'Words, Words, Words' - A play exploring grief, by Lowri Amies

Today's blog is from Lowri Amies on bereavement, the theatre and her upcoming play "WORDS, WORDS, WORDS" which is on at London's King’s Head Theatre on the 17th & 18th April and Leicester Square Theatre from the 16th-21st May.

When my mum passed away, I was performing my first ever solo show, ‘Those who can’t…LEARN’ at the Miller Pub. It was the most bizarre experience to stand on the stage the day after and try to be funny. I had no idea how ill she was, which was stupid really because she had been diagnosed with terminal Cancer of Unknown Primary (CUP) four years previously and given only months to live. However, she had fought the disease with such strength and determination that I thought nothing could stop her. Until it did.

She had helped me work on the show while she sat in bed recovering from her latest bout of chemo, worked on draft after draft with me and supplied jokes. Although she never got to see the finished product, she was a huge part of it. She was also a huge part of me and, after she died, I had no idea who I was or how to exist in a world where she didn't. I partly believed so vehemently that she would eventually beat the cancer because I didn't know how I would survive if she left me.

Becoming a Cancer Widower

Today is our second post from John, who recently lost his wife to ovarian cancer. Last week John spoke about the politics surrounding cancer research in the UK, this week he shares a more personal take on his experience of becoming a cancer widower and offers some advice on coming to terms with loss.

Cancer Widower – I never thought I’d be describing myself as that.  But at 4:50pm on 8th October 2015 my status as Husband slipped away from me, along with the woman I loved, and I joined the wretched ranks of millions who live in the shadow of cancer and its unstoppable trail of misery and fatality.  On the front of the leaflet handed to me by a very caring hospice nurse was the quote “Grief is the price we pay for love, it is the cost of commitment”.  A price worth paying in my book - I would just have to find the strength to deal with it.

Palliative care at home

My wife’s name was Beata.  She was just 37 years old when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, shattering our happiness in a heartbeat.  Sadly, as is usually the case with ovarian cancer, it had already spread when it was detected, so Beata’s prognosis was poor from the outset.  Despite this, she did everything she could to try to fight her illness, showing the most amazing strength and determination during her three year battle, but in the end she eventually ran out of options and was referred for palliative care.

Five Years On: My Reflection

Today's blog post is from our intern, Olivia Tilton talking about her experience of grief having lost her own mother 5 years ago to breast cancer. 

We all knew it was going to happen. 

After all, everyone has to die. 

I just wasn’t prepared for it. In any way, shape or form. 

She had been in a hospice for around two months. She had litres of fluid surrounding her lungs and heart. She was so, so exhausted. It was staring us right in the face. But still, at midday on the 10th of November 2010, my whole world seemed to collapse in around me when my mum died.