The first thing I am is a mum. Like any other. Someone who, if called for, would do anything for her kids. And that time is now.
The ship that steers the rocky seas, I am parent, the only parent, to two sons. Now officially men, but still boys to me. Since 2014, the anchor and the sail, after their dad – my husband, died from cancer.
Over the years, we liaised loss and grappled with grief, but became as close as a family of three, could be. My two little boys, aged 13 and 9 when their dad died, are now 21 and 18. One mum and two sons. Big gigantic sons, in height and heart-man mountains, like their dad.
We learned to swim through the murky water we found ourselves in, and then life threatened to sink our ship again. At 21 years old, my eldest son was diagnosed with a brain tumour.
My name is Emma Giles, and this is my life: as a widow, mum, human, trying to keep us going, trying to keep the ship afloat and steering us to a sacred island where health and happiness rise over the horizon and peace prevails. There are just a few (more) mountains to climb first.
Long live the fighters 