17th/18th/19th January 2016

Extracts from Facebook Page


Have to go back to the UAE today. I like being there because Ian is more there than here. I can start to feel the big blow thats coming and going to last a while. I try and prepare. But how do you prepare for grief! I am armoured with sleeping pills, friends and family, but I know I am going to hit the severe pain now. Bollox! One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time.


Now that was embarrassing. Had my bag pulled up at departures and everything had to come out and be swabbed. There’s photos in frames of Ian sitting starring at me, and the more the lady pulled out my bag, the more she realised she had a newly widow on her hands. We both stood there crying. Bless her. She was only doing her job. Ian just wanted to get a look in!


I don’t like this. I am tired. I am weepy. I am bloody sober. I shut my eyes. I open my eyes. All I get are flash backs of being here with Ian. Ian being here without me. Me being here on the way back to him. I really really don’t like this shit


How do you lie on his side of the bed and not weep? How do you ever smile properly again? How do you stop wishing and wishing and wishing? How do you get through each little bit? How do I ever get back who I was? Just how can this be real?


It’s a load of old bollox this widowhood lark. You wake up. First minute and life is what it was. Second minute. I am surprised I survived the night. Third minute. Shit. I’ve got to survive another day. Fourth minute realising my vision is blurred because my stupid eyes are too puffed up. Yep. Widowhood is a load of bollox

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