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The I Feel Down Topic.

Ryan B said:
Just got a phone call from my uncle, turns out my grandads been sent to the hospital with a bleed on his brain. Thing is he's also collapsed 3 times recently and no one apart from my uncle has bothered telling me despite knowing . I guess they thought it would be better not to tell me, but if something did suddenly happen and I didn't know, it would be a lot worse. He couldn't get up the stairs when he went for his check up and then collapsed so was sent straight in. Its not a stroke but I can't help fearing the worst :(
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I know exactly what you mean. I went through the exact same thing a few years ago with my grandad. Thankfully, it turned out ok in the end, but I know that people not telling you what's happening could be worse than not knowing. Hope he's alright.
 
@Ryan B At least your uncle has had the good sense to let you know what is happening with your grandad.
All i can say is hope for the best and be ready to hear the worst. and I hope your Grandad come though this with no problems and has many health years ahead.
 
Car has bigger issues than previously thought, meaning I'm not really going to be at the meet. Was looking forward to spending the day though. Luckily will still be on park
 
I have been pulled / volunteered into supporting a student this week. After I found them sitting on the side of the road with a punch mark to the side of their face.
It turned out it was not just a punch to the face. why did it happen, it was transphobic attack. Seeing a student that was jumping on to my route happy that their physical identity was getting in line with their mental identity. turn into a scared worried person wondering if they should take the advice doled at during the attack and jump off Pontcysyllte Aqueduct without a parachute.
 
delta79 said:
I have been pulled / volunteered into supporting a student this week. After I found them sitting on the side of the road with a punch mark to the side of their face.
It turned out it was not just a punch to the face. why did it happen, it was transphobic attack. Seeing a student that was jumping on to my route happy that their physical identity was getting in line with their mental identity. turn into a scared worried person wondering if they should take the advice doled at during the attack and jump off Pontcysyllte Aqueduct without a parachute.
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That's a horrible situation :( Hope the student can get past this act of hate and move on in a positive way in their life.
 
I have mentioned to some of you that I signed up to do a load of overnight shifts covering the cricket from Kangarooland. I don't mind overnights, and it's regular work right up to Feburary.
Well after they snagged us we are told they will be 12 hour shifts. Urg. OK, not great, but how hard can it be? Overnights are usually a babysitting gig in the studio as all the action is coming live from the other side of the world.
Then we find out that this is not a simple "couple of pundits at a desk" show, but will be full on work requiring us to pay attention. Well, OK, at least we'll be kept busy.
Now they want to extend it to 13 1/2 hour shifts (negating the 11 hour break rule between them), and the only breaks schedualed are a 2 minute break every hour! Not to mention that the canteen will be closed.

Needless to say, this is not what I signed up for.
 
I'm in my last week of work and am in that awkward phase of trying to find me work to do because I'm having most of it over to my boss so I'm bored and not really meant to go on the internet.
 
I'm currently in mourning over a daughter/son my brother and his girlfriend will never get to meet, after being miscarried this weekend. The baby would've been due in May next year.
 
Rowe said:
I'm currently in mourning over a daughter/son my brother and his girlfriend will never get to meet, after being miscarried this weekend. The baby would've been due in May next year.
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Really sorry to hear this, Rowe. :(
 
I've kept this away from the forum for a while, but I think it's time to finally post about it. It's quite a long post, so I apologise in advance. :p

Back in March, I posted in this topic about my gran being diagnosed with what we originally suspected to be liver cancer, but later turned out to be bile duct cancer that had spread to the liver, and also (I think) somehow to her neck. She underwent various courses of treatment over the next few months, including chemotherapy (which didn't improve things at all), medication she took at home for various things (with mixed results), and radiotherapy (which did seem to reduce the size of some of the tumours). She did have a few stays in hospital, with the last one being towards the end of September. She still seemed to be relatively OK at that point, even if she did get moved around in a wheelchair due to her legs being weaker. We even held a mini-celebration in the hospital for the 18th birthday of one of my cousins with all the immediate family present due to Gran's health at the time, and it was really enjoyable. As it turned out, this would be the last time I ever saw her.

