As we approached the location, I kept going over the plan in my head.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was trapped in a nightmare. How? Why? Couldn’t we have had longer?
Like before, the world was still moving. People carried on with ordinary things on a Saturday afternoon, while ours had stopped again.
The shock and devastation didn’t hit all at once this time. There was no screaming. Instead, it arrived quietly. Their silent tears fell slowly, the kind you don’t even realise are coming until they are already spilling over in bucket loads. I gently rubbed their shoulders, one from the back seat of Hayley’s car, the other sitting beside me. Small gestures. Instinctive ones. The kind you make when words don’t feel big enough.
I took a breath and, like before, I stuck to the facts. Just the moments that felt important. The peace of it all. The laughter. The mouse we had chased around the room. There were no answers.
And somehow, even sitting there together, the reality of it still didn’t fully land.
I felt relief just being with them. Relief that they knew. Relief that we were together in that moment. But if I’m honest, I felt completely numb.
We all kept repeating the same thing. How happy she had been. How healthy she had looked. How had this happened again? Why couldn’t they have peace? Why us? Why them?
She had started to dream again. I told her every day how beautiful she was and, although at first she would tell me to shut up, she had slowly started to speak to herself with more love too. She had been in survival mode for so long that she had forgotten how.
The kids reminded her that she mattered, that she deserved to treat herself, to get her eyebrows done, to take time for herself. She loved that. Not just the little bit of pampering, but the time spent with the girls. The bonding. The laughter.
She loved being there with her girls, being their biggest cheerleader in person. She could tell them how stunning they looked when they were trying on clothes, or even first thing in the morning when they were still sleepy. And that wasn’t a lie. They both carried natural beauty in different ways.
And their brother too. A handsome boy, growing so quickly. I have never known children to look so much like both their mum and dad. The picture we showed at Peter’s celebration of life confirmed that. Those small moments suddenly felt so much bigger now.
As we drove up the road towards Lou’s flat, I explained the next steps. We talked about the things they might want to think about, the things that suddenly felt time-sensitive. As I rang the buzzer, I was shaking.
After a few minutes, I called down to let them know to come up. They fell into each other’s arms in complete shock.
I told them we would all be staying at Auntie Hayley’s. We needed to be together, in familiar surroundings. Although my auntie strength was there, I knew I would need support too. This was a different kind of loss.
It felt strange explaining “next steps” when none of us could fully understand what had just happened.
There’s a strange feeling that comes with sudden loss. One moment you’re making plans. The next, you’re completely lost. Everything had been planned, and now suddenly no one knew what to do.
Father’s Day was the next day. It was going to be the first one without Peter. Jane had booked a table at Toby Carvery for all of us. We had planned to release balloons for him, to mark the day, to remember him. Now that day felt like something completely different.
And life didn’t stop moving.
Corey had a school trip on Monday. He had been so excited about it. Jane had been preparing for weeks, ticking things off lists, buying all the bits he needed, packing everything ready.
With their wishes, I headed back to the house to carry out my big sister duties.