Frozen in Groundhog Day
Sometimes it takes a while to process traumatic events. It’s taken me 18 months for details of Greg’s diagnosis to come back to me. I just wish they weren’t soundtracked by a Disney film.
Author: Stacey Heale
My Own Tsunami
My fear of end-of-the-world films and cancer collide in some intense realisations on this whole being human lark. Who knew Bruce Willis in Armageddon would have such a lasting effect?
The Boy Next Door
On the 5th anniversary of his death, I feel the need to talk about Neil. He would be mortified and tell me I’m too emotional (despite the fact that he was the one who would listen Kenny G every day)
The Boy
Today is Greg’s birthday. There is no present that encapsulates what I feel about him so I wrote him a letter. As with all the best letters, there’s a lot of in jokes but basically, it’s about what love feel like.
The Dress
I didn’t know that your own life would flash before your eyes when you are told that someone you love is about to die.
Oh yeah and #metoo (for my babies)
My take on #metoo. What happens when you speak up about harassment and assault but you are accused of being the problem? By other women. #awkward
That time I thought I had a slight cancer
It’s a drag waiting for cancer test results when you’re stuck up a mountain in Spain. No amount of olives can detract from how slow time becomes but it helps if someone writes a song about you.
#staceysobs (yet again)
Crying in public is just part of the job description when you are a cancer carer. It is often seen as a sign of weakness but letting out the tears – wherever and on whoever – is my way of staying sane.
Strangers in the Night
Sometimes strangers on a screen are the best people to reveal your darkest fears to. A love letter to the Internet and the connections that it can create. However, once you start looking for others in pain, you can’t control what you will see.
I really hope Billy Corgan can save us
Note to self: Trying to channel a 90’s grunge icon through a Victorian Christmas decoration will not be as successful as you would like it to be and surprisingly, not be a cure for cancer.