Tag: Fundraising

On my own

Various pictures of Emma Charlesworth and her family from 2005 to present.

It’s probably no surprise that the title of this blog is linked to Les Misérables. For someone who at the start of 2024 said “I don’t really feel the need to see it again,” it’s somehow become part of my life. I didn’t envisage when I made this statement that I’d be seeing it in London, Aberdeen, Manchester and Abu Dhabi. I certainly didn’t envisage that I’d be watching my daughter in the one of the lead roles. And of course. None of the songs are triggering or make me cry. Nope. Not even one. 

The local production which my daughter was in recently involved an intense two-week rehearsal schedule. The venue for these rehearsals was about a five-minute drive from where Mr C used to work. The irony was not lost on me. There was me getting up at 4:30am so that I could drive to a local train station, get an early train into work and leave the office early to pick her up. Meanwhile, my mum and stepdad had to drop her on those days so that she could get there. And then on the days I wasn’t in the office, I did both drop off and pick up. I don’t begrudge this in the slightest, I’m her mum and I knew that her anxiety wouldn’t cope with her getting the train, but it still felt like a military mission to organise. All the while knowing that if I wasn’t a widow, this wouldn’t have been the case. Mr C could have done the drop off and pick up on his way to and from work. Again. Pure conjecture and speculation because I don’t actually know where he’d be working, but the crux of the matter is this. It wouldn’t have been solely down to me to orchestrate all of the running around. 

My daughter was phenomenal. No other word for it. Even if I wasn’t a particular fan of watching her be a prostitute. Or the moment when she died, and they covered her with a sheet. Her being cast as Fantine was never going to be an easy watch! But I don’t really have the words to articulate just how proud and emotional I felt watching her. Seeing her living her best life on that stage. I could only begin to imagine just what her dad would have felt seeing her up there. And I know he was playing heavily on her mind during the performances too. There was an issue with her microphone during one of the shows that I wasn’t watching, and I got a little voice note from her saying how much she wanted a dad hug. Our everyday lives continue to be impacted by his death. Her dad wasn’t there to scoop her up at the end of that show and give her that hug. Missing him at those really important moments. 

And as well as missing him and running round like a loon, it was during this rehearsal schedule that I received my first ever speeding ticket. I knew I was running a little bit late that morning but hadn’t realised I was going fractionally over the speed limit. I completely own it. I was the one driving that morning and I must have just taken my eye off the ball for a split second. But as I sat there reading the letter that was sent out, it made me stop and think. Was this actually a metaphor for me to slow down a little bit in life more generally? 

I’ve lost count recently of how many times I’ve heard “you’re doing too much” and “I don’t know how you do it.” But as I’ve felt so often since my late husband died, I don’t really feel I have a choice. I can’t sit back and do nothing just because he died. I still have to work and commute to an office three days a week, I have bills to pay. I still have to raise our child. I still have to do the housework, finances and all that comes with being a homeowner. Yes. I could just focus on these aspects of my life but why should I? Why shouldn’t I try to forge a life and map out a future for me? 

You see, this is the other thought that is regularly crossing my mind. I’m rapidly approaching a time when I’m going to be on my own. Change is coming and I have to start thinking about my future as ‘Emma’ rather than ‘Mum’ and planning for it. My daughter starts Year 11 when she returns to school in September and will be taking GCSEs in 2026. If all goes to plan, she’ll be leaving school following this to go to college. After that, there’ll be the next phase in her life, and she’ll in theory be heading off to do a degree. And what happens to me then? If all I’ve done is work and raise her, what do I then do in 2028? Both of these would be a heck of an achievement in themselves given all we’ve been through; I don’t deny that; but I can’t help but feel I need to future proof my life too. 

