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It’s been six years since I started to talk about the effect of my mother’s suicide, sharing my story for the first time, by invitation of my now friend Angela Samata at a private audience with the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. I sat terrified with a collective of others bereaved as part of a Read.
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Shadow puppet hills Fade gently Drifting backwards to shadows Born of millenia old Shifting violent landscapes Now silent in hazy stillness Ancestral beasts sheltering On pitted memorial benches Vivid greens fade back to a bluish grey As your memory quietens Between the mourning birdsong. Read.