Ten years ago, when I woke up on September the 4th 2004, I knew it wasn’t going to be a great day.
I had that feeling, you know the one you get when you know something bad is going to happen.
Considering my big brother was very poorly in a local hospice, I suppose I didn’t really need psychic powers to tell me it wasn’t going to be a good day, did I? I knew what was coming because the day before I’d sneaked back into his room to say goodbye, even though he was unconscious.
I told him my secret and left.
So when the phone rang the next night, I stared at it instead of answering.
But it kept ringing and ringing until I had no choice.
I picked up the phone and knew without being told what had happened because I could hear my mum screaming in the background.
Screams I will never, ever forget no matter how much I wish I could.
I can’t remember what happened next but I know that I managed to get into bed at some point where I curled up and held my tummy hoping that he’d heard me the day before when I told him I was pregnant. Hoping that he understood why I hadn’t told anyone my news while he was so poorly.
Fast forward ten years and as they say, time is a great healer.
But it doesn’t stop me from having a random cry at things that come at me out of the blue and remind me of him and they don’t stop me feeling angry at the world sometimes because why him?
And you know what! Why me?
Why do my children have to grow up without their uncle and why should I have spent the last ten years without my brother.
We might not have got along well when we were young but he was still my brother and I loved him!
This was supposed to be one of those posts that I was going to write just to get things on paper and out of my head. You know the ones where you write things that you would usually be mortified if people read but I read it back (through a few tears) and decided that actually, maybe it is OK to share. It might help you understand why I really feel that life’s too short.