Today marks six years since my best friend WeeGee lost her battle to breast cancer. It’s been three years since I truly accepted she was gone, and this is the first year I’ve lived in that truth without running away – through my eating disorder, or any other method of escape, distraction, or denial.

I can’t believe it’s been six years. It still feels raw. But things have softened enough that when I woke up this morning, all I wanted to do was honour WeeGee in the way she would have wanted.

So that’s what my son and I set out to do.

Nothing was going to stop me – not my recent medication increase causing sedation, not the intense hip pain I woke up with. I was going to show up for WeeGee and do all of her favourite things.

Waking Up in Another Year Without WeeGee

I woke up and my first thought was about WeeGee. My second thought was, oh my gosh, my hip is killing me. Not all of my waking thoughts are as meaningful or profound. Lately there haven’t been many thoughts at all – mostly silence. The only thing I’ve experienced on waking recently has been hangovers of sedation from increasing Quetiapine (Seroquel): not remembering falling asleep, then wondering how it’s suddenly the next day.

I think the increase is starting to work though. My mood has shifted a little. I’m not so far down the tube of circles in the black hole of depression, and my thoughts about WeeGee today were all about how best to honour her.

My son and I decided the night before that we’d go to town, have Starbucks, and I wanted to buy a candle to light – maybe even buy a present or two. A present I’d have gifted her if she were still here.

But because peaceful thoughts feel dangerous to me for some reason – probably trauma – I felt guilty that I didn’t wake up utterly devastated by the anniversary. That somehow this made me a bad friend. That the only way to truly honour her was through suffering. But I am not suffering when it comes to her, not in the way I used to.

My grief has changed.

When I think of her now, I’m still angry that she’s gone. That there’s a hole in my life where she once lived. That I’m a completely different person to who I was when she was alive. There is a before WeeGee died me, and an after WeeGee died me – and I still don’t fully recognise the after me.

But when I think of just her, and not myself, I’m flooded now with love instead of sadness. Memories. Good times. Moments when she lifted me up. Her favourite things. Our bond and friendship. They make me smile. Sometimes I still cry – but not always.

I think of how she was the best friend I’ve ever had. What a privilege it was to know her at all. I see how her friendship still echoes in my personality. There are signs everywhere, through me and throughout my flat, that she was here once. That she was a life-changing presence in my world.

I wonder if she knew – because I don’t think she did – how much her existence helped me help myself. She was a pick yourself up by your bootstraps person, a keep on, keeping on person. But she helped me do that simply by existing exactly as she was.

Anyway – these were the thoughts in my head while drinking my morning coffee. My son had to post some documents, so he was printing things off. I was half in my own world, half being annoyed that my hip pain chose today of all days to flare. But nothing was going to stop me from honouring WeeGee. Keep on, keeping on, as she would say.

I wanted to show up for her, even though she’s no longer here to show up for. I am here. And I will show up.

So after my son finished with the printer – which, for reasons unknown, only ever works for him and never for me – we got ready to leave.

Today needed to be as special as WeeGee was and still is to me.

The Sneaky Seagull of the Shopping Centre

We both walked to town with noise-cancelling headphones on. I was listening to a Clint Mansell playlist on YouTube Music that I’d made – I wanted quiet and contemplative. Together We Will Live Forever came on, and it felt exactly the right tone to walk in quiet remembrance. The busy city traffic softened into a meaningful piano piece through the active noise cancellation of my Bose headphones.

We went to the post office first so my son could post his very important documents. He’s had to provide formal ID to continue his treatment, and he’s been really anxious about it – on top of managing intense university assignments. He had good news today though: he’d scored an 80 on one of them. I told him how proud I was, that he’s been carrying a lot of stress and still showing up.

I was glad I could come with him. I’ve been feeling pretty helpless watching everything he’s been dealing with. That’s hard to adjust to when you become a parent of an adult. You can’t fix anything anymore – they have to. Your role becomes the observer in the passenger seat, not the driver saying, sit back, relax, go play your Pokémon game, I’ve got this. Still, it helps to be a comfort and support where he wants me, while he figures out his own life.

