The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours

The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours

A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause

For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours
and yours

This was a poem I gave her years ago when we were going out together and gave again in May. It was written by Violet Szabo's radio operator for her when she dropped into France during WW2, she was captured, tortured and shot. The film Crave Her Name With Pride was based on her life and there is

   

Randy playing a natty white Gibson flying V.  So just finished the last session with my councillor. Wednesday was suicidal my head thinking some very dark thoughts, the culmination resulting in a protracted e-mail and text exchange. The abridged version me wanting not to see the kids ever again and cutting my femoral artery in the bath - less messy that the radial. Anyway that past...sort of ...and no claret.... and more emails. She came back with the usually banal comment about being good parents. I couldn't square that, living on the floor of my 73 year old mother in a tiny council flat

I did really well I think until New Years day. Christmas Day I saw the girls for nearly an hour whilst I was blanked by her parents and then I went off to volunteer with Crisis for the rest of the day.  A few wobbles, said I wouldn't see the girls on Boxing Day because of the atmosphere it had caused on Christmas but got through it OK.

Volunteered at Crisis on Boxing day and felt quite good. Then came New Years Day and I crashed. I feel like sh8t now, the feeling of crushing failure. I rang her last night asking, begging to her for us to make a go of it but no, her words 'I can't'...why??

Its