Mum. Unedited.

Yesterday we went to the coast for the first time since my brother died. We used to all go to the coast together every year. At least one trip if not more. Hire a house by the beach. Drink wine. Play Pictionary. Take walks on the beach at sunset. Just for a couple of days. But they were perfect days. It was hard this time around. As one would expect. It's always hard to do something for the first time since you last shared the same experience with someone you love. Knowing it will never be the same again. I felt sad knowing how much my son would've enjoyed having him there. And then it dawned on me, one day soon... all the firsts will end. This was the first time we went down the beach without him. But the next time won't be. This trip to the coast was special. The next one won't be. And soon.. one day, there will be no more firsts. I remember the first time I ate a Toblerone after his death, the first time I drank Veuve Cliquot without him. The first time I went

My brother died last July. He was 37. He was climbing a mountain in Switzerland. A large rockfall took down both him and his guide. They fell nearly 700m. To their deaths. Or at least I hope so. It took emergency personnel 9 hours to rescue them, so I hope they weren't lying on the mountain in their broken bodies waiting for life to leave them. This was his second attempt at the mountain. Life doesn't give you second chances. He should've known that. I didn't mean that. One life fades... Death is certainly all the cliches you hear, and more. In one moment everything can be different. Except it's like that for every moment. We are just too busy to notice. I still have all his bags and climbing gear, posted back to me from Chamonix, sitting in my son's wardrobe waiting patiently to be unpacked. I can't even let go of the postage stamp. I did have to go through his suitcase to pull out the 4 blocks of Italian chocolate from Torino. The chocolate