She is here

Two years ago our lives changed forever. Aways, always in my heart and mind Tes xxx

She is here

She is loved so she is here

as love cannot be stolen.
Her smile will not disappear
because she is gone.
She is loved so she is here
in our life and thoughts.
As our mind remains alive
she’ll always be in our heart.
Mum xxx




Tesni dying had brought inspiration to her school to speed up their plans of building a new library, through her passing a new bright colourful learning room exists for others and as her teacher said today, for her, under her invisible cloak.

This small collection of photos goes a small way to showing the lovely details dedicated to her memory, photos inside books, inspirational memories, a Harry Potter wand with her name inscribed – to dalek cakes and blue police box icing.

I felt a tingle of sadness that she did not see it for herself and that she may not have known quite how much she was thought of, particularly during those teenage years when there is so much angst. Then I reminded myself she knew she was loved, so much by her friends, family, by me – she knew. That made me think how important it is to act, to aspire, to go for your dreams, to find courage, to say what you really feel, to argue less, to follow your heart, and I wrote these few words because of it.

Don’t be too late.

Don’t be too late
to say I love you.
To feel the cold.
To see the view.

Don’t be too late
to say I want you.
To feel the love.
To see the want.

Don’t be too late
to say I’m happy.
To feel the laughs.
To see the smiles.

Don’t be too late
to say I miss you.
To feel the gaps.
To see the hope.

Don’t be too late
to say I’m sorry.
To feel the loss.
To see the end.

Don’t be too late
to say I can.
To feel the start.
To see the life.

Don’t be too late.

Your clothes.

Your clothes.

The spotty play suit.
You wore it on stage.
My smile over spilled.
I felt your clothes.

The Bench hoody.
You begged for it.
My heart couldn’t deny.
I smell your clothes.

The skinny green jeans.
You bought with pride.
My last shopping trip.
I stroke your clothes.

The teddy bear onesie.
A Christmas present.
My silly humour.
I hug your clothes.

The trendy bikini.
Packed to sandy sun.
My grown-up girl.
I fold your clothes.

The T-shirt with writing.
Bands I don’t know.
My mind fills with notes.
I watch your clothes.

The purple button coat.
It was bought for me.
My eyes chose you.
I put them away.

Your clothes.


I miss you.

I miss your messy shoes.
I miss colouring your hair.
I miss how music sounds.
When you were around.

I miss your toothbrush.
I miss doing your washing.
I miss how the house sounds.
When you were around.

I miss making your cup of tea.
I miss sharing our pizza.
I miss the busy morning sounds.
When you were around.

I miss sharing our makeup.
I miss our small secrets.
I miss the tvs familiar sounds.
When you were around.

I miss pairing your socks.
I miss ironing your tops.
I miss the laughing sounds.
When you were around.

I miss worrying about you.
I miss getting annoyed with you!
I miss the footstep sounds.
When you were around.

I miss your skin, your kisses.
I miss your hugs, your warmth.
I miss your sleeping sounds.
When you were around.

I miss tickling your back.
I miss playing ‘names’.
I miss your opinionated sounds.
When you were around,

I miss dancing and playing.
I miss your beautiful eyes.
I miss how your mouth sounds.
When you were around.

I miss me.

When you were around.

Dwysan Rowena.



You haven’t eaten your last Easter egg.
Or will watch the new Dr Who.
You haven’t tidied your messy room.
Dozens of odd socks. Waiting for you.

You haven’t finished your homework.
Or bought new things for skiing.
You won’t see the new Hunger Games.
School clothes lie still. Waiting for you,

You haven’t touched your lip gloss.
Or straightened your hair with colour.
You missed your birthday and mine.
Curtains stay open. Waiting for you.

Your crumbs from your lips lie there.
Bed clothes next to your half read book.
Your iPod remains uncharged & your phone.
School books unfinished. Waiting for you.

You haven’t sat watching Ellen or Friends.
Or used your laptop to furiously type.
Your mail continues to arrive, unopened.
Clothes stay still, hanging. Waiting for you.

You haven’t kissed me goodnight, again.
Or smiled with me. Or cried with me.
Your stories with laughter have stopped.
You’re gone, but I’m still. Waiting for you.

By Dwysan Rowena


It’ll be ok, they say.

It’ll be ok, they say.
Lids inside give in
to the heavy tears.
Face crumples.

It’ll be ok, they say.
Heart oozes pain and
your head is cloudy.
Eyelashes sting.

It’ll be ok, they say.
Legs hardly hold
your heavy thoughts.
Throat dries.

It’ll be ok, they say.
Fingers shake slightly
trying to hold on.
Stomach hurts.

It’ll be ok, they say.
Mind cruelly flashes
back uncontrolled.
Mouth silenced.

It’ll be ok, they say.

by Dwysan Rowena



Hope hides in the smiles of others,
in the warmth of a slight touch,
in one word, or many
and in the depth of a glance.

Hope hides in complex lives,
in your continued passion,
in a picture of happiness new
and in tiny feet yet to be born.

Hope hides in lush rainbow fields,
in small spontaneous plans,
in young adventurous laughter
and friendly persuasive voices.

Hope hides in black musical notes,
in stories relayed with glassy eyes,
in the closeness of dancing
and in the willingness to hold.

Hope hides, but has to be found.


by Dwysan Rowena