She eventually came home, where she deteriorated further over the course of just a few weeks, and at the end of October/beginning of November, she was essentially told by the consultant she'd been seeing at Derriford Hospital in Plymouth that they didn't feel there was anything more that they could do for her, which was devastating to hear. I'd been planning to go down to see Gran around Christmas (depending on work), but I decided to bring it forward to as soon as possible, because we didn't know how long she'd last. I knew I had some holiday coming up, so I thought I'd use some of my week off to go down and see her for what would almost certainly be the final time. However, the day after my birthday, I spoke to her very briefly on the phone, and as soon as I heard how weak her voice was, I just started to cry, just about managing to hold myself together until I passed the phone back to Dad. I had to leave the room to try and get myself together again. Plus I needed the toilet anyway. :p At that moment, I knew I had to make an agonising decision. I desperately wanted to see her again, but I just felt that I wouldn't be able to cope with seeing her in that state given my reaction when I spoke to her on the phone. It was perhaps the hardest decision I've ever had to make. I didn't go down and see her. There's a part of me that keeps on thinking about what if I had gone down to see her, but I still believe that I made the right decision. Dad ended up going down anyway, and said that he'd be there to support me, but I declined his very kind offer. For the next few days at home, whenever the phone rang, I stopped whatever I was doing and went to wherever Mum was (usually the lounge). I was fully aware that it could be the call we were expecting, yet also dreading. I had also said in the weeks beforehand that I didn't want to be contacted whilst at work if Gran died, and I didn't want anything posted on social media whilst I was at work either. I would not want to find out like that. What I did do, however, was write a letter to Gran that Dad took down with him and read to her. I had about an hour on a Sunday afternoon to do it, and it was almost certainly the toughest letter I've ever had to write. I was in tears by the end. I didn't actually read it aloud until three days later (as it turned out, it was the day before Gran died) when I was having a catch-up with someone from church, and it was very hard. I'm still proud of myself for doing it.

I also had to make another tough decision, but perhaps not quite as tough as the one regarding seeing Gran again. I'd made plans to go down to London for a few days (mainly for the charity press night at Winter Wonderland), and was trying to decide whether or not I should go. Eventually, I felt that even if the worst happened whilst I was down in London, I could still use it as a distraction for a bit, so I went. I arrived in London on the afternoon of Thursday 17th November, deposited most of my luggage with Mike (who was then taking it to a Travelodge in Croydon), and made my way towards Hyde Park for Winter Wonderland. I popped into McDonald's near Marble Arch (partly because I needed the loo, but also because I was hungry). As I was in the queue, my phone started ringing. Without even looking at it, I had an idea of what it was going to be about. As soon as I saw it was Mum who was calling, I knew. I picked the phone up. Gran had died about 15-20 minutes before Mum called. After the call ended, I just stood there not knowing what to do. I'd lost my appetite. After sending messages to a few people, I decided that the best thing to do would be to just go to Winter Wonderland anyway. I'd gone all that way and spent £60 on a wristband for the thing, so it'd be a waste to not even bother going! Furthermore, I'm certain that Gran would've wanted me to carry on and enjoy myself anyway. First ride I went on? Well, it could be nothing else. Olympia (okay, München) Looping! :D Ended up on the first guest train, too, which was great. On that very first ride, I just felt a sense of complete joy. All my problems had melted away for a moment. Must've been the adrenaline, I guess. I kept on doing various rides, having a really good time on my own. After a couple of hours, though, my emotions started to catch up with me, and I left after only spending two-and-a-half hours of the four hour charity press night at WW. To be fair, I think I just about did enough rides & attractions to cover the cost of the wristband, so it wasn't all bad. I cheered up after a few much-needed drinks, finally getting on the Tramlink in South London, and also getting tickets booked to go and see The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time at the Gielgud Theatre on the Saturday evening. I spent the following day traipsing around London with Ted doing a few things, including finally visiting the Olympic Park. That evening, I met up with my younger brother for dinner and to see Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Regardless of what happened with Gran, I felt that it'd be good for us to meet up anyway. It was nice to spend time catching up, talking about the impending funeral, and also (for me, at least) to spend a couple of hours gawping at Eddie Redmayne playing Newt Scamander. :p (Oh, and the lovely Kelpie booked tickets for her, Mike and myself to go to the Royal Albert Hall next May to watch a screening of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone with a live orchestra performing the music. Seriously looking forward to that.) Spent the Saturday on a photography tour of London with Mike, which I really enjoyed. Plus Curious Incident that evening was just amazing. Mike and I had both forgotten how good it was! I returned the following day via a trip to M&M's World (yeah, I know) and the brand new LEGO Store in Leicester Square. I got my hands on the first new LEGO sets I'd had for over a decade, and I was so excited to complete them.