On the way back from the post office – with a little relief now that the task was done – we saw a sneaky seagull who blatantly has lore. He was holding a Greggs bag with a full sausage roll in it. He must have swooped down like a prehistoric pterodactyl and ripped it from the hands of some poor lunch-break worker.

He strutted proudly across the path of a lady, who stopped, inspected him, and exclaimed, “Well, I’ve seen everything now.”

I said, “Same,” and laughed.

The seagull then perched on top of a lift and made a tremendous racket trying to free the sausage roll from the bag. My son and I both laughed. That seagull cheered us up after the admin – and then we set about finding little WeeGee trinkets.

Penguin Pebbling for WeeGee

When WeeGee was alive, we had a habit of finding cute trinkets and small meaningful gifts for each other. My flat is still covered in them – most saying “You are AWESOME” because she was determined that one day I’d believe it.

I sent her presents too. Any time I went anywhere, I’d see something in a shop that made me think so deeply of her I had to send it. Mostly penguin-related items. Mostly comforting things.

I once bought her noise-cancelling headphones for when she was having treatment. I knew how awful hospital ward noise is, and she was like me – someone who needed quiet and isolation to build strength. My headphones give me that same small private world in public. She loved them.

I really miss this act of showing her I thought of her constantly. In the first few years of grief, if I saw something she’d love while out shopping, I’d almost cry in the middle of the shop, swallow it down, then feel upset for the rest of the day that she wasn’t here to give it to.

Last year, I started buying these things anyway – a geometric penguin necklace, penguin Jellycats – but they still felt like symbols of her absence.
Now, when I see or wear them, I feel the love instead of the loss.

So today I shopped as if it wasn’t her deathday, but her birthday. Or just a random Tuesday – because we never needed an occasion to penguin-pebble for each other.

I wanted a candle from my favourite shop, New Pastures Home. I found one that said “Kind Heart, Strong Spirit” with rose-quartz stones inside. I thought of her immediately. She truly had the kindest heart and the strongest spirit. That always baffled me – how she stayed so kind-hearted after everything she’d been through. I don’t think I ever heard her say a bad word about anyone… except Tory politicians. They earned it. Even then, it was always humour, never bitterness. The Brexit bus of lies did half the work for her.

Then I found a little bracelet that said “Be Brave”. I know she’d say that to me now. Keep on keeping on, and all that.

Next I thought of what else she loved – sitting in the garden surrounded by nature. I don’t have a garden, so I decided on a little plant. And of course, we had to go to Marks & Spencer, because we bonded so much in recovery over the belief that recovery is worth it purely because of M&S food. “This is not just any food, it is M&S recovery food”. It’s where our Christmas Sandwich Competition was born. We once seriously debated whether anything could possibly be better than M&S.

As we walked in, I spotted a plant in a penguin pot. Of all things. In our favourite food shop.

He went into the basket immediately – an adorable little penguin planter with a succulent. They’ve stopped selling our favourite meal: the Yorkshire pudding dinner with beef or chicken inside. But I picked up some cheesy hot cross buns instead, pleased they’ve returned, because it’s January and therefore, in corporate calendar law, it is apparently Easter. I also found Lindt pistachio eggs, fully committing to this alternate universe where January is now springtime.

WeeGee would have loved that. We once spent a long time wondering where on earth Chris Rea was driving home from, given he starts his Christmas journey in early November every year. In this economy? Imagine the petrol cost!

After treating my son to a little Molang plushie and him buying an amazing sheep cardigan in Next, my hip started screaming – so much that my knee joined in and began giving way. So we headed to Starbucks to sit down and warm up with a comforting cup of our favourite coffee.

A Moment of Starbucks Silence

My son ordered the coffees so I could sit down. I sat in silence, looking at the little gifts I’d bought. I felt a bit sad, but I honoured it. I really do love the candle I chose – I couldn’t wait to get home and light it for her.

