I mean, of course I’m so pleased you found me. That we found each other. But really, you and I know you’re here because life is a bitch and has thrown you a massive curve ball when you were least expecting it.
So what can we do for each other?
Well, I’ll write because there has got to be a way to remain sane through it all. And I’m hoping that in the process I will help others. You. It’s as simple as that.
So I’m married to the love of my life. Course I am, aren’t we all. I have my perfect 2 children. Boy and girl, of course. A beautiful house with a huge garden and a tree house. And a job I love.
Oh, have I mentioned my husband is dying of cancer?
Because I’m afraid, dear reader, that’s why we’re here. We’re here to document my anticipatory grief process. To bitch and moan about cancer, to try to understand how a 30-something year old can possibly be expected to know the right thing to say or do, and to help each other put one foot in front of the other in the process.
I’ll tell you the story of the itchy jumper another time. But for now, let me tell you what the subtitle of this blog is. Why it’s not the other women you should be worried about. You remember those heady first months of a relationship where the thought that he might fancy (what a sweet, innocent word!) another woman gives you shooting pains in your gut. Because there is so much love, and so much hope, what could possibly go wrong.
Sometimes, the things which could never happen to us, do happen to us. That terrible thing that your mother whispers, someone else’s tragedy, other people’s sadness which must be avoided for fear of contamination…well, as it happens, sometimes it becomes you.
And dear reader, be warned: it will kick you in the solar plexus and knock the breath out of you. You’ll be completely unprepared. So I’ll try to help. I’ll tell you my story and I’ll hold your hand. And if that won’t do it, I’ll mix you a bad boy G&T.