After getting home on the Sunday afternoon, I had about half an hour at home before having to head out to church for music practice for an evening service. The first song we went through was 10,000 Reasons by Matt Redman. As I got to the third verse, I could feel my voice starting to go. I've included the lyrics below.
'And on that day when my strength is failing,
The end draws near and my time has come.
Still my soul will sing Your praise unending,
Ten thousand years and then forevermore!'
I held myself together enough to finish the song, which wasn't at all easy. We stopped for a moment, and I was struggling to get myself together again. Mum made a passing comment about how that third verse reminded her of Gran (her mother-in-law since 1989, and probably the closest she had to a mum since her own passed away in 2010), and at that point, I just lost it. The other member of the band that evening (a lovely guy originally from Wijchen in the Netherlands) was on hand to console me, which was very much needed, and also to provide another strong vocal lead where needed. It definitely was at some points during the service! Not even kidding, it was perhaps the toughest service I've ever had to get myself through (I'm excluding funerals), but I'm still proud of myself for doing it.

The funeral rolled around, and took place last week on Thursday December 1st. Along with my two brothers and three of our cousins, I was to be one of the bearers for Gran's coffin. I knew it was going to be tough, but I felt it was the right thing to do, and I'd been made aware that I was likely to be asked to do it a couple of weeks before Gran died, so I had time to get used to the idea. When the hearse arrived at my grandfather's house (it's going to take time to get used to saying it like that), we all filed outside in silence and stood around it. I remarked to Mum after a few minutes that this was probably the quietest we'd ever been at a family gathering, Which is true. Anyone who ever met my Gran would know that she could very easily talk for England. :p We eventually formed the funeral cortège in the cars and went down to the crematorium in Bodmin. Upon arrival, we had a bit of time spare before proceedings started, which gave Mum a chance to have a bit of a play on the organ, and the bearers to have a look inside the chapel to see where we'd be taking the coffin. The time then came. We lifted the coffin out of the hearse and onto the wheeled trolley. We then proceeded into the chapel, following the minister and the funeral director. I ended up at the end of the coffin that went into the chapel first, which caught me by surprise a bit, but I knew that I just had to carry on and do it. We got halfway up the aisle with the coffin when I came close to losing it. I thought about stopping, but I knew that carrying on would be the simplest thing to do, and also the right thing. Eventually, the coffin was placed on the catafalque, and we went to our seats. It was a hard service to get through, mainly because of the emotions, but it was actually OK. As we filed out of the chapel at the end, I turned towards the coffin and tried to say 'Goodbye, Gran', but I was so choked up with emotion that all I could do was mouth the words. Being in fresh air afterwards helped, and I found out that someone who had lived next door to my grandparents for a few years had flown into Bristol from Belfast that morning and driven down for the funeral, and would be returning later that day. That said a lot to me about how much Gran meant to a woman she'd only known for a few years. We eventually made our way back up county to Launceston for the thanksgiving service. All I'm saying is that there were at least 400 people there. The main bit of the church was full. The raised area at the front was full. The gallery at the back was full. There were people in the porch. People were standing around the chapel. So many had turned up. In a way, it made things easier to know that so many people had come to that service. It was wonderful. And the singing? Well, let me put it this way. Cornish Methodists are known for being good singers, so when you put about 400 of them in the same building, you get something special. The eulogy was very good, too. A couple of bits that I mentioned in my letter to Gran made their way in to the eulogy, which made me smile.

The day after the funeral was when we buried Gran's ashes. They were interred in the grave of the son (Roger) that my grandparents lost in 1963 to leukaemia aged just nine months, which I thought was a lovely thing to do. This was again hard, but not as hard as the previous day. Dad actually led the liturgy for the internment ceremony, which I believe was one of the hardest things he's ever had to do in his life (his voice did waver at a couple of points), but he did a very good job of it. After the grave had been filled in and covered over, we returned after having gone back to the cars for a few minutes. Mum suggested that we sing something, so we did. We ended up singing the final verse of How Great Thou Art. We did the whole thing as part of the thanksgiving service, and I included the last verse in my letter to Gran. It was nice. After the ceremony, I ended up walking down the farm lane (with my parents and my younger brother) where my grandparents had lived most of their lives until retiring about four years ago. It's only about half a mile as the crow flies from where we interred Gran's ashes, and the lane's part of a public footpath anyway. It was nice to go back there and revisit a few memories. The tree that Dad planted in the orchard over 30 years ago is still there, and it's looking bigger than ever before. But that's what trees do. :p After having gone back to my grandfather's house, we all went our separate ways later that day to return to our homes/wherever we were staying.

