Just when you thought you were fine – In the name of Thiago – Day 204


After the mental demands of yesterday, today was more about the physical. I have been out for little walks during the week and keep ‘topping up’ as I call it, but today was a proper 15 miler. As I sit in our temporary living space/kitchen/office this evening writing this, there are a few aches and pains. That’s a little frustrating but the difference now is that I know that I can go again the next day if needed, which is not something I could have said a couple of months ago.



I walked passed this place earlier and really fancied a beverage. I was momentarily considering refreshment but then thought nah, it’s shit. I continued onwards northbound up the A34. It was a couple of hours later when I did eventually stop for a beverage and it wasn’t some Frappacino shite.


Nope I met up with Kev at The Blue Bell in Kidsgrove – my halfway point – where we sat for half an hour waiting for them to open at 1pm and then a further 45 minutes while we had a pint of something pale from Oakham’s Brewery.



I’ve mentioned Kev on here before, I had a long chat with him on a previous training walk. He specialises in supporting men who are grieving for the loss of a child, which must make him a pretty rare breed. I have had counselling before, which some may find an unusual thing to put in the public domain, but after the loss of Thiago, quite frankly I can’t see the point in being ashamed of who I am. I’ll always be as you find me.


Kev’s a great listener and a very easy person to talk to. My previous experience of counsellors has been that they can be good listeners or more pertinently not over-talkers but not necessarily so easy to talk to. It’s just a shame that the bastard had me in tears outside the pub. I was grateful for the sunglasses!



The thing is, though it did me good to talk about the pain I’m feeling for the loss of Thiago it also really made me very wobbly for the rest of the walk. There was a point about three miles from the end where I just broke down completely, which I’ve not done for a very long time.


I just wanted to give Thiago a cuddle and tell him I loved him and of course I can’t do that. Not now; not ever again. It’s an absolute cunt of a feeling. I know that’s a word that a lot of people will cringe at reading and all I can say is, try keeping up appearances when it’s all falling apart as it has done for me.



And here’s the thing. It’s not that I’m falling apart. Far from it, is my immediate retort to that thought and I feel I’m coping incredibly well. It’s my world that’s fallen apart – that’s a very important difference. But the reality is, I can do all the fundraising and all the legacy work I like, but he’s gone, and I’m never going to have all those experiences that Angélica and I thought long and hard about, before deciding to have another child ten years after Elisa came into our lives.


I think it’s time to wrap this up for the day, it’s been a tough day and I’m going to get some more fresh air, which always does me good. While I’m doing that, perhaps you can consider making a donation to the two hospitals, which did so much to care for Thiago in his tragically short lifetime. They are Royal Stoke and Birmingham Children’s Hospitals. Thank you.


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