Getting over the hump

As time goes by life becomes just that little bit easier. Without Rosie I must find my own course through challenges and obstacles, through life. What I do with and for my children is now entirely my decision. It’s up to me to interpret what I feel is best for Natalie and Joseph based on Rosie’s letter to her closest friends, our past discussions and my intuition. The same goes for the rest of my life; what I do, how I find happiness.

My life has in some ways become something that I never anticipated, never contemplated, never imagined. But despite the obvious upheavals I am beginning to rediscover my self-confidence. Actually, if the truth be told it’s not so much a rediscovery but a personal awakening. Before I met Rosie it is fair to say that I wasn’t the most confident of people. Over our years together she instilled in me a sense of self-worth, and confidence. It is with that confidence that I am starting to rebuild who I am. Yes I still doubt myself. Yes I still question my value compared to others. But I know, for the sake of my children and more importantly myself that I can and will become a stronger person, with greater self belief; much as I was when Rosie was by my side.

This morning I’ve been watching an amazing online masterclass given by Aaron Sorkin on the craft of screenwriting. For those of you who don’t know Sorkin, he is the brilliant writer behind numerous films, plays and TV series. But the one which will always be the one for me is ‘The West Wing’. Rosie and I watched all seven series over and over again. At times I could recite whole tracts of script or précis any episode, recalling the name and the episode number in question. Sad? Yes I know, but everyone has to have something that gets them going!!

As I have written before, in her final letters to me Rosie gave numerous instructions. Most were big, some were life-affirming and some were difficult to carry out. In amongst those letters was one innocuous direction, “make sure you watch West Wing with the children”. On the face of it that seems like an odd thing to add to one’s final letters. But I know Rosie and know what she meant by that. Firstly, she knew that no matter how old the series would appear to our delightful little children there were still lessons to be learned. Friendship is priceless; be honourable; stand by your principles; stand your ground; don’t be swayed if you know you’re right; always do the right thing, no matter how hard it might be. But second, she knew how much we enjoyed watching it together, and that by watching it with the children I would remember her fondly. And she was right.

The problem is that since she died I really couldn’t ever see myself watching the programme again without her. Until today. In that masterclass Sorkin references some of the classic scenes, which are then shown. Having watched those clips I now realise that I am ready to see The West Wing again. And with that realisation I also recognise a number of other aspects of life that I am ready to begin re-engaging with. Life really is for living. No it’s not straightforward, and it certainly isn’t like an episode of The West Wing with a neat and tidy ending. But the life I’m living is the one I choose to live, in the best way I know. I have no idea what the outcomes will be but I will certainly never regret trying. What’s next?*



*a little nod to Jed Batlet


Why why why?

This Chanukah was a bit lonely without mum, she would have remembered all the lines to all the songs. She lit the candles perfectly, she sang the songs really well (not, ha, ha, ha) and she did everything really really well! AND, don’t forget PRESENTS! They were fabulous, absolutely fabulous. I LOVED them I didn’t want Chanukah to end…….. but it did, boo hoo hoo.

My Dad tells me stories every night about my mum,  they are really fun ( and lovley). I understand it all but my 5 year old brother doesn’t, poor him. He misses her so much.I really don’t think that it is fair for anyone to get cancer buuuuuuuuuuuut ……….. it has to happen in the end.

You DO know that it is annoying being the only girl that lives in the house, right? Of course you do ( I hope) well anyway I hope you understand why. I am writing this blog.


Giving a little back

I’ve spent a lot of time, more than usual, thinking about Rosie over the past week or so. It’s six months today since Rosie died. At the beginning of last week, together with our families I attended the Chai Cancer Care fundraiser. It was a truly amazing event. 800 people enjoying a lovely meal at the Roundhouse in Camden in support of an important cause. We shared a table with three other engaging, fascinating, genuinely lovely people. I’ll come back to them in a moment.

On 4th February of this year, 2015, Rosie posted this on her Facebook page,“So many of you have offered to help since my diagnosis and have asked what you can do. Here it is – please support CRUK this World Cancer Day. Or for something closer to home please donate to Chai Cancer Care which has been a real lifeline for me.”

By now you’ll be wondering what Chai Cancer Care is, if you don’t already know. Well they’re an incredible support charity, with their HQ near to our home. Rosie benefited from a variety of their services. And others in the family, including me, have also turned to Chai for help. It’s because of this that I decided to be a part of a fundraising video, which you can see below. I was asked by their chief exec, Lisa Steele, if I would take part. I really didn’t have to give too much thought to that request. This was my way of giving something back.

