Demelza

A plaque hung on the front door, white with painted tulips, a sign that only those who had previously been to the hospice would understand- a child had died.

Looking over onto the conservatory I could see the heartbroken family, thinking less than 2 years ago I was sat there.

It's strange going back to a place which was basically my home for three months but now the reason to be there is gone.

The staff hadn't changed and smiled as I walked in, but it was that sympathetic smile I try to avoid because it brings me to tears.

I knew it was going to be hard, I'd have a heart of stone if I felt nothing, but I guess I thought I would be stronger by now which I was until I walked into the building.

Funny how a place can have that kind of effect on you. 

I wasn't alone, when I looked to my side my mother was crying her eyes out, I knew there was nothing I could really say to make it better so I just took her hand and gave her that same sympathetic smile.

We sat at a table with a vase of purple and white tulips and a box labelled "Charlotte". It had been 18 months since she passed but only now did we both feel able to open a box of her things. Although now I sat there, I didn't feel ready at all.

The box was full of pictures, Charlotte before she was sick, with hair down to her shoulders, a chubby face and mischievous smile. 

I'd always wondered if I'd done the right thing, not seeing her body after she passed away, but as I looked through the photos I knew I'd made the right choice.

This is how I wanted to remember her.

For the first time since she died, I was happy remembering her for the amazing person she was rather than sad she wasn't here any more.

That's a new kind of strength I didn't know I had.

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