I have just listened to a couple of women, their voices laced with empathy, talking on the radio about grief. They would think me a hard bitch or in denial — my husband died 4 years ago — I loved him — I think of him every day. BUT I moved on with my life almost immediately — the reasons for this are simple.

1. I always knew he was going to die and not just because everyone dies — sometimes I think people forget this. He was also 10 years older than me and he had cancer and he smoked and drank and ate bacon sandwiches and always lived life to the full.

2. I had planned for his death — I consciously valued my friends, not letting my other relationships dwindle during his illness. Our affairs were in order, we had discussed his funeral, he had an up-to-date will, I knew what he wanted me to do with his possessions. I had something suitable to wear for a funeral and had my hair cut regularly just in case.

3. I had an outline plan for my life afterwards — visiting family and spending time with my interesting, lively women friends, writing and not making any decisions about my life for at least twelve months.

3. Ever since his diagnosis I had known his prognosis (he had preferred not to be told) and I dreaded his passing — the mode of his dying — I did not want him to suffer — I knew he would loathe invalidity — he never gave in to his illness and clung on to his extrovert persona regardless of what the illness took from him. This meant that being in hospital was exhausting for him and he hated it.

4. In the event his death was dramatic but almost instantaneous, this may have been traumatic to his son who also witnessed it but, to me it was a huge relief — he had gone suddenly, a massive haemorrhage and complete collapse. No pneumonia, no difficulty breathing, no pain, just a big surprise. He had remained himself until the bitter end and now he was gone.

I was alone, but I had a plan and knew what to do.

Moving on? A human life is a very short span –you cannot afford to squander any of it. When opportunities arise one has to grab them while you can. The trauma of bereavement gives you a little burst of rejuvenating adrenalin — you can’t afford to waste that either!

Sometimes we confuse grief with guilt, with fear of the unknown and with loneliness, all of which are part of it. I would urge folk that the best way to avoid these is to think about them before the event, come to terms with what is ahead, anticipate and plan, be it joining a choir, taking up croquet or talking with friends.

And children (I am well) but don’t fall into the trap of thinking your Mum or Dad will always be there!