Monthly Archives: July 2016

A little Treat for 47

Sometimes we need a little treat, 

For no reason, just ’cause it’s sweet. 

So here you go, enjoy from us, 

We hope it gives you a little buzz.

This was our message in a Treat Box ordered anonymously for someone. The box was ordered for no other reason than we thought it was a nice thing to do for that person. We hope it will give her a little moment of calm in her busy life. We left it anonymous as we’re not quite ready to reveal Love Join Me yet and she would definitely work out who we are! We know that she, the original LJM, always thought about our treatbox’s recipient. 


Inside we chose to put a bath bomb, a lip balm, a pencil, notebook and pocket mirror. We hope that she shares her surprise on social media (when the parcel arrives in a few days) so that we can update you as to its reception – hopefully with a photo! 

To order or build one of these fab boxes or to subscribe, click here*.

*please note we’re not in any way affiliated.

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That’s the thing about grief 

Grief is a mess. A big steaming pile of … spaghetti soup. 


I remember being told that her days were numbered (as I returned from a honeymoon break no less) and feeling utter shock and disbelief. Was this really my life? Her life? It was like some kind of dystopian reality where nothing made sense anymore. Arriving at the hospital, I tactlessly announced that my phone was about to die. The irony of that was lost on no one.  Everyone else seemed absurdly calm whereas I was not. The days all blurred. Bizarrely, there was laughter and comfort and games of scrabble. One afternoon, I laid my head next to hers and picked up her almost-lifeless arm and draped it around me. I fell asleep there like that for a while, at peace where I had always felt at home. I never got to talk to her but I know she knew I was there.  

Months after her death, LJM2 and I had a few conversations about how grief was not what we had feared. The fear of death happening was worse in many ways. It didn’t mean that it wasn’t significant, that it was not bad (believe me, grieving a parent is horrific); we meant that we were surprised by our ability to cope and adapt and to still live.  Like she said in a radio interview just before her death: when asked “how do you cope?” she said,

You just do; you have no choice. 

It has now been six and half years since she died. You will notice that I refrain from using euphemisms which soften the harshness of death words. I always do. She’s not sleeping, with the angles, she’s not passed. She is dead and that is the reality we have to live with. 

In that time, we have lived through many stages of grief, even seeking answers as to when this will feel better. The truth is: it won’t. There is a new grief every day. We mostly accept that but it feels impossibly hard with every new experience. Every new moment brings her absence to the fore. She is not there. She does not know her grandchildren. I struggle to understand how some of the people who I love most in the world have not met each other. 

My children will not know how the tip of her nose always felt cold, how her body always felt soft, how she made a little click noise when she gave a kiss, the concentration face that she pulled.  Furthermore, each time the little LJMs do something amazing I want to tell her. I ask questions that will never get answered. Just this week the biggest little one tried out school. Was he like me? Was I that brave? Her absence is felt so profoundly each day.


Others seemingly forget. Others move on (and that is ok).  Some expect you to be over it. I’m even imagining all sorts of eye-rolling at the mere discovery of this project and blog. However, this is our reality. This project is helping. It’s helping us and it’s helping others. The last stage of grief? 


But that’s the thing about grief. There is no last stage. The grief dies with you, leaving someone else’s new grief in its wake

46 – Race for Life

A sea of pink came down the hill over the horizon. I had my whistle and my foam hand at the ready.  I was positioned well; I could hear the start so I knew it wouldn’t be long before they approached. Having run a Race for Life before I remember seeing marshals at the side of the route, cheering and clapping and showing the way.  I never really thought about who they were and why they were there until now. Here I was with my own story, my life affected and changed by the terrible disease they were running for. There were thousands of them, I’m not sure exactly how many, but what surprised me was how many different people were doing it. There were older ladies, small children, teenagers, even young babies in slings and prams. One woman had a toddler on her back and a baby on her front! Let’s not forget the dogs!

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Being near the start meant that it wasn’t long before the back markers passed and I was able to wander back to the start and finish line. I was really surprised that the front runner beat me back – now that was a fast time! I managed to watch as the second and third runners came in and was surprised by a young girl who came in the top ten. It was so inspiring.  There were people selling flowers to raise money and the radio was encouraging you to buy them to give to family and friends running the race. I bought one and waited a while until a little girl ran near me and I gave her the flower.

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I decided to wander back to the volunteering tent and on my way went via the board where people were putting their back signs – signs that showed who they were doing it for. It was moving – so many people affected by cancer, so many people whose lives have been changed because of this terrible disease. There was even someone who’d dedicated their run to Caroline Aherne, who had died aged 52 just the previous day.  Many were running simply for “a cure” and I really hope the money raised today helps find just that.

I watched and clapped as the final people crossed the line. One of the final finishers was a young boy aged 8. He is called Kasabian and has been battling cancer since the age of 2. He has just finished 5 days chemotherapy and yet got round the whole 5km course. What an inspiring young man. 

We really need to find a cure! 

Did I save your life today?

If you received a pint of A rh+ blood at St. James’s University Hospital in Leeds today it may well have been mine! Today I received a text message: 


How fantastic that they can tell me that someone has received my blood! Whomever you are, I hope you are feeling better. I hope that you are on the road to recovery and can live a longer, better life.  As I said in the first post about this  Random Act of Kindness, she gave blood all the time before her diagnosis. Maybe it’s gone to someone like her? 

But that’s not all. Love Join Me is working: it’s inspiring others to do the same. I posted about this on my personal Facebook page and, at the time of posting, at least three others have been inspired to donate! Her inspiration is spreading through us to others. 

Who else will be inspired to donate? Will you?