There are worse things than losing your 36-year-old husband, but not many. In fact there’s really only one.
One of the things I’m failing to come to terms with the most is the new imagine of me. I think of myself as a young girl in her thirties, living in London and raising a small family but this is definitely not how others see me.
I am most people’s worst nightmare. I got really unlucky whereas most people don’t. It is very unusual for your husband to die at this age, for anyone to die at this age, statistically speaking. Many people on some subconscious level are thinking- Thank God it’s not me. And who on earth would blame them?
I have effectively taken one for the team.
I’ve loved and I’ve lost.