Well Steve, we have reached the second anniversary of your death. Your last Valentine to me has pride of place on the mantelpiece, as it did last year and the year before.
I was stirred yesterday morning by bright sunshine slanting through the blinds and it took a few seconds to wake up properly before the significance of the date kicked in. I confess I shed a tear on reading lovely messages from friends who also remembered this anniversary.
However, it wasn't all sadness. Daughter Katie joined me at lunchtime, and we walked, talked and dined together and toasted your memory. She has returned to London this morning, so a chance to finish this post to mark the second anniversary of loosing you.
Unlike last year, the run up to this anniversary has not been nearly as stressful. Maybe its because I’ve been through many of those “first time without you” experiences and survived, even though its been difficult at times.....such as when I walked out of a Cuban music evening barely able to hold back the tears - the only person trying to salsa without a partner - remembering how much we enjoyed dancing together....
While the Steve-shaped hole in my life is still there, the void is slowly being filled with new experiences of living as a single person.
I’ve carried on our grown up gap year, traveling far and wide over the last 12 months: Namibia, Scotland, Portugal, France and New York City, as well as getting out and about in the UK, meeting up with old friends, making new friends and enjoying some quality time with our grown up kids along the way.
The camera has been my companion on these travels, and photography is still proving to be a creative and social lifeline, as it was when you were alive and going through treatment. For some reason, a few days ago I was flicking through old photos of our travels together, and I came across this one of you in Spain, at the memorial to those innocent people who lost their lives in the Madrid train bombings back in 2004, before you were diagnosed with terminal cancer. The image has taken on a new significance now, watching you walk away from me in the darkness, but towards the light flooding in from above. Sadness and hope at the same time.
I’m still in touch with the Meso Warriors - mainly those who have lost their loved ones to mesothelioma - but also the amazing Mavis Nye who was diagnosed with the disease around the same time as you but is now in remission after taking part in an immunotherapy drug trial which has given hope to so many. Mavis has even started up her own charity to help others in her position and their families. I was honoured to be invited to the launch and to take some photos to record the launch last December.
People like Mavis and Linda Reinstein in the States (who runs the Asbestos Disease Awareness Organisation) have my utmost admiration for the work they do. I sometimes feel guilty that I’m not more actively involved in mesothelioma awareness advocacy, especially now this blog is only updated infrequently. However, people still read it from time to time, and I’ve had nice messages from those who have found it helpful, including a lady who had no idea what to expect at the Coroner’s Inquest but didn’t find it quite so scary after reading about my experience on the blog, so I guess that’s a contribution in some small way....
The idea of creating a public artwork as a permanent memorial to you has moved forward another baby step, with discussions about its form (a "human" sundial) and location in what will be a little pocket park next to the Thames at the Osney Lock. However, its taking a while to get lottery funding for the overall landscaping scheme, and there is no sign of anything happening on the ground as yet. Hopefully, some time over the next 12 months, the project will reach fruition, or at least take another step forward....
Who knows what the next year will bring to me, our family and the wider mesothelioma community? It will be interesting to look back in 12 months time to find out. Until then - your memory will not fade away....
I was stirred yesterday morning by bright sunshine slanting through the blinds and it took a few seconds to wake up properly before the significance of the date kicked in. I confess I shed a tear on reading lovely messages from friends who also remembered this anniversary.
However, it wasn't all sadness. Daughter Katie joined me at lunchtime, and we walked, talked and dined together and toasted your memory. She has returned to London this morning, so a chance to finish this post to mark the second anniversary of loosing you.
Unlike last year, the run up to this anniversary has not been nearly as stressful. Maybe its because I’ve been through many of those “first time without you” experiences and survived, even though its been difficult at times.....such as when I walked out of a Cuban music evening barely able to hold back the tears - the only person trying to salsa without a partner - remembering how much we enjoyed dancing together....
While the Steve-shaped hole in my life is still there, the void is slowly being filled with new experiences of living as a single person.
I’ve carried on our grown up gap year, traveling far and wide over the last 12 months: Namibia, Scotland, Portugal, France and New York City, as well as getting out and about in the UK, meeting up with old friends, making new friends and enjoying some quality time with our grown up kids along the way.
The camera has been my companion on these travels, and photography is still proving to be a creative and social lifeline, as it was when you were alive and going through treatment. For some reason, a few days ago I was flicking through old photos of our travels together, and I came across this one of you in Spain, at the memorial to those innocent people who lost their lives in the Madrid train bombings back in 2004, before you were diagnosed with terminal cancer. The image has taken on a new significance now, watching you walk away from me in the darkness, but towards the light flooding in from above. Sadness and hope at the same time.
I’m still in touch with the Meso Warriors - mainly those who have lost their loved ones to mesothelioma - but also the amazing Mavis Nye who was diagnosed with the disease around the same time as you but is now in remission after taking part in an immunotherapy drug trial which has given hope to so many. Mavis has even started up her own charity to help others in her position and their families. I was honoured to be invited to the launch and to take some photos to record the launch last December.
People like Mavis and Linda Reinstein in the States (who runs the Asbestos Disease Awareness Organisation) have my utmost admiration for the work they do. I sometimes feel guilty that I’m not more actively involved in mesothelioma awareness advocacy, especially now this blog is only updated infrequently. However, people still read it from time to time, and I’ve had nice messages from those who have found it helpful, including a lady who had no idea what to expect at the Coroner’s Inquest but didn’t find it quite so scary after reading about my experience on the blog, so I guess that’s a contribution in some small way....
The idea of creating a public artwork as a permanent memorial to you has moved forward another baby step, with discussions about its form (a "human" sundial) and location in what will be a little pocket park next to the Thames at the Osney Lock. However, its taking a while to get lottery funding for the overall landscaping scheme, and there is no sign of anything happening on the ground as yet. Hopefully, some time over the next 12 months, the project will reach fruition, or at least take another step forward....
Who knows what the next year will bring to me, our family and the wider mesothelioma community? It will be interesting to look back in 12 months time to find out. Until then - your memory will not fade away....
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