Remembering the finn

Four years on, and today it feels like nothing has really changed in the year since I wrote this piece.

I've had counselling, I've fallen in a heap, I've been to the unit we set up with his bequest. I've silently raged against people who, in their grief, have behaved in ways that I would have been ashamed of - but who am I to judge anyway.

I've tried to focus on the positive, to resolve the grief and the anger and the sheer bloody waste of a life. I sometimes wish I could hate him for throwing it away - but I stopped being angry with him a long time before he died.

None of it changes the fact that I still miss Mikko. Daily.