In 2013 I was appointed to my dream job. The downside: it meant moving from the Midlands to Lancashire with my (very supportive) husband, and he had been diagnosed with incurable cancer two years earlier and was receiving chemotherapy. He seemed to be responding well to the treatment, but we both felt it made sense for me to become the main wage earner.
Just four months after we moved, a secondary tumour became unmanageable and he died shortly after Christmas. At the same time, my father, who still lived in the Midlands, was admitted to hospital, then had to move into a care home, and died five months after my husband.
Two major bereavements within six months, when I was adjusting to a fairly demanding new job and a new location, and most of my usual support network were 100 miles down the M6, was horrendous, even though my new colleagues and neighbours were wonderful.