I spoke to a journalist today, with a view to her writing a piece about my life since being widowed at 30.
We talked about how we'd met, when we got married, how long after that the girls were born... lots of memories which were good to go over, if a little emotional now, later in the day.
We talked about what happened the night that Nigel died, and I can still remember it so clearly. Every time I talk about what happened that night, I am so very grateful that the girls slept through it all. To have seen their daddy how he was that night is something I am so very glad they did not see. The paramedics who came did everything they could to help, but it was not a sight I ever want to see again. It is all very well to learn first aid skills, but to actually use them like I had to that night is frightening. I didn't think twice about it at the time, and I would do the same again for anyone who needed help. Still makes it a scary thought.
Life is ticking by nicely here. This weekend we are off to Scargill House with some friends, including one 4 year old who wants to know if we eat each other when we die... am I sure I want to go???