I hugged the little penguin I’d brought with me, like she was there, and wished I could share this moment with her. Then I thought, in a way, I was.

When my son brought my coffee and I wrapped my hands around it, feeling the warmth, I thought again about how I don’t fully recognise the me that exists now – but I still see glimmers of her in my personality.

Before I met her, I was often made to feel shame for the intensity with which I love and get excited about small, everyday things: a coffee in Starbucks, hammering rain against the windows, splashing in puddles, M&S food, Clint Mansell music, a brand new fluffy pair of socks, a video game, the pressure of a heavy hot water bottle when it’s cold, a new plushie.

They’ve always made my life feel worth living. When I get depressed, it’s not only my son I think of staying for – it’s these little things too. I have to stay, because in the morning I get to drink coffee in the silence of a new day. I have to stay in recovery because M&S food exists and must be eaten.

WeeGee was the same. We bonded over it. She validated every single happiness or excitement I ever had, no matter how small – even when she didn’t personally get it. She didn’t understand gaming (which I always found funny, considering she still read my blog when I went on about Mass Effect), but she understood passion. She understood this thing makes life feel more worth living.

That’s why I bought the things I bought. Penguins. A cup of tea in the garden. Fluffy socks we once had a full CAPS LOCK conversation over. M&S food. All the small things that made her life feel more worth living too. We even recreated “Everything Is AWESOME” from the Lego movie whenever we found something that made us happy.

So I became more truly myself because of her. I became more happy because of her.

I take my plushies outside. I get excited when a game feels meaningful. I’m enjoying the weight of a hot water bottle on me as I write this. I listened earlier to the rain on the metal scaffolding outside. I fell in love with a penguin plant she would have adored.

That part of me – the part she nurtured – is the only part I still fully recognise. I wish I could recognise the rest of myself the same way. But I don’t. Not yet.

Anyway – after our moment of silence in Starbucks, we were both pretty done. I told my son again how proud I was of him, and we headed home.

Home Sweet Home

Although we’d both had a good day – despite everything – we were so glad to be home. I ate my dinner and decided the best way to end the day was to write this post in the candlelight of my new pretty candle. My son sat next to me writing away, finishing his assignment.

After all, writing is how WeeGee and I first met, here on WordPress. We connected through our deepest feelings, our love for the little things, and her incredible ability to put into words emotions I often had no words for. That’s why I use metaphors – Sisyphus, video games, black holes. But her writing had a way of making you feel like you were right there beside her, understanding her completely.

I actually just got a bit sad writing this. Then angry. Then bittersweet.

I’ve always avoided talking about WeeGee in full detail. I used unemotional descriptors: she was kind, she was a talented writer, she was strong but gentle. My brain wouldn’t let me sit in the full memory of her as a whole person in this world who mattered so much to me – because before now, it would have broken me. To accept she was fully real is to accept she is no longer here. Writing this has cracked me open a little, but I’m trying to stay with it, not let the anger take over – the anger that tries to protect me from grieving.

That’s the part of myself I don’t recognise. I never knew grief came with this much anger. It feels opposite to who WeeGee was. I feel like I’m grieving wrong – that I should be peaceful, kind, reflective, quiet, because that’s who she was, and she should be honoured that way. Yet I get far more angry than I used to.

I’ve always loved a good rant – I’m Welsh – but it used to be mostly humour. Now my rants are often just things I genuinely feel. Though some humour remains. For example: Windows 11. And my deep hope that Microsoft never puts that operating system on my Xbox. I don’t need a rubbish AI to load and play my game for me. Copilot? More like plane sabotager.

Anyway – for the rest of the night it’s me, this hot water bottle, a blanket, my son next to me and maybe The Long Dark. A quiet place to sit, and perhaps take my anger out on a digital moose, which feels healthier than taking it out on myself.

Cheesy hot cross buns are also in my immediate future.

Despite everything – despite my ED being loud all day and offering me an escape – I stayed in recovery today. Because M&S food exists. And because my love for WeeGee still does too.

The piece of music I mentioned earlier in the post :-