A year of thank yous

“You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone”, so goes the saying. Well with Rosie that simply wasn’t the case. Over the last year I’ve learned a few extra nuggets about this wonderful woman but essentially the lady I fell in love with was the same woman I lost on 16th June 2015.

The past year has been painful. It’s been one which I wish I had never experienced. I don’t much care to remember the previous year either. In the last year of Rosie’s life we made some phenomenal memories together. Our tenth wedding anniversary, 12 years spent together, birthdays, holidays, amazing meals, special times with our children, so, so much.

But those memories are currently being drowned out. I’m sure that as time goes by the good memories will break through to the surface, but for now the overriding emotion is one of loss.

The human condition is an odd one. You meet someone, you enjoy their company, you create a life together. Before you know it you have become inseparable and have no idea how you could possibly live without them. I often joked with Ro that when the time came, that I would have to pop off first because I wouldn’t be able to live alone. I half joked. In reality I knew that life without her would be unbearable. And it is.

However, our wonderful friends and family have supported me and our children through this living nightmare. I won’t single out any individuals but there are a significant band of people who have been there to look after us. You know who you are. Thank you.

Since her death life has taken on a certain inevitable rhythm. It must. One can’t constantly live a grieving life, and nor would I want to. I’ve discovered people anew. People who have been on the periphery but who now help to make life that much more enjoyable.

I’ve learned to be a single father with the massive support of our wonderful nanny and ever-present family. But when the door closes at night, and the nightmares intrude on the children’s sleep, it is I who they turn to. It’s tiring, as any parent can testify to, but worth it. And the impetus that Natalie and Joseph have given me to get out of bed each and every morning is immeasurable.

So what of the future? I can’t really say. I know that today isn’t as hard as yesterday and with a bit of luck tomorrow will be easier than today. For now the memory of Rosie serves to remind me what we’ve all lost but also supports me into the future. My love and thanks will always be there for you, my darling Rosie xxx


The day after our engagement in Venice, 23rd November 2003
The day after our engagement in Venice, 23rd November 2003


2 thoughts on “A year of thank yous

  1. Elliot, I know every word that you say and also the words you don’t say. I lost my darling husband 8 years ago, also to cancer. Our children were 11, 9 and 6. The good memories bob about in a choppy sea, grab them, they will save you. The goodness of people continues to overwhelm even after all this time. They say it takes a village to raise a child. I have a true and solid village around me and it sounds as if you do too. I grieve and live consecutively, people said “how do you carry on”? You know the answer, I know you do….it’s simple….their cart is hitched to my wagon, if I fall they fall. This is the new normal and it’s ok sometimes.


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