A Decade of Diaries: From a Widow

By Stella Swanepoel

To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk disappointment. But risks
must be taken because the greatest risk in life is to risk nothing. Th e person who risks
nothing does nothing, has nothing, and is nothing. Th ey cannot learn, feel, change, grow,
love, or live.
She held a marriage certifi cated in one hand dated October 20, 2001, and seven months
later, a death certifi cate in the other hand dated June 5, 2002.
In April 2005 four children lay in their sealed coffi ns, each with a photo of themselves placed
fi rmly between the garlands of fl owers. Th ey were too young to have died.
In the same year, she was told that if she did not have brain surgery, she probably only had
three years to live. She chose not to sign the consent to procedure paperwork.
In 2007, Ian, the love of her life left the room, never to be seen or heard from again.
In 2008, her two daughters left the United Kingdom and moved to Australia. She was alone.
What happened in the next four years? What could possibly have happened on the day she
was given her permanent residency to move to Australia?
In 2012, a decade of diaries remained locked away in her bedroom draw. Would she tell all?
Th is is not a book intended to make you cry. Its a true story of what happened in her fi rst
fi ve years of being a widow and how she lived through it all. How she moved on, where she
is today, and what lies ahead after ten years had passed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Mar 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503503397

Stella Swanepoel

One extraordinary woman with an extraordinary life story—this is what Stella Swanepoel has to share. This amazing woman has gone from one extreme to the next, but she had such a will to survive. She has devoted her time, effort, and tears to bring you her memoirs. With the help of her diaries, she tells the stories of her heartaches and successes, her loves and her losses. Stella has run and owned companies and is a keen explorer of all things and an avid connoisseur of all things literature, with a secret wish of becoming a private eye.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Stella Swanepoel.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015903282

ISBN:      Hardcover   978-1-5035-0341-0

                Softcover     978-1-5035-0340-3

                eBook          978-1-5035-0339-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 08/24/2015

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

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CONTENTS

Diary 1 - Year 2003

Diary 2 - Year 2004

Diary 3 - Year 2005

Diary 4 - Year 2006

Diary 5 - Year 2007

Diary 6 - Year 2008

Diary 7 - Year 2009

Diary 8 - Year 2010

Diary 9 - Year 2011

Diary 10 - Year 2012

My husband and I had been together since 1986 and lived on a 500-acre farm in the Midlands area in Zimbabwe.

We owned a variety of successful agricultural businesses, so it was extremely depressing when the majority of white farming families started to leave the country because their land was being taken away from them. We had had an incredible life in this country, and although none of us ever wanted to leave, it was no longer the beautiful place that we had all been born in.

After discussing whether we as a family would have to leave, for over one year, Swannie finally convinced me that we would have a safer life in the United Kingdom.

We started to close and sell the majority of our businesses. I had a British passport, so we were able to immigrate without too many problems.

One of the best problems, however, was that we had to leave as a married couple.

We had been engaged for ten years, and Swannie had proposed to me about six times—eventually giving up.

Our wedding was scheduled for 20 October 2001, and we would use this event to say goodbye to family and friends.

We were having a garden wedding and it was unusual at this time of the year to have rain, but it rained that afternoon. I was concerned, as I had always been told it was unlucky for a bride to get rained on! However, it was an incredible day.

The next few months were crazy as we tried to sell as many assets as we could. We had to find foreign currency or buy gold with whatever cash we had, and that was not easy as all the other families leaving were trying to do the same.

I had nine cats and five dogs, and they all had to be put down. These were my babies and this was going to be the hardest thing I had ever had to do. Finding anaesthetic was difficult, as was everything in Zimbabwe. The vet would phone me in the morning and say, ‘I have enough anaesthetic for two animals today—choose which two.’ I prayed every night for the strength to get through this, but when it was time to put my last cat down that I had babied for fifteen years, I just couldn’t do it.

Swannie held Smokey for me as the injection went in to her tiny little foot. She was purring like all the others as the fluid entered her blood stream. Fourteen animals had been buried in the garden, and for the first time, I actually loathed Robert Mugabe.

