Sunshine, on a cloudy day.

Dear Fynn (Part 3)
Do you remember sitting right here on that winter's day?
It was freezing, so we sat this side of the hill to eat our posh picnic, and sip champagne, sheltered from the biting north wind, and you sang 'My Girl' at the top of your voice.

I think you'd like this photo because we always talked about looking for the sunshine moments in what was otherwise a very gloomy time.

I don't want to dwell on the awful news of that phone call, but I was so grateful that you were able to contact me, even if it was to ask me not to contact you!
I put the phone down, trying to make sense of what you'd said. I went to work, I went home, I had no idea what to do, or if anyone else knew. So it went on until three weeks later, you sent me a letter. I can quote it word for word. It started:
"Who would have thought someone so young and so fit could become so ill so rapidly?"
It then went on to explain how you had collapsed when you got home from your circuit training class, and had been admitted to the local hospital. The morning you called, you were being transferred to a specialist hospital.

Strange though it may seem, your illness gave us the chance to spend time together that we may not have otherwise had. Getting to know your mother was another bonus, she was just such a special lady.

Here are a few of my favourite moments during that time:

My first visit to the hospital, we couldn't touch, and you weren't supposed to leave your isolation room, but you did, so you could watch me go. As I walked down the 3 flights of stairs you shouted from the top "
"Missing you already" and "Love you lots" amongst other things that really should only be whispered!!

"I want to learn to ski." You said when you were in remission and at home.
"OK let's go to the dry ski slope"
When you told the girl at reception what was wrong with you she said:
"Oh my God! Cute Ballistic Leukaemia? That's what my dad died of recently." Oblivious to her own insensitivity.
How we laughed!!

Sadly, you weren't able to have lessons due to the chance of bruising, but we always made reference to your 'cute ballistics' after that. (N.B. It was in fact Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia)

Christmas shopping, you sat and directed, I rushed round, you loved it.

Celebrating Christmas and Guy Fawkes night at some other time of year, because we'd missed them, we dressed formally, dined sumptuously, set off fireworks and then we danced.

Another visit to a different hospital when you said:
"Come on, I'm taking you out for lunch."
" Really, are you allowed?"
"Who cares?" Then you took me to the staff canteen!!

Mostly it was the simple pleasures, grabbed, between stays in hospital. A short walk to a favourite beauty spot, or if you weren't strong enough to walk, then just a drive and a sit. No touching, no kissing, but a huge amount of looking, talking and laughing.

That part of my life with our all too infrequent meetings, had a surreal feel to it. A drop everything hour or so when you were at home, or an occasional rush to a specialist hospital at your request, not knowing how you would be, or if there would be others visiting.

Nothing, however could have been more bizarre as that very last visit...