They say grief can make people do stupid things and, sadly, I am living proof of that. When I lost my husband Graham in 2019, when he was just 54, my grief consumed me and I had no idea how I would carry on without him.
Graham had been a drinker for as long as I could remember and in the years before his death, I’d been so worried about the impact it was having on his health.
I begged him to seek help, for my sake and for the sake of our daughters Kaileigh, 36, and Sarah, 34, and our six grandchildren. But Graham was stubborn, telling me that he was fine.
He fell ill in November 2019 and, after rushing him to hospital for tests, I was shocked when doctors revealed he had an internal bleed linked to liver disease. There was nothing they could do to save Graham. I was by his side when he took his last breath. At that moment, my world fell apart. We’d been married for nearly 35 years and I didn’t know who I was without Graham. His well-paid role for a pharmaceutical company had meant I hadn’t worked for years – Graham had been everything to me and now I was alone.
As I grieved, I was desperate to talk about Graham and my loss, but I felt like I had nobody to turn to. The girls had just lost their father. They were dealing with their own grief and I didn’t want to burden them with my anguish. And, besides, they had their own children to take care of.
I tried to keep myself busy with my photography hobby, and I started posting more on a website called Viewbug, where fellow amateur photographers showed their love for my photos.
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