Granted. When it comes to futureproofing, there might have been an easier and less demanding way to do this. But I have to do it in a way that works for me and by doing something I’m passionate about. I was absolutely honoured to have been appointed as a Trustee for Widowed and Young in July and I’m looking forward to seeing what I can achieve in this role. In December 2023 I said I was going to write a book and that has now been written. I have been working with the team at Softwood Books to bring this to life and I’m excited to see what this brings. But both of these require my time and energy. Which is why I can see why people tell me I’m doing too much. In a way I no doubt am. But it’s easy to say that when you haven’t been through what I have. When you haven’t had your future completely decimated. 

Becoming a widow at the age of 39 wasn’t on the future plan when I was growing up. And that’s why I push myself. I’ve had one future ripped away from me. I can’t bear the thought of not having a new one to look forward to. For such a long time, the future was overwhelming. It scared me to look beyond the next day. But now I have to think about it. Because as my daughter starts to enter the next phase of her life, she’ll no longer need me in the same way she has. And then what becomes of me? It’s a thought that crosses my mind on such a regular basis. What happens to me? Empty nest syndrome is such a common feeling for millions of people but for me it’s going to hit that little bit differently. I really will be on my own when that happens. 

Because I’ve recently been thinking about whether she and I are too co-dependent on each other. The circumstances regarding our bereavement no doubt forced us to be. In the first year after Mr C died, she was only in school for four months. No-one stepped foot inside our house for nearly three months after he died and even then, it was very minimal. I didn’t have to commute to London. We didn’t really have to navigate a social life. We became quite insular. It did pretty much feel like it was Team Charlesworth against the world. I think the two of us supported each other and held each other up in ways that we didn’t even realise we were doing. She became my sole reason for getting out of bed each day. I became her one constant in life. We’d both lost our other one constant, it was instinctive to cling to the one remaining. 

I guess I’ve found myself being a lot more reflective this August than I normally would be. I hadn’t really realised why until I broke a little bit at work last week. I was feeling the strain of being a solo parent. Of juggling so much. Of not having that one person who could step in to pick up the slack when needed. For the first time in a very long time, I felt like a widow. That might sound daft given I’ve been living this life for five years now, but when you’re just living your life and you’ve become accustomed to living with grief every day, you sometimes forget to give yourself a little bit of kindness. Of remembering the magnitude of everything you’ve gone through and what’s led you to where you are in your life. I was so lucky that a colleague accompanied me for a walk to help me clear my head but when I said to her “what would have been my 20th wedding anniversary is fast approaching,” I heard my voice crack. 

I haven’t really thought about just how significant this wedding anniversary was going to be. For the past few years, I’ve referred to the date as the anniversary of the day I became a Charlesworth. I’ve found it hard to refer to it as a wedding anniversary as I no longer feel married. I was. There is no denying it. I don’t want to. But I’m not married now. Every widow is different, but for me, I’m not married. I’m on my own. I’m widowed. Just writing that is hard. I battled with the phrase widow for a very long time. Now it’s a part of my identity. 

This time 20 years ago I was just over two weeks away from getting married. While I didn’t know exactly what the future was going to look like, I had a pretty good idea. I never envisaged my husband dying in a global pandemic just over 14 years later. That being a widow would become a part of my identity. The Friday of the August Bank Holiday weekend in 2005 saw the start of my hen weekend celebrations. A night out in Maidstone before heading to Bournemouth for the rest of the weekend. Full of hope. Full of plans. Some realised. Others not. 

I knew quite early on that I’d need to mark this anniversary. And so, I chose to think of a way to celebrate his life. To celebrate the marriage I did have. CharlieFest: Dress to Impress is how I decided to do that. To once again raise funds for the Intensive Care Unit at Medway Maritime Hospital. The unit who worked so tirelessly to care for him in the last three weeks of his life. Oh yes, did I forget to mention that I’m planning an event as well as working full time, becoming a Trustee and publishing a book? And I wonder why people tell me I do too much. 

