i didn't cry on the day but the day before, oh dear. just thinking about last conversations and feeling that i always should have done more. got the answers to the questions i longed to ask. stayed to listen, been around to help instead of running away.
but i was 13, i was scared and it was at a time when you just accepted what you were told by the people you trust the most, why would you ever want or need to question that?
i wish he knew how much we still all talk about him. and just how amazing nan's life is and how amazing she is. family super glue. and i wish he could have seen william growing up so fast in to such a little man and i wish he could have seen me, me getting my gcse's, my a-levels, him disapproving of my degree choice. i wish he knew mathew. i wish he knew me.
i had a dream about him just the other night. i couldn't hear his voice and i couldn't see his face and i know that it's because that i have forgotten it. my mind just has no real memory of either of those things any more.
but i suppose that is just the price you have to pay to move on and get over stuff and not cry everytime you hear those songs or smell cigar smoke. it's the sacrifices of things like that which you have to make so that it doesn't break you each time.