I have just looked out of the kitchen window and noticed flowers Louise planted in the garden beginning to come through. She will never see them. I have broken down again.
In a sense I can deal with my loss. I know that however bad it is now things will eventually get a little easier and I will go on to have some form of other life. Not as emotionally rich or as textured as the one that I thought awaited me but something. But I can do nothing now about the pain and suffering Louise experienced, or all the events and happiness that she will miss out on as the years progress. That is infinitely harder than my own selfish grief. I love Louise with all my heart and I cannot cope with the thought of her torment. If I could do anything to alleviate it for her, if I could take her place, I would. But I’m powerless to help her any more.
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