Grief

I have this friend. He is Scottish, but descended from the Scandanavians. He looks like a Viking invader. Tall, strong, unstoppable.

Over two decades our lives became entwined, like the gnarled roots of an oak tree.

I met my husband at his Hogmanay party. He was our best man. His wife is one of my best friends. His daughter is my goddaughter and mine is his.

He is incredibly loyal and kind, with huge, capable hands that can fix anything, and a hug that makes the world right again.

A few days ago he flew to Tanzania to spend a month with a charity helping to build homes for widows, orphans and families in need. That's the kind of man he is.

This morning he went for a run, had a heart attack and died.

He was forty six years old. He has three young children.

He will never walk his daughter down the aisle, never hold his grandchildren in his arms, never grow old alongside his wife.

There is a Thor shaped hole in my heart.

If you are waiting for the right time to start properly living your life, do it now. If you're waiting for the right time to tell friends or family how much you love them, do it now.

Don't wait.