The other person in the video is Tara. It was she, together with her husband and best friend that we shared our table with. I didn’t know Tara but coincidently I had grown up just round the corner from her husband Jeffrey. Tara, like Rosie has secondary breast cancer that has spread to her liver. I’m over the moon to say that she’s battling on and her treatment is having a positive impact on the liver lodgers, as Rosie would call them. I didn’t really know Jeffrey but speaking to him about our shared experiences it felt like I’d known him forever.

Before Rosie died I’d had a conversation with someone very senior at my office. His wife also has cancer and continues her fight. He said that we were members of a very exclusive club that no one wants to be a member of; that of husbands whose wives were living through cancer. Cancer is an oddly leveling disease. It’s unimpressed by wealth or intellect, it picks its victims with little regard for the world around them. And it gives its bystanders, friends and relatives, a strong reason to come together to fight.

And that’s precisely what we’re trying to do as we start to put in place the building blocks for Rosie’s charity. I’m hoping before too long that I’ll be able to talk about the charity here. In the meantime I carry on, together with my children, to make the very best of what we have together. As I say in the video, “Life is for living”.


Out of the darkness – Chai Cancer Care 2015 from Creative & Commercial on Vimeo.

Your starter for ten

On a day-to-day basis life without Rosie has become a series of practical tasks that I must get through. I’ve talked about that before. On the whole I manage to get things done, without showing too much emotion. But then once in a while something pops up that makes be feel really sad. I’m then reminded that what I’ve lost isn’t simply an extra pair of hands but the yin to my yang.

Rosie and I didn’t watch a lot of TV. Anyone who has followed Fighting Genghis will know that Rosie became addicted to trashy box sets on Netflix, latterly “Once Upon a Time”. I should add that I didn’t partake in this binge viewing (apart from Breaking Bad which we both hoovered up). But one of the TV programmes which we did watch together,  semi-religiously, was University Challenge. Now as you know Rosie was a smart cookie, and so during any given edition she’d be able to answer a handful of questions. I lagged  behind somewhat. When I did get a question right it was a minor miracle and something to celebrate. In response Rosie always gave me that “I’m so proud of you” look that a mother gives a child. It made me feel warm inside. Last week I watched University Challenge for the first time since she died and lo and behold I got a question right. The sound of silence was deafening. I felt sad all of a sudden.

On the subject of sadness, Joey was talking about missing mummy and being sad. As I usually do in these situations I told him that I miss mummy and feel sad too. It’s quite unbelievable what this little trouble-maker said. “Don’t worry daddy, I’ll take away the sadness”. How do you respond to that? Hopefully one day he’ll read this and understand that statements like that reaffirm my belief that he and Tali will be OK. That they’re going to grow up to be bright, well-adjusted individuals and that with support like this I know that I’ll get through it, with them by my side.

Rosie was my sense checker, my sounding-board. She was there to make sure that my sometimes outrageous ideas didn’t escape into the outside world. She was also the one person in the world that I could talk to without feeling stupid. If I had a problem at work she would be there to give me her perspective. She had no axe to grind, no point to prove. Her advice was free and it was thoughtful.

She also often gave professional advice, that came free. This week at work I was dealing with a minor issue which involved American lawyers. Having been married to a lawyer for many years, and having a step-dad and a brother-in-law who are lawyers I’ve become quite fond of their pedantic, precise ways of writing. And this week’s missive was a classic of the genre. Without Rosie’s perfectly formed view I now have to think “what would Rosie do?”. It’s not easy to get my head around but frankly if CJ Cregg can do it then I can have a damn good try. If you haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about then you obviously haven’t watched The West Wing. Rosie would most certainly approve of that one.

On a separate note I want to thank the lovely people at Rosie’s law firm, Bristows. Not only are they helping to establish Rosie’s charity (name still to be decided) and continue to be a massive support with other aspects of the charity, but they also invited Natalie and Joseph to their annual children’s Christmas party. This is the third year they’ve been. The first year was a month before Rosie started with Bristows. Last year was the second time, when Rosie wasn’t feeling so good and then there was yesterday. The lady who organises and runs the whole event, Marie, greeted us with such love and warmth. I’ll admit that I didn’t find it the easiest of events to attend but I knew the children would enjoy it, and they did. It reminds me of the massive impact Rosie has had on this world. Thank you Bristows.

