have the same approach to this shit! Hope you enjoy the book love – thanks again for commenting. XX

  24. I read words of such love, irony, humour and honesty with a knowing heart myself. I too lost my beautiful partner only 3 months ago. Suddenly, tragically. A little like you. The experiences, feelings and emotions you have been through, are going through seem only too real to me. I recognise, have felt and am feeling them too. I even keep my own blog spurred on by the fact my wife was always on at me to ditch the day job and take to writing so taken was she by my prose in her lifetime.I think she still approves of what I’m doing now, I haven’t had any mysterious gusts of wind or falling pictures to tell me otherwise. Thank-you for your words. I’m finding grief is wholly personal affair but in it some of us can hold hands together.

    • What a beautiful and moving comment Matthew. Thank you so much. I have found writing to be the only way to release the pent up grief, and I am fortunate that it has brought many like-minded and reassuring individuals into my life. I am so very sorry for your loss. I send you strength in these very early, what I’m sure feel like very dark, days of early bereavement. Keep in touch. x

  25. Hi Lucie, just wanted to say I’ve finished your book and it’s emotional, happy, funny, and refreshingly honest!
    Good luck for the future
    Joanne

  26. Thank you for your thoughts and words. Although older than yourselves, at Christmas I lost my husband of 40 years. I married young and we had planned so much for our retirement. I’m lost and life ahead seems bleak. However, your words have brought me comfort and are helping me verbalise my feelings. I wish yourself and your daughter a beautiful future . Good Luck x

    • Sorry for the delayed reply – only just seen this Bobby. So sorry for your loss – 40 years is a long time to spend with someone with whom hopes and dreams are bound. Life ahead may seem bleak, but you will find a way through – more because you have to than you want to. I’m so pleased you have found comfort here, you are not alone even though it may feel like it. I wish you luck for the year ahead. One day at a time. Muhc love x

  27. Hi Lucie,

    My wonderful father died suddenly and unexpectedly three weeks ago tonight. Today, i took my Mum who is in a really bad way, shopping and i found a copy of your book. I read it in one sitting, reading bits of it out loud to Mum. First time she has genuinely laughed since we watched daddy die on the kitchen floor – unable to help him. We cried with recognition at the emotions you described. This wonderful book came to us at just the right time and i know that we will go to it as we wade our way through the treacle of the next minutes, hours, days, weeks and years. Thank you. X x x

    • Hi Kathrine – firstly, I’m just so sorry about your dad. Three weeks is no time at all, I can well imagine the state you are all in. I am so pleased you have found some comfort in the book, and that your mum has been able to raise a smile in what seems like an entirely surreal time. I am three years down the line and I still haven’t accepted that Mark was taken so suddenly, but I have accepted that I havent accepted, if that makes sense, and that is one less burden. I hope you are able to move through the hours and days ahead, supporting each other and leaning on others too. Remember, there are no rules in this. Do what you need to do, and please keep in touch. Hugs to you, and of course your mum. (And thanks for reading the book.) x

  28. I am a widower. My wife of 30 years died over a 3 year period of terminal stomach cancer. She was 58 when she left. I was 57 when she was “diagnosed”. Diagnosed…Such a “sophisticated” word. Words (!)…. It was horrible everyday every minute on every level from every perspective for those years. it’s coming up on the second anniversary since she has been gone. My life sucks without her. My work: I’m a noted musician, songwriter/composer, which I thought was so important to the universe, seems pointless and I don’t bother with it anymore. I HAVE “found” new love/sex/comfort with a widow. It is profoundly great physically and emotionally. I marvel at our “young lover-like” relationship as something that I am “privileged” to be able to have. AND YET- I wish I did not exist. everyday constantly. I play Chopin,Bach,Beethoven,Debussy compulsively and that’s “cool” I guess if I was a normal “living” person…but i hate being here. My wife might have been very disappointed in the way I’m handling this inside…if she could perceive anything.. but SHE CANNOT!!! Oh course our friends and everyone else think I’m doing “so well”. This is horrible. I hope it ends sometime but I need to be here for my kids and their kids if I can. But I can’t tell them the secret. I feel like I am part of a different race. Nothing Matters. Sorry, but it just doesn’t.

    • Hi David. Firstly, thanks for sharing your story and your feelings so candidly. I’m so sorry for your loss, but also to hear the state of mind you find yourself in since your wife died. The comfort of a ‘partner’ is great, but I understand what you mean about it not being nearly enough. You say nothing matters – I understand this statement too, but clearly things do matter – perhaps it is the things we thought mattered that now don’t? My daughter, my family, my friends, my dogs, these are the things that matter to me most, that make life worth living. But I have definitely become more carefree about peripheral crap, stuff that used to bother me now just doesn’t. I think that we all put on a good front to the outside world, as you say, no-one can really understand this except us – indeed, we have become part of a different ‘race’. David, I didn’t know your wife but I’m bloody sure she would be proud of the way you are getting up every day and dealing with life, even if you feel as if you are burdened with a ‘secret’. You mattered to her, and still matter to a lot of people. Sending you strength. X

  29. Hi, i am so sorry for the loss of your soul mate, it is so unfair.
    last year on June 29th, we were over the moon with the birth of our son! Our first baby, he arrived on our 12th anniversary of being together.
    19 days later I tragically lost my husband, best friend & soul mate in a motorcycle accident, he was coming home to us. We were both 31 at the time.
    I am struggling as miss him so so much it hurts every hour but am continuing to go on for our amazing son.
    I look forward to reading your blog as it may help me through
    X Stevie

    • Hi Stevie, sorry for the late reply only just picked this up. God, what a terrible story. I am so so sorry to hear about your husband. I hope you and your son are getting along OK each day – it gets easier over time, but the ache never leaves. There’s always something missing – a void – but somehow you grow around it. Sending love and hope. Thanks for reading X

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  31. I have been reading your blog tonight, I’m 1 year 2 months down the line and have been laughing out loud, you have totally cheered me up on a bloody Friday night with a whole weekend ahead of me, always the worst – can cope during the week . I totally empathise with so much that you say!! Thank you sarah!

    • Hey Sarah! Thanks so much for the lovely message, sorry for the delay replying I’ve only just seen it! Sorry to hear you find yourself in the same position, but glad the blog cheered you up. Courage, my friend! And much love x

  32. I’m so glad to have stumbled across your blog. I am 26 and recently lost both my parents. Although a different situation to yours, I am finding that reading about other people’s journeys through grief is a huge comfort. Recording the feelings, events and mundane moments of life after losing a loved one is such great therapy. I look forward to reading more about your journey… Thank you xx

    • Sorry for the delayed reply, I have only just seen this comment. I am glad the blog and the shared experience is helping with what sounds like a hellish place to be. I hope you find more comfort the further along the road you travel. Sending much love to you. X

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