Hi everybody. I am 5 years down this awful road. We lost our 46 year old son, suddenly and unexpectedly. The first time in my charmed life that my husband couldn't make things right for me. We were devastated and then he died too a few months later, again very suddenly and unexpectedly. Our seemingly healthy son who still played rugby and cricket died of a heart attack and my seemingly invincible husband said he didn't feel well and died four weeks later of pancreatic cancer.
I am always saddened by not being to distinguish between their funerals, knew that I couldn't afford to live where we did and so in that dreadful state of shock and disbelief, I sold up and moved down to Devon.
The first year - I only survived because of my daughter and her family. I could say all the words "live the life that was denied them" but walking the talk was much harder.
I renovated my little bungalow, got involved in village life and thought that I had come to accept this different life. I hadn't realised that I was so shy because my husband was one of those easy going folk who broke the ice wherever we went. I walked happily in his shadow.
I didn't know that I would find it so hard to make decisions and judgements; I'm sure that I didn't find that difficult before. I thought that I was an independent woman - I'm not.
I thought that I was coping. On Father's day just gone it hit me like a train that they were both gone. I'm an atheist and harbour no hopes of another life, so that is it.
I was reluctant to post because if I had been told five years ago that I would feel like this now I think it would have broken me. I had to believe that whilst my life would be different, and certainly not what I'd have chosen, that gut wrenching pain would surely ease. In truth to some extent it has. I live in a parallel universe where I function in this village like the person that I thought I was and also in the place where after driving extensively for many years I can't even park my car.
My heart goes out to each and every one of you for your loss.