Three weeks on, I'm largely OK with everything, but I do still struggle sometimes getting to grips with the fact that I'm not going to see Gran again. I miss her so much. Throughout my entire life, her and Gramps were always that one constant thing, and now it's changed. The next few weeks and months are going to be difficult, but I know I'll get through it eventually. I'm so grateful for everything that Gran did for me (and also for my family) over many years. So many happy memories. One of the last ones I have was back in April when I went to Sheffield to watch some of the World Snooker Championship with my parents, Gran and Gramps. This was still quite early on in terms of when Gran was diagnosed with cancer, and she was still doing relatively OK at the time. It was a really nice day, and I'll treasure memories like that forever.

I'd just like to end this by thanking everyone on here who's offered me support in one way or another over the past few weeks. It really does mean a lot, and I'm very grateful.
 
Jonathan said:
I've kept this away from the forum for a while, but I think it's time to finally post about it. It's quite a long post, so I apologise in advance. :p

Back in March, I posted in this topic about my gran being diagnosed with what we originally suspected to be liver cancer, but later turned out to be bile duct cancer that had spread to the liver, and also (I think) somehow to her neck. She underwent various courses of treatment over the next few months, including chemotherapy (which didn't improve things at all), medication she took at home for various things (with mixed results), and radiotherapy (which did seem to reduce the size of some of the tumours). She did have a few stays in hospital, with the last one being towards the end of September. She still seemed to be relatively OK at that point, even if she did get moved around in a wheelchair due to her legs being weaker. We even held a mini-celebration in the hospital for the 18th birthday of one of my cousins with all the immediate family present due to Gran's health at the time, and it was really enjoyable. As it turned out, this would be the last time I ever saw her.

She eventually came home, where she deteriorated further over the course of just a few weeks, and at the end of October/beginning of November, she was essentially told by the consultant she'd been seeing at Derriford Hospital in Plymouth that they didn't feel there was anything more that they could do for her, which was devastating to hear. I'd been planning to go down to see Gran around Christmas (depending on work), but I decided to bring it forward to as soon as possible, because we didn't know how long she'd last. I knew I had some holiday coming up, so I thought I'd use some of my week off to go down and see her for what would almost certainly be the final time. However, the day after my birthday, I spoke to her very briefly on the phone, and as soon as I heard how weak her voice was, I just started to cry, just about managing to hold myself together until I passed the phone back to Dad. I had to leave the room to try and get myself together again. Plus I needed the toilet anyway. :p At that moment, I knew I had to make an agonising decision. I desperately wanted to see her again, but I just felt that I wouldn't be able to cope with seeing her in that state given my reaction when I spoke to her on the phone. It was perhaps the hardest decision I've ever had to make. I didn't go down and see her. There's a part of me that keeps on thinking about what if I had gone down to see her, but I still believe that I made the right decision. Dad ended up going down anyway, and said that he'd be there to support me, but I declined his very kind offer. For the next few days at home, whenever the phone rang, I stopped whatever I was doing and went to wherever Mum was (usually the lounge). I was fully aware that it could be the call we were expecting, yet also dreading. I had also said in the weeks beforehand that I didn't want to be contacted whilst at work if Gran died, and I didn't want anything posted on social media whilst I was at work either. I would not want to find out like that. What I did do, however, was write a letter to Gran that Dad took down with him and read to her. I had about an hour on a Sunday afternoon to do it, and it was almost certainly the toughest letter I've ever had to write. I was in tears by the end. I didn't actually read it aloud until three days later (as it turned out, it was the day before Gran died) when I was having a catch-up with someone from church, and it was very hard. I'm still proud of myself for doing it.