If I’m honest. This event has become like a second full time job. Even more so than the previous two I’ve held. Everything about this year has felt harder. The cost of living. The ticket sales. The raffle ticket sales. People not seeing my social media posts because of the algorithm. The posts in local Facebook groups which are left as pending. The organisation of it and unexpected changes. All of which take their toll. Those nagging thoughts that plague me have become a bit more prevalent over the past few weeks. Do people care less about what happened to us now? Are people sitting there thinking “dear god, is she still banging on about her dead husband?” I think back to the previous ones I’ve held and wonder if I asked for help more or if people offered their help more freely? Probably a combination of the two in all honesty. Lives move on. People are busy. With all I have going on, I just have to get things done when I can. And if I’m honest, there is something about this event that I feel even more responsible for. It feels even more personal. It’s not just a fundraising event in memory of my late husband. It’s also in memory of our marriage and everything we had. 

I look at the current confirmed attendee list. It’s a very different list to the guest list for our wedding. People attending who never even met him. People not attending who were a huge part of his life and our married life. A sign of how times change. How lives move on. Again. I’ve wondered what the invite list would have looked like had we been hosting a 20th wedding anniversary party together. I’ll never know, but this is a prime example of something that affects me as a widow, and me alone. It comes back to that sentiment of being on my own. In so many ways, I am with my grief. I don’t for one second underestimate the impact of my late husband’s death on others, but how many other people are still having their day to day lives and routines impacted by it? How many others live with so many pertinent dates and reminders that only affect them? Who else said the words “til death do us part” only to have that become a reality far sooner than it should have been?

Yet as I have so many times since 2020, I can’t let myself dwell on thoughts like this. They don’t do me any favours. I had my moment last week. I didn’t ignore it or try to battle through it. I gave myself permission to feel how I was feeling. I joined a virtual Widowed and Young meeting to just vent with others who get it. It’s the first time for a while I’ve done that, be a member, be a widow and admit that this life is crap at times. I don’t have a bad life by any stretch of the imagination, but it is hard. And I knew that once I’d said out loud how I was feeling, I’d feel better. That’s exactly what happened. 

So, for now, I’m going to focus on the positives. I’m going to look for the little glimmers. The memories of my hen do this weekend 20 years ago. The memories of my marriage. All we achieved during those 14 years. 

The greatest achievement of all being our daughter. When I’ve had my moments questioning myself lately, she’s been the one to rationalise and talk sense into me. The one reminding me to focus on what we will achieve in two weeks to celebrate him and all that we had. All the donations made in his memory and the amount of money we’ve raised to help others in the last five years. 

But above all else. She is the best reminder I have of the future. Because whatever my future entails, whatever I chose to do with it, however I choose to manage being on my own, the parenting and love we both gave her; and I’ve continued to do; has led her to the point of being able to plan her future and what comes next. She has so many exciting tomorrows ahead of her. And I hope I do too. As she herself sang in Les Misérables the other week: 

“It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes.”

 

Finding your WAY

Various photos from the Widowed and Young AGM 2024

It’s been a few months since I last wrote a blog. Life has been busy lately, we’ve had a fab summer and while I have been busy writing, it’s been for something completely different to my blog. And I always said I’d only write when I had something to say, I never had the intention of blogging just for the sake of it.

But a lot has been whirring in my mind since last weekend. You see, last weekend was the 2024 Widowed and Young AGM. This was the third AGM I have attended and once again, I trekked across the country to be there, this time to Crewe. It’s always a bit daunting getting in the car and driving quite a way by yourself, Mr C was always the one out of the two of us who did most of the driving, but there is always something reassuring about knowing you’re driving to spend the weekend with people who “get it.”

Yet, this was the first AGM where I headed off feeling slightly nervous about it. You see, I knew that Emma, my comfort blanket at these events wasn’t going to be able to make it until late on the Friday evening. So, I was going to have to go to the Volunteer’s Meeting and dinner without her. It might sound odd, I’ve been volunteering and an Ambassador for WAY for three and a half years now, have met numerous other volunteers and members of WAY at various events, but that thought of walking into a room by myself still feels me with a little bit of dread. I’m still not really used to being on my own.