Finally, I want to express the pride I have in my beautiful, clever daughter. If you’re reading this blog then chances are you read Tali’s. Her blog was direct and to the point. It expressed her feelings and, most importantly, it’s helping her to deal with her grief. It came as no surprise to me but her blog was read by twice as many people as my posts. Long may that last.


The highs and the lows

Life really is a very odd thing. In many ways it’s really rather boring and predictable. There’s a regular beat, an almost monotonous rhythm to daily life. Getting up and out of the house, packing the children off to school, going to work and so on and so forth. Every family has it, I imagine almost every individual experiences it. For me it’s been a challenge to find an efficient and practical way to do these mundane things. I think I’m getting there. In an odd sort of way life really is rather hum drum. Like putting one foot in front of the other life is a series of steps to get you from one place to the next. At least that’s the way I view it right now.

As ridiculous as it sounds I now realise that without Rosie I don’t have someone to share that with. The sheer act of sharing the day-to-day things with your loved one never struck me as anything important. It now seems so very important. And when it comes to the big things, well the hole Rosie’s left behind is colossal.

Today is Joseph’s birthday. It’s a close call but I think he enjoys birthdays more than Rosie ever did. That’s saying something. If you know me or have read this blog you’ll appreciate that I’m not a natural when it comes to birthdays, least of all arranging parties. Once again, and I fear that this might be the last time, Rosie came to my rescue.

Now follows a statement of the bleeding obvious.

Rosie was super organised.

She was so organised that she’d already arranged Joey’s birthday. The time, the place, even the entertainment. She’d bought plates and going home presents and knew exactly how the party would play out. So when it came to actually running the party it was a whole lot easier than it otherwise would have been. For anything left over which Rosie couldn’t do, the food and drinks, the birthday cake and the multitude of other things that have to be done, well those were taken care of by the holy trinity: my wonderful sister, mother-in-law and nanny. They were a truly amazing trio who ensured the party went off with a bang. Thank you ladies.

This morning Joey awoke to see several presents lined up ready to be opened (these were on top of the 40-something presents he opened after his party yesterday!). He was ecstatic. He had a great deal of fun opening his presents from the family. And lastly a card which Rosie left for him. In the last week of her life she was determined to write a few of the children’s future birthday cards, she struggled but she managed. Joey was happy to see the card but otherwise nonplussed. I on the other hand was in tears as I was catapulted back five months. In an attempt to console me he put his arms around me and gave me a big hug. As Rosie used to say, “what a nosh pot”.

On a separate, but probably not entirely unconnected note, last night Natalie asked me if she could write a blog. She said she wants to say things on the blog that she can’t say out loud. I asked if she’d like to use Fighting Genghis. “Yes” was her immediate and enthusiastic response. I asked if she’d like to read mummy’s first blog. Her answer surprised me. She told me that she’d read the first entry with Rosie while we were on holiday in Israel. I wonder why Ro did that?  Did she know her end was fast approaching? Or am I reading too much into it? I’ll never know.

Anyway, watch this space and if you see a blog written by Tali please read it and pass it on. I have no doubt it will have the searing honesty and emotion with which Rosie wrote.


A heartfelt tribute

You might or might not know that Rosie was a Facebook fiend. In fact without her maniacal love of it I would never have returned to use it again after a six-year absence. It is all too often derided by many (me included) as a place for fake friendships and innumerable and pointless photos of cats (sorry to all those cat lovers out there). But in Facebook Rosie found an outlet. A number of years ago she started the Wonderful Working Mums group – to date is has 2,601 members. The name says it all. It is a group for working mums to get together and to swap tips on everything from child care to career advancement.

And then there are the various cancer support groups which she took inspiration from and participated in. One of these, the Younger Breast Cancer Network (UK), founded by Victoria Yates, was so very important to her in the year since her diagnosis. It was here that she met and made so many true friends; friends who since her death have been in regular contact with me. Almost every message I receive begins with the words “I never met Rosie, but…”. To me it is a sign of her strength and powerful personality that friendships forged online have lasted beyond her life in a way that friendships do in the real world.

Throughout the month of October, Breast Cancer Awareness month, YBCN has been telling the stories of young women who have survived and succumbed to breast cancer. Their campaign is named #nottooyoung. In the words of one of their members the campaign is “trying to counter the pink and fluffy side of Breast Cancer Awareness month, so that women understand it’s not as straightforward as buying a pink pair of pants or showing your bra strap to make a genuine difference to research and development of a cure for the disease. We want to try to encourage women to look, check and get changes investigated early, and to understand most of all that breast cancer is not an older womens’ disease.”