My brother Ian and his wife Linda chose to stay in Zimbabwe, as did my stepmother, my stepson, his lovely wife, and my two gorgeous step granddaughters who were just one and two years old at the time.

This was the beginning of our new life in the United Kingdom.

We had been in the UK for three and a half months and were lucky enough to spend the first six weeks visiting our families. Although I was missing my friends terribly, and still wondering if we had done the right thing, it was still early stages to even try and come to that conclusion. Plus the fact we still actually thought we were just here on a holiday!

We had both found a job and had been working for ten days when we found out there was a long weekend ahead with a public holiday.

It was the Queen’s Silver Jubilee, so we decided to go to the Isle of Wight for four days, and we invited our friends G&T from Zimbabwe to come with us. We never actually knew England had such scorching weather, so we were pleasantly surprised.

Most of our time was spent on the beach with white sands and sheltered seas. There was a little shack for ice creams, cafés for cups of tea or coffee, and plenty of buckets and spades.

We had had a wonderful and relaxing break, so we were ready to start the journey back home to London. Swannie had not been feeling too well and said he was going to see the doctor in the morning instead of going straight to work.

It would be our first night ‘home alone’, as Pamela had decided to move, and she had gone to share a flat with her friends in Wimbledon.

It was late when we arrived home, but we were childishly excited while undressing each other to go in to the shower. We started kissing and he placed his hand on my lower back while running the other hand through my hair. Without breaking the connection we were engaged in, he glided his lips leisurely down my cheeks and on to the back of my neck. He knew my body would shiver with pleasure when he reached that area. I started rolling my head slowly around and tried to move my hand towards him, but he firmly pushed me against the glass wall, his hand deliberately separating my legs. I was in my element as he teased me as I cried for more. Slowly, but surely, he took my hand and led me through to the bedroom.

Our lovemaking continued for another hour until we were both physically exhausted with pleasure.

5 June 2002

Fifteen minutes past midnight. ‘Night, babe,’ I said to my husband. ‘Love you.’

He had not gone to sleep after saying good night. He was a migraine sufferer, so I knew he had made a cup of tea and had probably gone to sit in the lounge, even though it was so late.

I felt a nudge on my shoulder. ‘Sweetheart, phone 999,’ he pleaded.

I sat up in a daze as at that time, I was already in a deep sleep. ‘I can’t breathe,’ he said.

The phone was right in front of me on a desk and I automatically dialled the emergency number. I looked at the digital clock—it was 3.03 a.m.

I rushed the conversation saying my husband was having a heart attack and needed an ambulance urgently. I’m not sure why I had said that, but at the time, I thought it was the right thing to say to get an immediate response. They took the address and told me to keep talking to them while the ambulance was on the way.

‘Babe, they are asking if you are in pain?’

‘No’, he said, ‘I just can’t breathe.’

Questions, so many questions. I was half-asleep, I didn’t know what was going on.

Never at this stage did I consider anything serious, and death had never entered my mind. He just had breathing problems, didn’t he?

Incredibly, the ambulance was there in seven minutes, and two young paramedics walked up the narrow stairs to where our bedroom was.

‘What’s up, mate?’ the male paramedic said. I could have hit him. What the hell did he mean ‘what’s up’? Within seconds, my husband’s body had fallen to the floor. Then they panicked!

He was gasping for breath. His mouth frothed with saliva dribbling down his chin. His arms had folded over his chest before his fingers started to curl tightly. His hands now looking like claws reached out for something to hold on to. His eyes rolled to the back of his head before they closed. He threw his head back, hitting the office chair by the table. His body was now curling in the shape of a foetus.

There were no screams, or cries.

There was no sound, and death came within a few minutes.

Literally a few minutes.

What the hell was happening? ‘Babe’, I said, ‘please don’t leave me.’

But he had gone.

My husband was dead.

A silent heart attack.

The paramedics asked me to leave the room and they started resuscitation. I closed the door. I didn’t need to see what they were doing. I was panicking. My sister-in-law Millie, who lived on the other side of the road, was away, so I phoned her partner Chris and begged him to come over.

