This year
This year I laughed a lot.
I faced my fears and made a film. I will never do it again.
I got to feel a warm breeze as I watched Caribbean waves.
I read good books and not enough of them. I lost and found myself in stories.
This year I began learning to be kind to my body. I am still trying.
I was not kind enough to my brain and I paid the price.
I made it through. I asked for help. I am taking one day at a time.
This year I loved.
I was heartbroken.
I grieved.
This year I started a writing course and quit after one session. I remembered I knew how to do it all along.
I tried very hard to put myself first. Often, I failed.
I stood from my wheelchair and clung to a railing to watch the sun set over Manhattan.
I looked for Rocs and I found him.
This year I covered an election for the BBC.
I interviewed for jobs and didn’t get any of them. I ended up doing what I love, anyway.
This year I cried a lot.
I was lucky.
As ever, I was so proud of Stan and Boo.
And over and over again, I was grateful for the army of friends who made sure I got this far.
This year, they were simply the best.
Lucy Webster 