We were enjoying a blissful life, making the most of every day. I, the poet, was still rather bemused by the freedoms of retirement and Stephen was doing what he loves — publishing. Our idyll was rudely interrupted, when we were told that Stephen had cancer. We were suddenly thrust into an unaccustomed world. This is not a horror story. Stephen relied on stoicism and determination to get through. The poet wrote her way through a harsh reality and the story of a new love that was tested — and not found wanting. The unfailing love and support of family, friends and caring dedicated medical professionals was lavishly laced with black humour. Homemade soup with love in every spoonful has to be the best remedy for healing. Once again, the poet found comfort in the gift of words in a time of dire need and the ongoing struggle between darkness and light.