I was asked if I’d be willing to allow Rosie’s story to be told. There was no debate, of course they could use her story. Below are the elegant words which were written about Rosie. For those of you on Facebook you can check out this campaign for yourselves here.

I want to endorse the sentiments of the campaign and reinforce its message. Rosie’s charity will be aiming to do a great deal of this too and I hope we can make a small but significant contribution to eradicating this appalling killer.


Rosie, 38, ‪#‎nottooyoung‬

This is Rosie. Rosie lived in North West London. Rosie was a wife, mother of two, Oxford graduate and partner in a City law firm. She was diagnosed in June 2014 with primary breast cancer. Then in December 2014, just as she had finished her course of chemotherapy, Rosie found a new lump. The cancer had returned and spread to her liver. This meant that the cancer was now incurable. Rosie died in June 2015, just one year after her initial diagnosis. She was 38 years old.

Throughout her illness, Rosie blogged about her experiences as a breast cancer patient, winning international acclaim and awards for her blog, Fighting Ghengis. Though originally written as a private journal, her final message was covered by the English and Irish media and The Huffington Post, which gives you an indication of how far and wide she managed to spread her message.

Rosie provided many members of YBCN with comforting words, advice and support often on a personal, one to one level. She was an active member of our online community, leading discussions about symptoms and side effects, chipping in with advice on how to manage some of the problems we all encounter as breast cancer patients, and making many of us howl with laughter with her wicked sense of humour, despite the personal challenges she was facing.

Rosie was incredibly motivated and organised, arranging a YBCN social event whilst in the midst of her treatment. She mobilised dozens of our members from across the country to meet up in central London for afternoon tea and, later that evening, a meal, vodka shots and dancing!

Her enthusiasm for life shone through in her posts, and her wisdom and kindness were almost palpable to those who ‘met’ her through YBCN. Her warmth and sincerity came through the screen and into people’s lives.

So who was Rosie? She read jurisprudence at Brasenose College Oxford, attaining a double first with a prize in European law. While at Oxford she developed many close friendships, which endured with her. After law school, she networked hard to secure a rare internship in competition law at the European Commission.

She was a partner at her second firm by the age of 33 and from there, moved to a significant partnership role at Bristow’s, where she flourished.

Within five weeks of meeting Rosie, her husband Elliot had determined that he had found the one. As a mother, Rosie was peerless. She was a hard-working, highly successful city lawyer and a fully engaged parent. She never did anything by halves. She started the very successful “Wonderful Working Mums” network on Facebook.

Rosie loved her two children, Natalie and Joseph, for all their individuality. She saw so many of her own good traits in Natalie; the bookworm and the natural born leader, whilst Joey would be there to defend Natalie. He was a protector of the family and she loved that in him. She loved his sheer joy of life and his force of personality.

Rosie was a brilliant, accomplished young woman of tenacity, resilience, strength and determination. Yet on being called ‘inspirational’ we’re told she had retorted that she was simply “doing the very best she could in a shitty situation.”

And yet Rosie gave inspiration. She championed everybody to be the best person they could be. She gave life a massive ‘yes’.
Rosie never let go of her wish for life and was determined to do the best she could. Her instruction to her loved ones? “Life’s too short. Do the right thing.”

We miss you Rosie. You’ll always shine brightly as one of the YBCN family.

Younger Breast Cancer Network (UK)'s photo.

Happy birthday Rosie

On this day, 39 years ago, Rosemary Sara Kalman was born. This year, for the first time, we must celebrate Rosie’s birthday without her. The sense of loss is as great today as it has been at any point over the last four months. Rosie lived for birthdays, so much so that she had already started planning her 40th; including her list of invitees. Who knows, perhaps next year we will feel able to have a proper party. For now I comfort myself with the company of our two wonderful children, and in a gesture that I’m sure Rosie would appreciate the three of us will light candles on a cake and sing happy birthday.

I’ve said this before and I’ll no doubt say it again. If you have a loved one give them a hug and tell them how much they mean to you. Live for today and don’t worry about getting older; in fact thank whoever or whatever you thank for being able to grow old. It’s a gift. Don’t take it for granted.

