There is no easy way to tell you this. No easy way to write these words.

Whitstable. September.

My brother Martin’s 35-year-old, long-term partner Juliet has died. A sweet-natured, complicated woman who wanted a baby very much, finally conceived two years ago.

She was a wonderful mother to my nephew Oscar. A really lovely child.

We heard the results today (13th Sept) of the autopsy. She died of acute kidney failure which lead to a heart attack.

Not one to complain she may have been in some discomfort for months but failed to tell anyone.

She lay dead on their kitchen floor for a very long time before my brother found her body. My infant nephew sat by her, maybe for 24 hours.

The neighbours heard him crying but did nothing.

My mother told me that the little boy had opened cupboards looking for something to eat. He found a pot of yogurt.

My brother broke down the door. He found her. Found them.

There are no suspicious circumstances.

Oscar has gone to live with my mother, his grandmother. My mother is a really great-grandmother.

The local newspaper report here.