Twenty minutes later, they were still in the bedroom. Please dear God, let them stop. I know you can’t revive anyone after twenty minutes without brain damage. Swannie would not have wanted that. Another ambulance had been called and they were saying we all needed to get to the hospital.

I was sobbing. I was so scared. My thoughts were just intense sadness.

Had the lovemaking killed my husband?

Should I have stayed up with him?

Should we have seen someone yesterday?

I can only thank God I told him I loved him.

Chris had come with me and we waited for someone to see us. It was all such a blur, and then it was like being in a film. A doctor in his white garment was walking slowly towards me in the waiting room. ‘Mrs Swanepoel’, he said, ‘I am so sorry, but we couldn’t save your husband and have declared his death today at 4.10 a.m.’

I knew he was dead and I responded abruptly, ‘He was dead at 3.10. I watched him die—I was with him.’ Perhaps they were used to verbal abuse at times and they tried to calm me by asking if I would like to go and say ‘goodbye’ to my husband and collect his belongings.

What did they mean say goodbye?

What were they talking about?

I just don’t get it!

What the hell had just happened?

He lay naked on a cold, flat, metal table with a white sheet covering him up to the level of his shoulders. His arms were folded across his chest and I smiled, as that was the way he always looked when he had a catnap at lunchtime. I squeezed his hand tightly and kissed him on his cheek. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to say it was okay—if this was what he wanted. But at the same time, I wanted to ask him to please come back.

I stood back and looked at him. This was not my husband. There were no facial expressions. There was no response. He never smiled back. He wasn’t even talking to me. This was just a limp body that I did not recognise. He was expressionless and unresponsive. The colour of his body was not the same colour of a human being.

As I left the room, they handed me a grey plastic shopping bag with his belongings. Inside was a pair of black boxer shorts that they had cut through, a thick gold chain that he had worn around his neck and two gold rings. One was a signet ring with a single diamond and his initials engraved in the middle that I had given him when we got engaged ten years ago. The second ring was a thick gold wedding band, which was only seven months old.

Chris had stayed with me, and he drove me to the house where my daughters lived. I unlocked the front door with my spare key that they had given me and gently knocked on their bedroom doors. It was only five in the morning, but I needed to tell them. No one knew what to say to me as everyone was in deep shock. What could they say—I myself was still trying to figure it all out.

When I got back to my house, I sat in my bedroom staring at the floor where my husband had died.

What did I just say?

Where my husband had died?

He’s died?

He’s gone?

He’s gone forever?

I am battling to believe this. I was making love to him just a few hours ago. I’m so confused.

Chris was trying to disturb me to give him all the family phone numbers. Oh my god. We had to phone his son and his daughter. We had to phone his mother! I had to phone my mother. The list was endless and news like this travelled like a wildfire, so we couldn’t waste time.

Oh please, dear God, let this be a nightmare. We had only been in this country for three and a half months. I can’t be alone. Please, dear God, don’t let me be alone.

I closed the bedroom door while Chris made all the phone calls, and for the first time, I actually cried my heart out. I was a widow at the age of 45!

Two days later, I am now being forced to concentrate on a funeral.

In my one hand, I had a wedding certificate dated 20 October 2001.

In the other hand, I had a death certificate dated 5 June 2002.

Three months after my husband’s death, I took his ashes back to Zimbabwe. I called in to see his mother. Her grandson had held her hand while telling her that her son had died, but she refused to believe him. She said she would only believe it when I came to tell her myself. She was 89 years old, and it wasn’t easy repeating the same words she had heard from her grandson. It was no surprise to me when I got a phone call three months after I had seen her to say she too had quietly slipped away in her sleep.

Swannie wanted his ashes to be scattered in the same place as my father. My stepson and his wife came with me, and my brother Ian and his wife Linda travelled behind us.

We approached Brondsbury Park, which was in Inyanga, and headed to the number 7 golf green that overlooked acres of beautiful valleys. We found the exact spot where we had scattered my father’s ashes, knowing no one could touch them there.

