The guilt I feel is crushing. I obsessively pick over the past few years, and think of every time Stephen was ill. If only he went to the doctor sooner, if only I had made him go to the doctor…right there is where that train of thought runs off the rails – no one made Stephen do anything. One of the drawbacks to loving a Type-A arrogant bastard. I could ask him to go to the doctor, in fact I begged, but he went when he decided to go. The symptoms he had that in hindsight should have told me what was going on. I have a feeling that he wasn’t completely honest with the doctor, the times he did go – that famous British reserve wouldn’t let him talk about his bowels.

So I feel guilt for not seeing it sooner. What kind of a wife was I that I didn’t see it? I can’t stop thinking that if I had picked up on it sooner, he’d still be here with me. If I had picked up on it sooner, maybe the bowel cancer wouldn’t have spread to his liver. Probably, maybe, I don’t know for sure.

So much guilt. It tears me up inside, gives me no rest…