Happy birthday Ro. Happy birthday my darling xxx



Two birthdays and an anniversary

October was always a big month in the Choueka household. Rosie’s mum has her birthday on the 14th, Rosie had hers on the 15th and we celebrated our wedding anniversary on 24th. Last year, while in the midst of her first chemo battering, Rosie managed to find the strength to celebrate all three; one in particular in great style. Rosie alluded to it in this post. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m not one for birthdays or celebrations, but Rosie and I weren’t going to let our 10th anniversary pass without marking it in some spectacular way. The day unfolded amid carefully planned surprise after surprise. It culminated in the gift Rosie had always wanted, a beautiful eternity ring, which had in part belonged to her grandma. As she said, there were tears. It’s only now almost a year later and less than four short months since her passing that I realise the full irony of the gift.

I’d always half jokingly said to Rosie that I wouldn’t giver her an eternity ring until we’d been together for an eternity. After all, I reasoned, an eternity ring should be a sign of achievement not an aspiration. Well how bitterly right I was. It was our eternity together. It certainly was for Rosie.

Sitting here now writing about this month it feels so odd that while we remember two important dates (my mother-in-law’s birthday will, I hope, still be a celebration) the country also marks Breast Cancer Awareness month during October. Just before she died Rosie instructed me to set up a charity. She wanted it to raise funds to research secondary breast cancer. She wanted me to publish this blog as a book and she wanted any money to be split equally between the children and the charity. Since June I have been thinking and working on both. With the support of a dedicated band of friends and family we work towards the establishment of the charity; and with the help of a different set of equally dedicated friends I am navigating the difficult world of publishing.

I’ll admit that the concept of establishing a charity to do such important work hangs heavily over me. I know, because I’ve been told by anyone who cares to tell me, that it is fantastically hard to start a charity. There are so many competing for limited support. Why the hell would I take on this challenge while I have two little children to care for? Well the answer is obvious. Because Rosie asked me to. There were scant few things that Rosie ever asked of me that I didn’t (eventually) agree to. My friends, quite rightly, question the wisdom of doing this right now. A few days ago my best friend asked if I’d be starting a charity if Rosie hadn’t asked me to. “Of course not.” I replied in a flash. But equally quickly I added that she did ask me to and so I had to. No question.

And yet I feel so very torn. The charity will do great things. It will raise large sums for a significant and important cause. But most importantly it will help to cement Rosie’s legacy for a long time to come. When our daughter talks about selling her Disney Princess dresses and dolls to raise money for “mummy’s charity” what option do I have? Really?

So we will work to set up the charity and unless some excellent reason prevents me from doing so I hope to enlist your help at some point. Watch this space as they say.

In the meantime I continue to care for and nurture my little children. This morning before the sun rose Joey climbed into my bed. He asked me, as only a four-year old can, “When is mummy coming home?”. What can I say? I’d like to know the answer to that one too.


Everything changes and the guilt of living

Today I received a beautiful message from Caroline, one of the ladies on the YBCN (Younger Breast Cancer Network) Facebook group. Last year Rosie had organised a YBCN get together in London. It’s where Caroline and she met. I remember the day. Going off to meet the group of women all carrying the same internal scars and scares. I never properly understood the fear that breast cancer instills in a woman living with it. My appreciation of this disease has grown since Rosie’s death. But how can a person who has never had cancer ever really understand the impact it has on the sufferer?

Through her blog, Rosie found great comfort in being able to express her innermost thoughts. And being a vibrant part of a number of online cancer communities she also found a way to deal with this most appalling of diseases. But I think it was through the YBCN event in London that she found real comfort from the certainty of understanding of her fellow victims.

Caroline talked about two aspects of this disease. For those who successfully live through and beyond their cancer treatment they suffer the pain of “survivor’s guilt”. Until I’d experienced Rosie’s cancer to its bitter end this really wasn’t something which had occurred to me. I’d heard this phrase used with respect to survivors of the Nazi death camps during the Holocaust. Most famously the great Italian chemist, Primo Levi, who wrote movingly about his experiences. But survivor’s guilt and cancer? Caroline wrote about this. Even though Rosie’s treatment had failed last year she still maintained her connection with those who were living healthily after theirs. Rosie was happy for those who, unlike her, had escaped the secondary diagnosis. Somehow her humanity allowed her to continue to support those whose luck hadn’t run out. But then that was Rosie.

Survivor’s guilt can, I imagine, become an appalling, all-consuming beast. But that can’t be allowed. For those who survive, they must take the gift of life and do something special with it, whatever that is. Rosie would have been furious if her death meant others couldn’t make the most of their lives.

