![]() What’s more, Gill – now 70 years old – works for ellenor. I didn’t want to go again, but I’d promised – and I wanted to keep that promise.”įive years on, and Gill still attends the Bereavement Cuppas. But at the end, the lady running it asked if I’d come back next week, and I said yes. “When I first went to the Bereavement Cuppa,” she explains, “I thought ‘this isn’t for me.’ I didn’t want to be there. It’s a safe, supportive space where bereaved people can come together to sit and chat with people on similar journeys. ![]() One lifeline came in the form of ellenor’s Bereavement Cuppa. But when you get home, the makeup comes off – and the sadness comes back.” But actually, it’s like you’re wearing a mask: you go on stage, you perform. “People ask you if you’re fine, and you say ‘yes’. Then, you put the key in the door and it’s such a lonely place. One minute you’re on a high because you’re out enjoying yourself. “I didn’t like going home, because it was back to that empty house. Then as it is today, Gill’s grief was raw: her loneliness, profound. I cuddled him on the bed for a while, and didn’t realise he’d slipped away.” Near the end, a nurse told me not to go to stay and spend some time with him. “Michael was under ellenor’s care for six weeks. ![]() In 2016, however – after beating three different cancers and surviving a stroke – Michael passed away. Gill and the man, Michael (soon to be just ‘Mick’ to her), would go on to be married for 40 years, and raise seven children together. Gill – a mother of two – responded that she was the mum, and the two bantered. Standing on the threshold was a man from British Gas, there to check the meter.Ĭharming and cheeky, he asked if Gill’s Mum was in. Gill, 20, heard a knock on the front door.
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