If you hadn’t died. I wouldn’t have had to fight for insurance money to help care for our children.

If I hadn’t had to fight for insurance money, I would not have been sent the forms that had to be witnessed by a JP.

If I hadn’t had to have my signature witnessed by a JP I would never have been bitten (“mouthed”) by his dog.

If his gumby dog hadn’t clipped my thumb with his tooth when I bent down to pat it, I wouldn’t have got an infected hand.

If I didn’t have an infected hand, I wouldn’t have had a fever.

If I didn’t have a fever, I wouldn’t have taken a day off work.

If I hadn’t taken the day off work, I would have been rushing to get ready instead of going  outside with the rubbish that morning and sprained my ankle (badly) falling down a single step.

If I hadn’t sprained my ankle, I wouldn’t have gone to the doctor.

If I hadn’t gone to the doctor, she wouldn’t have asked about my infected hand.

If she didn’t ask about my infected hand, she wouldn’t have given me antibiotics.

If she hadn’t given me antibiotics, I wouldn’t be sitting here with nausea, intermittent diarrhea and expecting the third side effect to be hitting me any time soon.

So that’s why being beached on the couch with a buggered ankle, vomit bucket and intermittent mad, limping dashes to the toilet is YOUR FAULT.

At least my hand is not infected anymore.

I miss you.

I love you.