As I opened the urn, a strong gust of wind blew from behind us. The ashes wafted farther than we had ever envisioned. I knew from that moment that Swannie was there with us. I also knew I could at last say goodbye knowing this was the place he wanted to be.

A week had passed and it was time to say goodbye to my family and return to London on my own—literally on my own.

But worse times were still to come.

The next five years was filled with trauma and tragedies, and the following five years would make me the person I am today.

To all my friends who have been with me through this decade:

There are many people that we meet in our lives but only a very few will make a lasting impression on our minds and hearts.

These people will always listen and talk to you.

They will care about your happiness and concerns.

They will like you for who you are and they will support you at all times.

It is these rare people that we will think of often and who will always remain important to us as true friends.

I am fortunate to have you all as my true friend.

Jessica Smith – my very special mother

Janine Sharp (nee Otter) – my oldest daughter

Pamela Otter – my youngest daughter

Lorraine Grouse (nee Smith) – my sister

Ian and Linda Smith – my brother and his wife

Millie and Chris – my sister-in-law and her partner

Barbara – my cousin in the UK

Nell Martin – my very best friend in the UK

Susan Atkinson – UK

Juliana Smith – UK

Carol Beckford – UK

Sheree Nolan – UK

Georganne Toomey – UK

Jane Tilton Holden – UK

Roland Austin – UK

Wanda Jaklinska – UK

Alan – Thank you for everything

Michael – A friend for life

Ian – We loved each other so much

Stephen – An unforgettable relationship

DIARY 1

Year 2003

A journey doesn’t start at the beginning. It begins at the end

1 January – It was the end of 2002 and after spending a very peaceful Christmas and New Year with my mother who lived in Helensburgh, I arrived back in London. It was my first Christmas without my husband and it didn’t seem right. Instead of it being a merry time, it was a sad and quiet time for me.

However, I made the most of it for my mom’s sake, and we attended all the Christmas events that were taking place along the coast. Fortunately she lived three blocks away from the seaside, so there was always something happening. We sang at the Christmas Carols and we watched the pipers playing the bagpipes with traditional and Christmas music.

Late in the afternoons, I would dress up very warmly and stroll along the beach by myself. I would sometimes be away for two hours—lost in my own little world. Sadly, I even walked past places where I thought it would be so easy to just jump or fall in to the sea to end my life.

Going to church on Christmas morning had been tearful, but they were silent tears as everyone else was jumping for joy. The children had all brought their presents to show the priest, and for them, it seemed to be the happiest day of their life.

Had we both still have been in Zimbabwe, it would have been a very exciting period, as Swannie and I would normally have been involved in a New Year’s Eve event at the sports club, where over two hundred people attended.

I had a long way to go and Pamela had given me a diary that she didn’t want, so I thought I would start my journey today.

2 January – I was back at work and I enjoyed being there. Not only did I like my job, I had colleagues to talk to. I was employed at the University College of London and one of the girls I worked with was doing a counsellors’ course—she always found time to talk to me—or just listen. It was a blessing in disguise!

5 January – It was snowing and my husband had been gone for just seven months. I couldn’t control my emotions today, and I just sat in my room and sobbed my heart out. I guess there would be many more days like this to come.

I met my best friend Nell on the first day I arrived in the UK. She had invited Millie my sister-in-law for dinner and Millie had said she was unable to accept because her brother and his wife were arriving from Zimbabwe that evening and Nell just said, ‘Bring them with you.’

Nell and I saw each other on a regular basis and I’m not sure how I would have coped without her when my husband died. I knew when I felt depressed I could always just phone her and we would meet up for a walk—I did just that.

8 January – Nell asked me to join an art course, which she had signed up to. As I used to paint and sell paintings in Zimbabwe before I left, I thought this would be a good idea as it would get me out of the house and I would be doing something I loved.

16 January – Our first lesson was to paint a chair with a cloth hanging over it. Why on earth would I want to paint that, I thought, but in the end, it wasn’t too bad and I even had a few laughs whilst doing it.

