It was just me and Mike in the front room.The blackout blinds shut the evening out.No light. No movement.Just a couple of bottles of water left from the day.As we began to packIt felt like déjà vu.I was numb.Like I wasn’t really there.Like I was watching it happen instead of living it.My mind kept going back to Jane.To that moment.The realisation…that she couldn't fight through this like she had always done.The feeling to protect and care for her was still as strong.Your mind still reaches for normal thoughts.The kind you’d always have.

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.Jane had been preparing for Corey's school trip for weeks, ticking things off lists, buying all the bits he needed, packing everything ready. I pictured the pile of bits that were on his bed waiting to be packed this weekend. He had been so excited about it.With their wishes, I headed back to the house to carry out my big sister duties.

There are some relationships in life that simply cannot be replaced.A sibling is one of them.You grow up with someone who has known you from the very beginning. Before responsibilities, before adulthood, before life got complicated. They know you from the off.They see every version of you. The messy childhood one. The awkward teenage one. All different seasons of adulthood.That bond is something unique.Jane was my sister, but she was also my friend, my partner in crime, and part of the little trio that shaped my childhood.The three musketeers.Even though there were a few years between us, that never really mattered. Jane came everywhere with me. She was my baby. Sleepovers, hanging around with friends, house parties as we got older my friends became her friends.Growing up in our cul-de-sac, all the neighbour’s kids were friends. The kind of childhood where everyone knew each other and the streets felt like our playground.We used to make up plays and perform them for the neighbours, putting on full productions as if we were on a real stage.In the summer we were out from early morning until the street lights came on. That was the rule back then.Those long carefree days felt endless. Running for the icecream van with odd shoes, or spending weekends with our cousins.We shared a bedroom growing up and she would always get into my bed first to warm it up for me. She would sleep in just her knickers and I would be wearing everything I owned. Nothing changed as we grew up. We even had a TV in our room. If we wanted to stay up a little longer, we were allowed to watch a programme but only if we could get the signal. You needed an aerial back then, and to get the right spot someone had to hold it.That someone was usually Jane.I would sit there watching the TV while she held the aerial in exactly the right position, because no other angle worked. Our favourite was Darling Buds of May.Looking back now, it’s funny the little things that stay with you.One night I showed her a box of catapilars I had collected and hid in a box under my bed. For some reason I was very proud of them.She cracked up laughing.I was also the sleepwalker growing up, while Jane would be snoring away beside me. 

Saturday 14th June 2025

Life didn’t feel dramatic.It felt lived-in.Messy with grief and trauma.Ordinary in the way days are when you’re just surviving them.Thursday 12th June began like so many others early starts, routines, responsibilities pulling us all in different directions. Jane headed off by bus to my grandparents house to clean and sort some paperwork. I had a full day of work ahead. Corey had school. Life moving forward whether we were ready or not.The heat was relentless. The kind that sits on your skin and drains you quietly, making everything feel heavier than it should. As we drove, I said out loud that my grandad who had been declining for months would probably go quietly in his sleep. Jane had always struggled with death. It frightened her in a way she couldn’t ever explain.I said my usual prayer as we set off. The one I’d said every morning since Peter had left the house and never come back.We dropped Corey off, turned the music up loud, and danced all the way to the bus stop. Music was how we survived in good times and in the hardest ones. Life hadn’t been kind lately, but with my sister beside me, I believed we could handle anything.When she came home that evening, she’d been out for nearly twelve hours. I opened the door and there she was smiling, arms full of bags, dripping with sweat from the walk home. She’d even carried back a clothes rail from my grandma’s, balanced across her back with bags hanging from it. The weight of it all was ridiculous.She told me she’d had a funny turn getting off the bus. Her vision had gone black. She thought she was going to pass out. She said it had scared her. She repeated it and that’s when I knew she meant it. She said she’d felt vulnerable.I asked why she hadn’t called me.She said she was okay.We blamed the heat. Dehydration. She’d left her water behind. I suggested salty water and a cold shower. We didn’t know not yet that this moment would haunt me forever.She laid everything out she’d brought home, showing the kids piece by piece. Little things chosen with care. Bits for Corey’s sleepover the next day including the biggest tub of popcorn seeds I had ever seen. Like Peter she didn’t do things by half. A box of air-fryer donuts one for each of the kids. This one made me think of you. This one will make you smile.She was tired but happy to be moving with purpose. After huffing and puffing with the heat, she wrapped the present for the party and packed the overnight bag. Finally settling after a long.

I was 26 when my sister Jane and Peter told us they were expecting their first child together. I was so excited to be an auntie again. Lou was my world, and I couldn’t wait to meet my new niece or nephew. I would imagine what they might look like, who they might be, what kind of little personality they’d have.

By June, we were in the middle of a heatwave the kind of heat you couldn’t escape. The kind that sits on you and doesn’t move. It had been an unusually hot spring.

Bereavement or trauma does not pause for exams.It does not arrive neatly outside term time.It does not give notice.It does not respect timetables or policies.And yet when it arrives suddenly and inside the school environment young people and families are often expected to carry on as though nothing has changed.I bet you are shocked to hear that. I know I was.

After notifying the housing association of Peter’s death on 31st March 2025, I was told that someone would be in contact. Apart from reassuring the kids that I would do everything in my power to support my sister in fighting to stay in their home, I made no promises. I was careful but honest as there were no guarantees, but I was clear that we would not give up.

We continued to support one another as a family in every way we could after Peter died. Hayley Peter's sister adjusted her work schedule so that once a week she could collect Corey from school and Bailey from home (something I’ll cover in another blog). That support meant everything to us, but more importantly, it allowed the kids to feel closer to Peter and to strengthen their relationship.

Over the following weeks, whilst continuing with work, school, managing a life-threatening condition, and adjusting to new surroundings, we slowly began to settle into our new dynamics.

When a child loses a parent, their world doesn’t just change it collapses. Everything solid becomes shaky, and everything familiar suddenly feels unfamiliar. What I never expected was the additional trauma that comes after: the threat of losing their home, the financial shift, the change in family dynamics all stacked on top of grief that was already unbearable. Everyone is just focused on the loss, but the reality is grieving is a luxury that many people can't afford.