Emma, 42, London
Sinking into the sofa, I wiped away tears.
Will things ever get better?
I wondered.
It was April 2017 and life had been tough recently.
My father had recently died of cancer.
I was a single mum and, after moving to the UK with my teenage kids Sarah and Adam, I’d not been around to say goodbye to him.
I’d been a nurse in my home country, caring for patients in hospitals and private homes.
After the move, I’d taken on multiple jobs to try to make ends meet waitressing, cleaning.
Thankfully, there was no pain and, while things looked blurry, I could still make out words, recognise faces.
But grief had swallowed me, I’d missed shifts.