The following week we had to paint a rusted can with dried flowers. Whatever I do in life, I always seem to need a reason on what I have learnt from whatever I have done. I can assure you I had no explanation or reason for painting a rusted can, (but I enjoyed the brownie that I had with my coffee during our break)!

25 January – It was the Chinese New Year Festival this weekend, so Pamela, her friend Shine, and I met up with G&T. Shine had just arrived in the UK from Zimbabwe and they had both moved in with me so I wasn’t alone at the house.

G&T were on holiday with us at the Isle of Wight the day before my husband died, so we stayed close friends.

When we got home that evening, we had some dinner and all three of us lay in my double bed watching the videos we had taken that day. It was hilarious, but I could see I needed much more practice with the video.

26 January – I was having dinner with Janine that evening—a belated birthday dinner—and she told me she had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. An operation was required and they had told us the sooner they do this, the better. We all thought it best to keep calm until the surgery had been done—easier said than done though as Janine had just turned 22.

8 February – My friend Claire, also from Zimbabwe, had been in touch with me and invited me to travel with her to visit some of her friends in Wales.

It was such a beautiful place and we had an awesome weekend. I certainly knew I would be back there one day. Some friends were constantly phoning me to make sure I was okay, and I really appreciated that. I was about to find out who my best friends really were.

On the way home, Claire dropped me off in Chippenham so I could stop over and visit my stepdaughter and her family. The last time I visited, I was of course with Swannie (her father), so this was a trying time for me. I was finding it difficult on my own, and although there were always people to talk to, nothing changed when I got home to just four walls in my bedroom.

11 February – Another lesson with my art course and this time we had to draw a nude female model. I was not taking anything seriously in this lesson as I could hardly draw a stick man let alone a beautiful nude body. Once again though, an evening filled with laughter (behind my easel, of course, as my art teacher would not have been amused).

15 February – Today was my first anniversary of being in the UK.

We were sitting having dinner together watching the British Awards when we heard that some of our friends in Zimbabwe had been attacked while on a fishing trip in Kariba. We also heard another family who owned a college had been beaten up. Although I missed being with everyone in Zimbabwe, I reminded myself I was in a safer country. The year had gone so quickly and yet at times, it seemed I had only just left yesterday.

22 February – It was Cathy’s 21st this weekend, and although I found it extremely difficult going to a party without Swannie, it was comforting to see at least twelve people from Zimbabwe. I spoke to Cheryl who had also lost her husband and she promised me it got easier. Not better, but easier.

25 February – This week at art, we had to write a poem and do some kind of fine art to suit the poem. I chose the subject: My Quilt. It was a picture of a quilt made from squares and shredded material. There was a patch missing in the quilt that left a hole, so the poem was written to match my life.

I clearly had a hole in my life and my heart, and I was desperate to mend it. I was depressed doing this piece of art, so the next evening I went for a walk on my own. It’s trying to accept the reality of everything that I was finding so difficult. I kept thinking everything was a dream—I wanted it to be a dream!

I left the house without my phone, and after walking for about an hour, I had actually got lost and hadn’t a clue where I was. The streets were quiet and dark and I realized how silly it was of me to do something like this. I saw some kind of tollgate in front of me, so I walked in that direction. Fortunately there was a person who I could speak to and he told me I was about 5 km away from my home. I walked a bit quicker to get home, and when I walked in, no one said anything to me. I hadn’t even been missed. Clearly this was one of my first self-pity thoughts.

After sobbing in my room for about half an hour, I checked my phone and Pamela had been trying to find me—I had about four missed calls. I knew I needed to be stronger or just call for help if I ever felt like that again. Of course they missed me; they just didn’t know how to help me and never knew what to say.

1 March – Nell was having a belated birthday dinner, and although I was number 13 at the table again, I actually enjoyed myself. Most friends that I met in London would normally find my life in Zimbabwe interesting, so there was never a dull moment.

2 March – Janine and her partner had invited me for lunch to say a quick goodbye as they were going on a holiday to Andora and were very excited. She phoned me the next morning to say they had arrived, but had narrowly escaped an avalanche. The bus in front of them had people trapped inside, but everyone managed to get out alive. They were lucky!