Traffic delays meant I was slightly late to the Volunteer’s Meeting. Fortunately, Emma was on hand for me to ring to ask her to let them know! But being late also meant that I didn’t have a chance to get nervous and scared about walking in on my own, the meeting had already started when I arrived and so I just had to thrown myself into it and the initial icebreaker challenge. Within moments, I was wondering why I’d been feeling nervous. There were familiar faces for me to talk to and also new faces who I quickly got to know. It’s one of the weirdest situations really, we’re only in that room together because of one commonality, we have all experienced the loss of a partner before our 51st birthday yet somehow that almost feels secondary once you start talking to others. My team won one of the other challenges and we were presented with a bag of Heroes, an apt prize if I ever saw one! I then joined other members for a history tour of Crewe Hall Hotel and Spa, the hotel we were staying in, a really beautiful and fascinating place and then I trundled back to my room to get ready for dinner.

Once again, the nerves kicked in. Dinner was at 8pm and while there were messages on the Facebook page about meeting for a drink earlier, I started feeling apprehensive again. What if I went down and wouldn’t have anyone to talk to? What if people I didn’t know started to talk to me about my widowhood experience, did I really want to talk about it? What if, what if, what if…? The question that we really shouldn’t ask ourselves, but we always do. Worst case scenario planning, and I am very, very good at it! I snuck into dinner just before 8pm, not revealing to anyone the feelings I was having and instantly started talking to people. Again, some I’d met before but others I hadn’t. Conversation was easy and free flowing. If I’m honest, I knew it would be and I was berating myself in my head for the fears I’d been having leading up to it.

Emma had messaged to tell me the time she would be arriving and despite feeling tired, I knew I needed to wait up to see her. I suspected both of us would need the reassuring hug from each other, her because of the long drive and to help quell a number of anxieties she was feeling, me because I was also experiencing anxieties and just wanted a hug from someone who knows me well. I think we both clung on a little bit too tight when she did arrive. But that’s the power of connection through tragedy, sometimes you don’t even need to say how you’re feeling for someone else to just instinctively know.

The following morning was the AGM itself. A chance for us to learn more about the work of the charity over the previous year and plans going forward. But it always kicks off with an icebreaker challenge, there was a lot at stake with this one, I’d been on the winning table in 2023 and felt I had a title to protect! This year we needed to build the tallest swan, the swan being synonymous with WAY. There were other people on our table who had been on the same table and therefore victorious last year, but there were also some people who were new faces. Straight away we all got to work and after some potentially contentious entries, I’m delighted to report that my table was once again victorious. The winning sashes were instantly put on. The prosecco opened a short while later (it was early after all). The smiles and the laughter evident for all to see.

That continued throughout the day. Yes. There were some challenging moments. Hearing from a speaker who is also a member of WAY and hearing her story can’t help but make you reflect on your own experience and how you’ve come to be in a room full of people who have faced similar heartbreak. But as we all went off to the breakout sessions, me experiencing my first Soundbath and then candle making, I couldn’t help but think about just how important weekends and occasions like this have become to me.