I also had to make another tough decision, but perhaps not quite as tough as the one regarding seeing Gran again. I'd made plans to go down to London for a few days (mainly for the charity press night at Winter Wonderland), and was trying to decide whether or not I should go. Eventually, I felt that even if the worst happened whilst I was down in London, I could still use it as a distraction for a bit, so I went. I arrived in London on the afternoon of Thursday 17th November, deposited most of my luggage with Mike (who was then taking it to a Travelodge in Croydon), and made my way towards Hyde Park for Winter Wonderland. I popped into McDonald's near Marble Arch (partly because I needed the loo, but also because I was hungry). As I was in the queue, my phone started ringing. Without even looking at it, I had an idea of what it was going to be about. As soon as I saw it was Mum who was calling, I knew. I picked the phone up. Gran had died about 15-20 minutes before Mum called. After the call ended, I just stood there not knowing what to do. I'd lost my appetite. After sending messages to a few people, I decided that the best thing to do would be to just go to Winter Wonderland anyway. I'd gone all that way and spent £60 on a wristband for the thing, so it'd be a waste to not even bother going! Furthermore, I'm certain that Gran would've wanted me to carry on and enjoy myself anyway. First ride I went on? Well, it could be nothing else. Olympia (okay, München) Looping! :D Ended up on the first guest train, too, which was great. On that very first ride, I just felt a sense of complete joy. All my problems had melted away for a moment. Must've been the adrenaline, I guess. I kept on doing various rides, having a really good time on my own. After a couple of hours, though, my emotions started to catch up with me, and I left after only spending two-and-a-half hours of the four hour charity press night at WW. To be fair, I think I just about did enough rides & attractions to cover the cost of the wristband, so it wasn't all bad. I cheered up after a few much-needed drinks, finally getting on the Tramlink in South London, and also getting tickets booked to go and see The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time at the Gielgud Theatre on the Saturday evening. I spent the following day traipsing around London with Ted doing a few things, including finally visiting the Olympic Park. That evening, I met up with my younger brother for dinner and to see Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Regardless of what happened with Gran, I felt that it'd be good for us to meet up anyway. It was nice to spend time catching up, talking about the impending funeral, and also (for me, at least) to spend a couple of hours gawping at Eddie Redmayne playing Newt Scamander. :p (Oh, and the lovely Kelpie booked tickets for her, Mike and myself to go to the Royal Albert Hall next May to watch a screening of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone with a live orchestra performing the music. Seriously looking forward to that.) Spent the Saturday on a photography tour of London with Mike, which I really enjoyed. Plus Curious Incident that evening was just amazing. Mike and I had both forgotten how good it was! I returned the following day via a trip to M&M's World (yeah, I know) and the brand new LEGO Store in Leicester Square. I got my hands on the first new LEGO sets I'd had for over a decade, and I was so excited to complete them.

After getting home on the Sunday afternoon, I had about half an hour at home before having to head out to church for music practice for an evening service. The first song we went through was 10,000 Reasons by Matt Redman. As I got to the third verse, I could feel my voice starting to go. I've included the lyrics below.
'And on that day when my strength is failing,
The end draws near and my time has come.
Still my soul will sing Your praise unending,
Ten thousand years and then forevermore!'
I held myself together enough to finish the song, which wasn't at all easy. We stopped for a moment, and I was struggling to get myself together again. Mum made a passing comment about how that third verse reminded her of Gran (her mother-in-law since 1989, and probably the closest she had to a mum since her own passed away in 2010), and at that point, I just lost it. The other member of the band that evening (a lovely guy originally from Wijchen in the Netherlands) was on hand to console me, which was very much needed, and also to provide another strong vocal lead where needed. It definitely was at some points during the service! Not even kidding, it was perhaps the toughest service I've ever had to get myself through (I'm excluding funerals), but I'm still proud of myself for doing it.

The funeral rolled around, and took place last week on Thursday December 1st. Along with my two brothers and three of our cousins, I was to be one of the bearers for Gran's coffin. I knew it was going to be tough, but I felt it was the right thing to do, and I'd been made aware that I was likely to be asked to do it a couple of weeks before Gran died, so I had time to get used to the idea. When the hearse arrived at my grandfather's house (it's going to take time to get used to saying it like that), we all filed outside in silence and stood around it. I remarked to Mum after a few minutes that this was probably the quietest we'd ever been at a family gathering, Which is true. Anyone who ever met my Gran would know that she could very easily talk for England. :p We eventually formed the funeral cortège in the cars and went down to the crematorium in Bodmin. Upon arrival, we had a bit of time spare before proceedings started, which gave Mum a chance to have a bit of a play on the organ, and the bearers to have a look inside the chapel to see where we'd be taking the coffin. The time then came. We lifted the coffin out of the hearse and onto the wheeled trolley. We then proceeded into the chapel, following the minister and the funeral director. I ended up at the end of the coffin that went into the chapel first, which caught me by surprise a bit, but I knew that I just had to carry on and do it. We got halfway up the aisle with the coffin when I came close to losing it. I thought about stopping, but I knew that carrying on would be the simplest thing to do, and also the right thing. Eventually, the coffin was placed on the catafalque, and we went to our seats. It was a hard service to get through, mainly because of the emotions, but it was actually OK. As we filed out of the chapel at the end, I turned towards the coffin and tried to say 'Goodbye, Gran', but I was so choked up with emotion that all I could do was mouth the words. Being in fresh air afterwards helped, and I found out that someone who had lived next door to my grandparents for a few years had flown into Bristol from Belfast that morning and driven down for the funeral, and would be returning later that day. That said a lot to me about how much Gran meant to a woman she'd only known for a few years. We eventually made our way back up county to Launceston for the thanksgiving service. All I'm saying is that there were at least 400 people there. The main bit of the church was full. The raised area at the front was full. The gallery at the back was full. There were people in the porch. People were standing around the chapel. So many had turned up. In a way, it made things easier to know that so many people had come to that service. It was wonderful. And the singing? Well, let me put it this way. Cornish Methodists are known for being good singers, so when you put about 400 of them in the same building, you get something special. The eulogy was very good, too. A couple of bits that I mentioned in my letter to Gran made their way in to the eulogy, which made me smile.