Caroline also talked about change. Her experience of cancer has changed her for good. Her words, “I’m not the person I was before this all started” are something I can identify with. As I sat alone in synagogue this morning I thought about my place in this world – and my children. It occurred to me that for the last year our lives have been odd, different, changed. Rosie and I had tried so very hard since June 2014 to keep things “normal” in the Choueka household. Despite the inner turmoil created by this disease Rosie and I both knew that we couldn’t bring this into the children’s lives. Of course we needed them to understand something of what was going on but it was not right or fair to expose them to the awfulness of the situation, or at least not until almost the very end.

The most obvious change, with the benefit of hindsight, was the creeping sadness. Rosie and I experienced a happiness together that I only dreamed of in my earlier years. And with the arrival of the children that simply multiplied. Yes there were bouts of illness, health scares and the like but nothing we couldn’t deal with; that’s life. Cancer was the game changer. Looking back on it I’d say it felt like a storm rolling in from afar. The winds rising up, the sky darkening and the rain, thunder and lightning tearing across the horizon at breakneck speed towards an unsuspecting town. That’s the way it’s felt.

Now the storm is calming. It’s still raining. It’s still dark. But far out on the horizon I can see daylight. The sadness is most firmly still with me, with Natalie and with Joey. I know at some point the storm will pass, the skies will brighten. But what will it leave behind? I don’t know. Most certainly everything has changed forever but it’s far too early to see exactly how. In that awful journalistic cliché, only time will tell.


The end of shloshim, of mourning.

Yesterday was the end of our shloshim, the 30 days following the death of a loved one. During this time there are a number of rules and customs to follow. The worst for me, and Tali, was not shaving. Over the course of a month I became more and more bedraggled. Rosie hated me unshaven and so does Tali. For that reason alone I was very glad to be able to shave again. I’m not going to attempt eloquence on this subject but simply suggest that you take a look at Sheryl Sandberg’s beautiful words at the conclusion of her shloshim. My thoughts are so very similar to hers.

What have I learned over the last 30 days? Well a lot. Rosie was incredible. I know what you’re thinking, “surely you knew that already?”. Well yes, but I don’t believe I ever appreciated how incredible she was. Searching through our filing cabinet at home I came across a folder labelled “Qualifications/Certificates”. It was stuffed full of the results of Rosie’s years of hard work through academia. GCSEs (all A grades) AS and A-levels (all A grades) her double first in Jurisprudence from the University of Oxford, letters congratulating her on winning prizes at school and at university, her trainee  report from her time at the European Commission, utterly glowing. I am simply in awe.

Since Rosie’s death I’ve been knee-deep in paperwork. Every Tom, Dick and Harry needs to see her death certificate, needs to know her National Insurance Number, needs to be sent obscure pieces of information that no human being really knows. But guess what? Rosie did. What’s more she filed that information away so that I could find it. Everyone should have a Rosie.

I have also learned that her reach was extraordinary, both in terms of geography and people across all walks of life. From the high-flying lawyer in Boston, USA, to the lady who runs the nail bar round the corner from us. She was a truly impressive people person. Of course I knew all of this instinctively but it’s not until you lose someone like Rosie that you really begin to appreciate them and their great qualities.

My focus in life has now shifted. Before 16th June my priorities were Rosie and the children. If I’m being honest, over the final few months of her life more of my time was spent thinking and worrying about her than the children. Now, my every waking moment (and a great deal of my sleep) is consumed by thoughts and worries for the children. How are they going to grow up? Will they remember mummy? Do I have the right clothes for school? When do I allow Natalie to have her ears pierced? On and on and on. None of these questions are alien to parents, but now they are entirely my focus, by myself, without my beautiful Rosie to consult. But then I suppose that’s what life as a single parent is like. I’m not unique. I’ll just have to get on with it.

When people ask, as they regularly do, “how are you doing?”, the answer I give is that I’m more up than down. I think that fairly clearly sums up life right now. I’m keeping myself busy with work, with the children and starting to think about establishing Rosie’s charity. Before she died Rosie was insistent that we set up a charity to raise funds to research secondary breast cancer. In life she always had the last word, and that won’t change now she’s gone. So with the help of our very best friends and closest family we will do that. We will create a charity which will raise money to go towards finding answers and maybe a cure to this horrible disease, AND it will help to cement Rosie’s name in everyone’s memory.