Those thoughts continued as we headed to the spa for a swim and time in the sauna and steam room. Emma and I chatting and putting the world to rights. Catching up with others and making plans for the evening dinner dance. It was just so ridiculously easy and comfortable. As we headed to dinner, posh frock on (any excuse to wear a posh frock!) I knew I’d be in for a fab evening. I was proven right. I was once again victorious in a game of Heads and Tails and another box of Heroes came my way. I introduced someone I had met the day before and someone I had met last year to Tequila Rose, I’m nothing if not generous. We tried to see how many of us we could squeeze into a Photo Booth to take a photo of the victorious winning icebreaker challenge table (the answer is eight people). Some of us crying with laughter at the most ridiculous and surreal conversations we were having. Some of us crying because the emotion had got a bit much being relatively new to WAY and widowhood. I instinctively went over and gave a hug to someone because I could just see that they needed it and if I’ve learnt anything, it’s just how powerful a hug can be at the right time. Some of us catching up and chatting, I spent a lot of time talking to someone I had met last year, we’ve continued to message over the past year but despite the fact we’ve now only seen each other twice in a year, it felt so normal and like old friends talking. At one point I and another volunteer were asked how long we’d known each other, I looked at my watch, did the maths and responded “about 29 hours” to be promptly told that it was as though we’d known each other a lot longer than that. I think a lot of that came down to the very warped sense of humour we both have!

And I noticed that while I was having these conversations, I wasn’t as solely reliant on Emma as I had been in previous years. Yes, I was so relieved to have my comfort blanket back and to know she was there, but we both were having conversations with others and finding our way. Together but also on our own. As I’ve had to do with the rest of my life since becoming eligible to join WAY almost four and a half years ago. Emma runs courses and is passionate about talking about growing around your grief, and I truly believe that this is what so many of us in the room have done or are in the process of doing. It’s different timing for everyone, no grief journey is the same, but we are all doing it. Anyone walking past that room and seeing the smiles, laughter and dancing wouldn’t have had a clue behind the heartbreaking reason that has brought us all together. They’d have just seen a group of people having a good evening. And after all the heartbreak and tears we’ve experienced, that can only be a good thing.

As we checked out of the hotel the next morning, I knew there was one more than I needed to do before I headed home. I needed to brave doing something else on my own. Finding my way to revisit a special place. Just me. Not with Emma or my WAY friends. Not my family. Just me. I was a short drive away from the castle that my nan spent five years living in while she was evacuated. The last time I visited it my family were all together. My grandad and my late husband were still alive. Alzheimer’s hadn’t taken hold of my nan. As I walked around taking photos and videos to show her when I next see her, I couldn’t help but think about how much my life has changed since that last visit. I sat on my own, had a coffee, did some writing and just spent time as me, as Emma.

It hit me that the same day four and half years ago was the day that Mr C experienced his first symptom of COVID-19. The tears fell and I found myself crying for a lot of the journey home. For what I’ve lost. The pain I’ve gone through. The hurt that has come into my life. But I also cried for the good in my life. The people who are only in it because of what I’ve gone through. Everything my daughter and I have been able to achieve in the face of such adversity. The hope we have for the future. The plans we have. It’s the most bittersweet of situations. I’d give everything I have for my late husband to still be here, but I know that’s impossible. And so, I just have to focus on what I do have.

Those of us who formed a close bond last weekend are now part of a WhatsApp group. It’s been quite active this week. Plans being made. Support being given. Conversations that one might say are classic examples of levity. I’ve had to find a new life and a new way since the pandemic turned my world upside down in 2020, but I just know that there is still a future for me, good times ahead and new friends to be made. I owe a lot of that to WAY. It’s one of the reasons my latest fundraising is raising money for the charity. It’s my way of both showcasing Mr C’s photography while also giving back to the charity that has done so much for me.

Because what WAY has shown me most of all is that it is possible to find your way in this new life I’ve found myself in and that you can go on. It’s why I intend to live my life to the full as the best way of honouring my late husband. As the quote on the candle I made last weekend from Elvis Presley says “What’s the good of reaching 90, if you waste 89?”  

Whatever tomorrow brings, I’ll be there

CharlieFest 2024 is done. It’s taken me a couple of days to really think about all that was achieved on Saturday 4 May.  I was quite shell shocked for about 48 hours, but here goes…

There was a reason I chose this date to hold CharlieFest this year. You see, it’s an incredibly pertinent date for me and nothing to do with the fact it’s Star Wars Day (although I have it on good authority that Star Wars is actually quite a good movie and one to watch). It’s because it marked 20 years since I started working at PwC, 15 years since finding out we were pregnant with our first child, 14 years since I met some very special people and 10 years since Sporting Sittingbourne, the Sunday League football team that my late husband co-managed, played their last competitive game. If ever there was a day to come together to celebrate what would have been his 50th birthday this year, it was this one.