The day after the funeral was when we buried Gran's ashes. They were interred in the grave of the son (Roger) that my grandparents lost in 1963 to leukaemia aged just nine months, which I thought was a lovely thing to do. This was again hard, but not as hard as the previous day. Dad actually led the liturgy for the internment ceremony, which I believe was one of the hardest things he's ever had to do in his life (his voice did waver at a couple of points), but he did a very good job of it. After the grave had been filled in and covered over, we returned after having gone back to the cars for a few minutes. Mum suggested that we sing something, so we did. We ended up singing the final verse of How Great Thou Art. We did the whole thing as part of the thanksgiving service, and I included the last verse in my letter to Gran. It was nice. After the ceremony, I ended up walking down the farm lane (with my parents and my younger brother) where my grandparents had lived most of their lives until retiring about four years ago. It's only about half a mile as the crow flies from where we interred Gran's ashes, and the lane's part of a public footpath anyway. It was nice to go back there and revisit a few memories. The tree that Dad planted in the orchard over 30 years ago is still there, and it's looking bigger than ever before. But that's what trees do. :p After having gone back to my grandfather's house, we all went our separate ways later that day to return to our homes/wherever we were staying.

Three weeks on, I'm largely OK with everything, but I do still struggle sometimes getting to grips with the fact that I'm not going to see Gran again. I miss her so much. Throughout my entire life, her and Gramps were always that one constant thing, and now it's changed. The next few weeks and months are going to be difficult, but I know I'll get through it eventually. I'm so grateful for everything that Gran did for me (and also for my family) over many years. So many happy memories. One of the last ones I have was back in April when I went to Sheffield to watch some of the World Snooker Championship with my parents, Gran and Gramps. This was still quite early on in terms of when Gran was diagnosed with cancer, and she was still doing relatively OK at the time. It was a really nice day, and I'll treasure memories like that forever.

I'd just like to end this by thanking everyone on here who's offered me support in one way or another over the past few weeks. It really does mean a lot, and I'm very grateful.
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I'm so sorry for your loss :(
 
Losing a loved one to cancer /leukaemia is a horrid thing. Reading your posting reminded me of the heart ache of losing my stepdaughter to leukaemia.
It is hard to get though to the the list of firsts, e.g. the first time you dont ring to wish her a happy birthday.
If you need to talk, there is a community here that cares. And i am only a PM away

I am going to end with this thought, you gran is at peace and out of pain. Her suffering has gone, remember the good times.
 
That's just it, Delta. The main miracle was that she wasn't in pain at all until her final days (I think), which is a miracle, frankly. Also, true to her character, she tried to stay as optimistic and positive as possible through everything.
 
I empathise with you, it's bloody tough but I found the way to pull through was just to think what they would want. I have a feeling my remaining set of grandfolks don't have long left, but I can't be down as they wouldn't want that.
 
Poisson said:
I empathise with you, it's bloody tough but I found the way to pull through was just to think what they would want. I have a feeling my remaining set of grandfolks don't have long left, but I can't be down as they wouldn't want that.
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Indeed, Tom. One reason I still went to London was because Gran would've wanted me to carry on and go. To quote Queen,
"The show must go on.
The show must go on.
Inside my heart is breaking,
My make-up may be flaking,
But my smile still stays on."
Without initially realising it, those words sum up how I've got through the past three weeks.
 
So having finally got my lights rerigged after the weekend, my best laser is completely dead. Tried the fuse, tried different power leads, different sockets in different rooms... nada. Won't even turn on. Opened it up but nothing looks or smells burnt out, and I'm reluctant to mess about with it until I know what the problem is.
I can't even find the company that made it online, never mind find a replacement.

:cry:
 
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