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20 Aug Deb

Haven’t written for a bit having a strange old time. Had to look at Josh’s MRI scan and I don’t do that very often. Admittedly it’s from more than a year ago but I know not much will have changed. The damage is still “extensive” and “permanent”. There’s still every chance it could all go horribly wrong.

I try very hard not to think about it but sometimes it just creeps up on me and I’m reminded that what I see isn’t really what I’m getting.

I look at my 6ft 3ins of 15 stone bloke and wonder where the skinny, funny, wiser than a box full of monkeys Josh went to. I occasionally get glimpses of a person he used to be but most of the time it’s a new Josh. One I’m learning to live with. One I’ve grown to love. And like.

Because despite what everyone tells me… about being grateful he’s alive – and of course I am – and euphoric that he’s “not as bad as he could have been” – whatever that means – the old Josh, the baby I brought home, the little boy who always galloped around on an imaginary horse and had footie trials for his beloved Leeds United – well he’s gone. There’s a new Josh living with me now and sometimes I wonder how we got here. Our lives are so very different  and of course I ask myself whether he remembers how he was. Before this. Whether he ever asks why him.

I don’t. I don’t torture myself because if I sat and agonised about him trapped in a body that doesn’t work the way it did or a mind that can’t see the world as it used to… I’d start crying and I’d never stop. Gosh not sure where any of that came from.

Anyway here’s one of my favourite pictures. I think Josh was 14.