It was also my stepdaughter-in-law’s birthday and I managed to get through on the phone for a quick chat. I missed them so much. I was preparing a few parcels to send to my stepgrandchildren from London. I loved sending them little gifts from the UK.

Millie had also popped round to see how I was doing and I just cried when she was there. I guess because it was her brother that died, she understood just that little bit more. There was never anything she could do to change what had happened, but she was always just a phone call away if I needed her.

5 March – Nine months since I was a widow. I hated that word—I was only 45 years old. Surely that was too young. I was so lost, and believe me, there were times I just didn’t know what to do.

7 March – A couple, also from Zimbabwe, was going to Poole to see some of their friends and asked if I would like to join them. Oh gosh, yes please. Just get me out of this house and get me away from being alone.

It was a beautiful place and I was so thankful for that couple to have invited me. What a pleasure to be with someone who just wanted to listen and help wherever they could. We had so much to talk about. We discussed our past as well as our future (whatever that may be).

10 March – Janine and her partner were leaving for another holiday, and this time they were going to Zimbabwe. Well, I knew they would have a fantastic time there, so wished them well and just told them to be careful.

Pamela and Shine went away for the weekend visiting her uncle and this meant I was completely alone. Lost. Lost is always the word—I just didn’t know what to do with myself without feeling sorry for myself.

11 March – I had a phone call from Sue, who was a very good friend in Zimbabwe, and I know it’s just a phone call, but the fact that someone was missing me and remembering me was priceless! Thank you, Sue x.

18 March – Another art lesson—a hand! Oh my golly—who on earth wants to paint a hand, and if so, why? I just had to laugh about everything or I would have gone mad. The course was costing a fortune to me, but I had to admit, the laughter and fun that I was having was worth every penny.

20 March – I had dinner with a male friend from Zimbabwe that week. He was on his own, as his wife had not come in to London with him. Strangely enough, this person thought I may be desperate and actually asked if I would like to spend the night with him. What sort of person (or friend for that matter) asks a widow that question? What sort of person did he think I was? His wife was my friend! Another lesson learnt—stay away from men who don’t have their wives with them.

I promise I will go to the grave with names and stories of things I know about people in Zimbabwe.

26 March – It was Millie’s birthday, so I went round to her house to give her a present. I had ordered a personalised dressing gown for her, which I thought, was a fabulous gift (we couldn’t order anything like that in Zimbabwe). Well, another lesson to be learnt. Don’t buy Millie a present, because whatever it is, she doesn’t need it.

I have no idea what happened to the dressing gown, but she told me she already had two and didn’t need her name on an item that belonged to her in the first place. It was funny, but it hurt, as a personalised gift to me would have been very special.

Janine and her partner were back from Zimbabwe and we all met up for Mothers’ Day. They had bought me a mother and child figurine, which I loved. Now that was a special gift.

28 March – It would have been my husband’s 60th today. I seriously was battling with life, but I didn’t want anyone to know!

How do you hide depression?

How do not show the loneliness that you are experiencing?

29 March – Janine went in for her operation, but they discovered she had picked up malaria from her holiday in Zimbabwe, so they postponed the operation till the following week.

After dropping her at home, I went to my art lesson and finally finished The Hand. Nell and I stayed for some wine and snacks afterwards, and I think I needed an extra glass to convince myself I had actually completed this picture and recognised it was actually a hand. I’m so pleased I had joined the art group—it was a place where it seemed ‘okay’ to smile.

1 April – Pamela and I had been searching for a venue for her 21st birthday party, so it was a relief when we finally found somewhere suitable for everyone and a deposit was paid and invitations sent out.

Later in the day, I nipped round to see Millie. She was busy clearing the garden as she had an exhibition at her house every year. We got chatting, and between the two of us, we polished off a whole bottle of wine followed by steak egg and chips for dinner. No one had any idea how many times I went to Millie and how much I cried when I got there. But I always left feeling better than I had when I arrived!

