I am not fine. It is not okay.

It’s been a week.

A week of keeping busy, not letting myself stop and think. Hiding from myself.

A week of being okay in front of the kids. In front of everyone. I am not okay.

It is not okay.

I hurt. I want to shout and rage at the world and how it’s all not fair. Nothing was fair.

Why couldn’t life give him a break, eh? Say ‘Okay, you put up a damn good fight through everything I threw at you. Quits. Fair play. Off you go.’

No. It just had to throw that final punch and make a point – that nobody wins in the end. Not even when you fight so bloody hard and refuse to let it all show that people don’t even realise you’re fighting.

I knew. We knew from when we were kids watching you fight and develop your coping mechanisms. We knew you were hurting even when you told us you were fine and we went along with you because that’s what you wanted.

You never wanted life to be about your illness, never wanted it to revolve around you. You didn’t want pity, you wanted life. You wanted to spend time being an idiot with your friends, playing with your cats and riding your motorbike (into hedges…)

You wanted people to remember you for you, not for your illness.

And that’s why I’m not okay.

Because I miss you. I miss you, Tim.

I miss your utterly inappropriate behaviour when we were out for meals (like when you and Jack got utterly outraged when you accidentally ordered a ‘leaf’ pizza. It was unfortunate line spacing in the middle of ‘beef tomato’ but it did say ‘vegetarian’ after it…)

I miss being able to tell you anything and know you’d make it okay by making it funny or being outraged for me.

I miss your godawful spelling – and how you didn’t give a damn about it.

I wish we could have another piss up like old times and be stupid and silly and loud. Or just doss around and play on the Playstation again (I still suck, sorry.)

I just wish we had more time, Timmy.

I’m so afraid of saying goodbye on Wednesday. I don’t know what to do. Or say.

I am not alone in not being fine. I’m not the only one who is not okay.

A lot of people love you, Tim. And we are all a bit lost now you’re not here.

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