I’d love to be able to sit and write about how confident I felt going into the day. How little I stressed I about it. But this would be a total and utter lie. At the end of February (yes, that’s right, with just over two months to go before the event) I sent messages on group chats advising that I’d have to look at numbers when I got back from my holiday in April, and I’d be making a decision on whether I’d need to cancel. I was concerned about numbers. I was concerned about the financial hit I might need to take. People told me I was overthinking, that while the date was so prevalent for me, others would only really wake up to it and think about it closer to the time. But these reassurances didn’t really alleviate any worries for me.

In mid-March I went for drinks with two people who were organising the football match for me. They’ve had the pleasure (or perhaps misfortune?) of knowing me for nearly 30 years now. I’m sure that’s why I was allowed to get away with the forthright message I sent them, they know what to expect. I said to them that night that I was just worried that people would think I was flogging a dead horse and should just not bother. Again. They reassured me that no-one was thinking that. That I just needed to be patient and wait.

This would probably have been a lot for easier for me had I not been out of the country for two and a half weeks in the run up to it. When my daughter and I got back from holiday, we literally had three weeks to go until CharlieFest took place. I think I underestimated just how much emotion was going to come our way between the end of March and now. We did have an unexpected bereavement in the family, but I still should have envisaged that there were going to be a lot of poignant moments in the run up to Saturday’s event. As I mentioned, we were out of the country, and this was the trip my late husband and I had always planned to do for my 40th. A trip down the West Coast of the USA. We were away for my birthday which was the anniversary of him being admitted to ITU. The trip did us the power of good, but it was poignant, nonetheless. We had the fourth anniversary of his death which saw us attending a funeral in the church where our wedding, our daughter’s baptism and his Memorial Service all took place. It was painful. The following day I had some unexpected stresses and additional pain. Two weeks before hosting an event, and I was emotionally exhausted and drained. I was beginning to doubt whether I could even do it.

You see organising it has felt a bit like a full-time job. Except I also have a full-time job. I’m a mother. I have my own life to lead as well. It’s been full on. But I was sensible. I gave myself permission to take some time off on the odd occasion. I went for dinner and drinks with a friend. I spent quality time with my oldest friends who’ve known me since I was 11-years-old (although they did tell me the Escape Room we did wasn’t for me to escape from the real world and lock myself in). I let myself watch TV which is something I’ve only recently been able to do again. I relaxed, was able to shut out the rest of the world and be in my safe space. I started doing some breathing meditation. I decided to take a break from social media and doing my daily Be Thankful to give me one less thing to do.

Yet stress never really leaves me. When I sent my sister a message while on the train on Thursday morning with the two words “I’m done” she queried whether this was about anything in particular or just life. Keeping me grounded once again. Thursday was a hard day. I cried a lot. Too much going on in my brain. I sent a message to one of my closest friends asking if they had half an hour for a coffee or a hug on Friday because I needed a friend.

But. The ticket sales for CharlieFest continued to go up. The weather forecast was looking better. The supportive messages were coming in. By Friday, it felt like I was a bit more in control. The last-minute random thoughts and ideas I was having seemed to be making sense. I spent Friday night laminating. I love a laminator, it can’t be denied. My sister painted my nails in honour of CharlieFest and all things he liked, a camera, a microphone, a yellow heart, a fez and a football. We had an early night.