5 April – I went to Millie’s exhibition and a lot of her clients and friends had remembered Swannie and I from last year. They were all asking where he was, and after repeating the same story time and time again, I eventually just had to walk away.

I did what I normally did and phoned Nell. Fortunately it was time to take Torrie for a walk anyway! She was a lifesaver and I was so thankful that I had such a wonderful friend.

Later in the day, my stepson had phoned me to say Hi, and I appreciated his calls so much. His birthday was coming up at the weekend, and it seemed strange not to be with him.

He told me he would be starting his pilot license soon and he was so excited. He had always wanted to get this licence and I had encouraged him to follow his dream. He said the little girls were keeping well and they as a family were all going to Victoria Falls for Easter. He said they had done a little drawing for me and it was in the mail.

‘Dear Granny Stella,’ it said. ‘We love you. From S & S.’

The picture had a bright green background and they had cut coloured squares, triangles, and circles out and stuck them all over the page. There was a big red heart in the middle. They said they missed me and you have no idea how much that little drawing meant to me.

A step parent is so much more than a parent. They made the choice to love when they didn’t have to

19 April – I booked a bus ticket to Stratford-on-Avon to stay with my cousin Barbara for Easter. It was always nice for me to get out of London, and my mom had come to visit as well, so I knew we would have a great time. All three of us were widows, and no matter what age you are, you’re all in the same boat!

We visited her daughter in Yorkshire, and on the way home, I managed to find a beautiful iced flower to go on Pamela’s 21st cake, so I was very pleased with that.

For some reason (and there never has to be any specific reason), I arrived back in London and went in to a very dark world. I just didn’t want to live anymore, and I drove down to the crematorium where I normally sat and talked to Swannie. I missed him so much and I didn’t know what to do without him.

Nell had phoned while I was sitting there and said let’s go for a walk. She asked me if I would be interested in going to Paris for a few days, and of course, I jumped to that offer. She said she would book the tickets.

Never be afraid to fall apart because it is an opportunity to rebuild yourself the way you wish you had been all along

26 April – Today was Pamela’s 21st party and a lot of friends were arriving from all over London as well as Zimbabwe. A lot of couples, of course, so I was as always the odd one out! These were the times I found it so difficult to be happy. The party was lovely, and while I made a speech to Pamela with her dad, who had flown over from Zimbabwe, I made a special mention to all those who weren’t with us on this special day. It was very emotional for me, but I was not going to ruin Pamela’s party and we all let our hair down—especially Pamela who probably wouldn’t remember much the next day! It was so nice to see her having so much fun with her friends.

1 May – It’s summer in the UK and a bank holiday. I actually hated holidays, I hated being away from work, and I hated any spare moment on my own. That was ‘thinking time’ and I didn’t want thinking time! Keep busy, I kept saying to myself—just keep busy!

6 May – Millie had asked me to visit a medium with her. I had been once before. In fact it was ten days before Swannie died. I remember going home that evening and telling Swannie that I really believed everyone who had died were all ‘up there’ together and watching over us. That is what I believed at the time, and that is what I continue to believe now.

There were some incredible messages sent to people in the audience, and although sometimes very tearful, I could only imagine most people would go home feeling at peace.

Messages to say they were happy where they were.

Messages to say they were no longer in pain.

Messages to say thank you for being there when they died.

Messages to say they didn’t mean to do what they did. These were suicidal messages, which were all extremely sad.

Messages to say thank you for sewing my button on my shirt when you dressed me for the funeral.

Messages to say, ‘I see you have found someone else and I am so happy to see you moving on.’

Messages to say they were all together as a family.

These messages helped me believe Swannie was happy where he was.

9 May – Nell and I are on the Eurostar leaving for Paris. Obviously this was a first time for me, so I was excited. When we arrived, we went straight to the hotel, which happened to be in the ‘red’ area. We laughed about it, but that’s what you get when you book very cheap hotels online!

We dropped off our small suitcases and rushed off to Nell’s friend who had prepared lunch for us. Later in the afternoon, we dashed off to the Orsay to see all the famous paintings. We had so much