Exactly a year on from my diagnosis I went to see The Angel of the North on the way back from Center Parcs near Penrith. As luck would have it, there was nobody else about, so I just stood at the feet and hugged it. When I lived in London I'd often seen it en route to Scotland and back and really wanted to stop off. Somehow this particular day just seemed right. The second year on I went to Belfast as that was where my dad was from and he died 12 months before my diagnosis (nearly to the day). He had never been back since my grandparents died in the very early 60s and I had something belonging to him that I wanted to put in the water,by Harland and Wolff's (my dad had worked there before his WW2 service, in a workshop along from the Titanic Dock). I let go of my dad at that point and resolved to get on with life again. Once again it felt the right thing to do; in going to Belfast I found a bit of myself that I had lost. It was actually quite a strange feeling to be honest.
Last year I didn't really think about things as much.