And then the big day came. CharlieFest was upon us. We started setting up at 9am. Me, my mum, my stepdad and my sister. The supportive messages were coming in. My notifications were pinging. I read a couple from friends who weren’t able to make it. “Have the most wonderful day. You are quite simply amazing, and Charlie would be so blinking proud of you. I’m so, so sorry we can’t be with you today. The biggest compliment I can give you is that I never met Mr Stuart Charlesworth, but I honestly feel like I knew him so well… because you have kept him alive in so many ways for so many people” and “Hope everything goes to plan today. I know it will be an emotional day but make sure to take time to stand still, take it all in and know Charlie would be so proud of what you have done considering he knew you couldn’t even make a bacon sandwich.” I knew I wasn’t done any more. But I also knew I couldn’t read any more messages because the emotions would build up. So, I stopped. I let the notifications mount and just concentrated on making the day everything we all wanted it to be.

That it was. Everything we wanted it to be. And much, much more. The love in the room was so, so strong. The love on the pitch was so, so strong. There was a real sense of community. To look around and see children on the bouncy castle, people having their faces painted, dancing to the disco, smiles, laughter and hugs. It was simply perfect. There were family, friends, colleagues and people who had never met him but wanted to be there. It was powerful to be a part of.

And then we hit the live music. Starting with the local Rock Choir. As well as On Thin Ice and Phat Gandalf, both of which feature band members who used to be in bands with my late husband. The coming together of so many aspects of his life was so strong. Football. Music. Family. Friends. But the most incredible performance of the night was from our daughter. Who stood up and sung three songs that he used to sing. Two of which featured the vocals of her father. They duetted. In public for the first time ever. As she sang Drive by Incubus, a video featuring photos and videos of them both played behind her. I don’t believe there was a dry eye in the house. As I looked round I could see the tears, the hugs and the emotion. It was palpable. Her fourth and final song of the night was also a nod to the date. The Glee version of Don’t Stop Believin’, the song that always reminds me of her. Because my late husband and I were watching the pilot of Glee when I had my first contraction with her. 15 years since finding out I was expecting her, she sang the song that reminds me of going into labour. Music is kryptonite. Simple as that.

As I looked round the room, I was simply so proud of all that had been achieved. You know, sometimes I amaze even myself. I didn’t do it alone. Not at all. But it was my idea. To see it play out in reality made me feel so humbled. To watch my late husband’s father speak to, and hold the hands of, the ITU nurse who was with Mr C on the day he died was a hell of a moment. We’re back to that word again. Community.

People told me on Saturday that I don’t need to do this again. That I’ve done what I need to do. That I need to live my life now. It’s all said with the very best of intention and love, I do know that. But I wonder if people would say this if I was a marathon runner, if running was my hobby and then I chose to donate money raised to a charity. Because the simple fact is I am living my life. In so many ways. But doing what I do is such a major part of my life. I’m currently having life coaching with a fabulous person to help me make sense of all parts of my life, and she asked me a question nobody else ever has. “Why do you do it?” As I thought about the answer, the emotion and the tears hit me. Because I’d never thought about it and therefore said these words out loud. “Because something good has to come out of the horrific thing that happened to us. It can’t have been nothing. I just can’t have it be for nothing.”

That’s the reality. I don’t do this because I’m living in the past. I do this to turn the most horrific thing in the world into a positive. To be able to help others. To raise awareness of other important charities. But more than that. Being able to be in a room full of people enjoying themselves is something he would have loved. The amount of people who asked me if I was doing it again because they love the community I’ve created and aren’t sure they’d all get together in this way if it wasn’t for CharlieFest. The first words he sang with my daughter on Saturday were “Whatever tomorrow brings, I’ll be there” and in a way he was.

Stuart ‘Charlie’ Charlesworth has left a legacy of community. A legacy of hope. A legacy of love. There is nothing greater in this world. As a message I received yesterday said “He would have loved his legacy being one of people and things he loved coming together. Just amazing.”

* If you would like to make a donation which will go to the Intensive Care Unit via Medway Hospital Charity, please do so via this link.*