On the 27th July our Son was found dead in his flat in London. It appeared that he had fallen sustaining an injury to the back of his head. As yet we are unsure what caused the fall and may never know the answer. He was 36 and lived alone, it was five days before he was found, the image of him laying alone all this time haunts me.

At the time of his death my husband was in Portugal and I was on a cruise visiting Norway and the North cape. I was notified by my Husband and would not be exaggerating when I say it was the greatest shock I have ever had and the very worst week of my life, just waiting to get off of the ship. I was unable to catch a flight home and I was reassured by my husband that there was nothing to do until the body was released, So I sat it out with my sister and mother and a lot of very stiff drinks. Once off the ship I stepped into the reality, planning the funeral with my husband and all the madness that went with it. A month has past since the funeral and I look back as if it all happened to someone else, it still feels so surreal.    

Now I just feel empty inside, I am tearful somedays but mostly I feel that life has lost all meaning or purpose. I can't seem to concentrate on reading or writing and I cant make plans with regards to my books. I need to do so much work on them and I need an editor to through things with me but my concentration and desire to continue just isn't there.

I'm told it's early days so may be one day I will write again, until then all the stories I had in my head with have to be shelved and the whole author thing, just an unfulfilled dream.

A massive thank you to everyone that has been so supportive and encouraging x