Des 2

 

Ian dear,
I’m so deeply sorry about Des. Losing the person you shared 27 years with is shattering. What the two of you had was real, lasting love. In by Des’s own words, you made him very happy.  You have always been close to my heart, even across the years when contact between us was simply unavailable.

 You were never absent from my thoughts. When my mum died, I found your letters from the 90s and relived the warmth and connection there was between us, and the weight of what followed. Life took me very far away in those years for survival, just as Childline had advised in 1986. go to university to get help for the severe childhood trauma. Taking that advice cost me contact with you, and everything and everybody I had ever known . Though it is distant now, I do remember the wrench .  In a world without mobile phones, email, or social media, disappearing was never a choice, it was the reality of survival.  I always hoped you would find someone I remember you saying, “ Even if he is gay, he’ll probably fancy you more than me “. Well, Des did. He fancied you, then loved you. Our generation didn’t have ways to stay connected, and I was dealing with circumstances that meant I had no fixed home or address for a long time.  My absence  was never wasn’t distance of the heart, it was survival.  Shortly after, my life fractured in ways that made ordinary contact impossible. 

Knowing that you and Des found each other, and built a life that brought so much love and joy, brings me comfort even now. I hope that, in time, the depth of what you shared will bring you some comfort too, because a love like that doesn’t end. Des will always be with you.

I’m holding you gently in my thoughts, and wishing you steadiness and care as you take each step through this grief.

With love

When my mum died, I found your letters from the early 1990s. Reading them again, I felt both the warmth of that time and the weight of what followed. Shortly after, my life fractured in ways that made ordinary contact impossible. I was advised to leave everything familiar behind and go to university in the hope of finding support after severe childhood trauma. That decision cost me my home, my stability, and any fixed address for years. In a world without mobile phones, email, or social media, disappearing was not a choice—it was the reality of survival.

I am so very sorry about Des. Losing the person you shared 27 years of life and love with is a devastating blow. What the two of you built together mattered deeply. By Des’s own words, you made him happy—and that kind of love leaves a permanent mark on the world.

I want to say something gently and honestly, because time and silence can invite misunderstanding. You have always been close to my heart, even across the years when we were no longer in contact.

When my mum died, I found your letters from the early 1990s. Reading them again, I felt both the warmth of that time and the weight of what followed. Shortly after, my life fractured in ways that made ordinary contact impossible. I was advised to leave everything familiar behind and go to university in the hope of finding support after severe childhood trauma. That decision cost me my home, my stability, and any fixed address for years. In a world without mobile phones, email, or social media, disappearing was not a choice—it was the reality of survival.

I say this not to draw attention to myself, but to be clear: my absence was never indifference, and never a lack of care. It was the consequence of circumstances that took all my strength simply to endure.

Knowing that after those years you found Des, and that the two of you went on to build a long life filled with love, steadiness, and joy, means more to me than I can properly say. Twenty-seven years together speaks for itself. I hope that, when the rawness of grief allows, you’ll be able to take comfort in just how much happiness you gave one another—because that love does not disappear. It remains, quietly but faithfully.

I am holding you with real affection and respect as you move through this loss, and I wish you gentleness, support, and peace in the days ahead.