Fiona in the park above Twerton Park
Fiona was my wife, my only wife, my best friend from the day of meeting her and is still sorely missed. This date was the day she died. I believe you might need to know something about her as she is more important than this ridiculously painful paragraph.
She was born in 1961 in Royal Tunbridge Wells. She is the daughter of Gerard and Kathleen Slater and a sister to Chris. She was the teacher that we all wanted at Junior school. Her expertise was in teaching Maths and Music and she consistently undersold her abilities. She turned down opportunities to climb the career ladder while teaching in Milton Keynes and St. Albans. She would have been an outstanding headteacher. She would also have been a brilliant Mum. We couldn’t have children. We decided after some time of, for her, painful testing that enough was enough. I will always feel that she died without the level of medical diagnosis that her, almost permanent, illness deserved. She died of Cancer. It was originally Stomach cancer that had spread to her Lungs and other organs and was explained to us as imminently terminal.
Mil is Kathleen, or Mother-in law
I don’t know many swearwords!
- Phone MIL (Kathleen) Get her here a.s.a.p
- Talk to Father Andy Ollard – last rights? Funeral wishes
- Phone Ginnsy – time off work?
- Phone St Francis Hospice – Berkhamstead – take her there tomorrow
She was the same today. She wants to go and have no more messing about. She won’t listen to me as ever. The levels of Morphine is so high she is asleep most of the day. The Nurses say that St Francis is a very good place and that she wouldn’t get home. I cannot tell her that but I know she doesn’t want to go there. Plan A and a fast car to Beachy Head then?
Combe Hill? Wendover Woods? M1.head on?
I went home to get her diary and get some tea. I am getting to hate the M25
It is snowing, I must tell her. Perhaps not. Stupid! Think straight, stop being so selfish! Do what you have to do. Stupid!
Can’t let them see this if I am to do what she wants. It might be different tomorrow. She might want to go with me. She might want to go there. There is nowhere to talk with her. There is no time to talk with her. It’s too fucking late.
I phoned MIL but she won’t get here in time.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, fucking, shit.
ON THIS DAY
1980 Southampton V WBA H 1-1
1995 Hull H 0-2
1997 Walsall H 0-1
2003 Exeter A 0-0
2011 Colchester H 0-1
2014 Northampton A 0-0
Next week 1st March 1978