Now, almost four months after Phyllis lost her partner to liver cancer, she has been left contemplating just how cruel life can be.

"One tragedy in a family is hard enough to deal with, I don't think it's fair that we've had two. We didn't deserve another tragedy," she sighs.

"I feel like half of my life is missing now."

Phyllis, a Protestant from north Belfast, first met Michael Brett, a Catholic from Andersonstown, west Belfast, in a city centre restaurant in the summer of 1978. The couple began dating, caring not for their religious and cultural differences, but for each other.

Six months later, the smitten couple got engaged.

"We got married on August 2, 1980, in Carnmoney parish church, the Church of the Holy Evangelists, followed by a Catholic blessing," explains Phyllis.

"I suppose both families had their reservations back then, I think they were worried about the Troubles and what might happen as a result, more than anything else."

They went on to have three children Gavin, Tara, now 22, and Philip (15) and made Glengormley their home.

The Bretts lived in peace during the Troubles. However, it was when peace came to Northern Ireland and the guns were supposedly silenced that death came knocking on the Brett's door ... the first time.

Their happy family life was shattered on the night of Sunday, July 29, 2001, when eldest child Gavin, affectionately called Goon by his friends, was shot in an indiscriminate sectarian attack close to his family home at the junction of the Hightown and Hollybrook Roads.

Gavin, who was raised a Protestant along with his siblings, was walking home with his Catholic best friend Michael Farrell when a car slowed down and shots were fired.

Michael was hit in the ankle, Gavin died at the scene.

After receiving a phone call to alert them of the shooting, Phyllis' husband Michael rushed around to the front of the estate to search for their son, whom he later described emotionally as "his best friend" .

Phyllis decided to stay in the house to mind youngest son Philip, who was upstairs in bed fast asleep.

Middle child Tara was out at her part-time job waitressing.

Phyllis said: "In my own mind, I already knew that Gavin was gone.

"I don't know how much time elapsed but the commotion woke Philip up and he came down the stairs to see what was going on.

"I phoned around to my friend Sandra as Gavin had been around at her house with her son, Gavin, earlier on.

"We met at the bottom of the estate ... I hung back because I didn't want Philip to see too much.

"Two women came over to us and one of them said, 'Are you his mummy?' and then she shook her head. She had been around there and seen Gavin ... she knew."

Gavin's paramedic father battled in vain to save his teenage child, the son he laughed and joked with, the son he played pool with, the son he shared a pint with.

There was nothing he could do and in a cruel irony, the man who devoted his life to saving others was unable to save his own flesh and blood. Gavin died in his father's arms on the blood-soaked pavement yards from the sanctuary of his own home.

"It's quite ironic," says Phyllis, " that Michael was the last person with Gavin before he died and now he's the first up in heaven with him. He always felt that he should have been able to save him. To the outside world, I appeared to be the stronger one ... I was only trying to be strong for Michael.

"It devastated the whole family. For a while I suppose there was a numbness. It wasn't real. There were so many people in and out of the house ... it didn't stop for weeks."

When asked what she misses most about her son, she whispers through tears: " Him being here." She takes a moment to compose herself and gives the question some more thought. "I feel he was cheated out of the rest of his life. He was too young to die.

"All his friends are growing up, going off to Australia for a year or getting married," she sighs, as tears roll down her cheeks. "Gavin should be doing that too."

Just at that moment her daughter Tara's son, Jack, enters the living room. The blonde-haired three-year-old is the nephew Gavin never got to meet - the grandson Michael will never see growing up.

"As a small child, Gavin was very placid and easy-going - that never really changed as he grew up. He was dark like Michael and he inherited his height from him. Michael was 6ft 6? inches! I'm 5ft 10, but in this household I looked small," she smiles.

"He was full of life, very bubbly, a bit of a practical joker. He was kind and considerate and he liked to please everyone. He never really gave me any bother. He wanted to work in IT. He'd just finished his A levels and was waiting for his results."

Gavin's friend Michael Farrell recovered from his ankle wound. However, it took a long time for him to heal emotionally ... that is, if he has.

"Obviously he has never forgotten what happened but, thank goodness he's been able to get on with his own life. Michael's engaged to be married now. It took him a long time to come around ... In a way, my husband Michael felt he had to protect him after Gavin died.

"He liked looking after people, he was very much a people's person. He loved meeting people and talking to people. He seemed to have a natural forte for getting on with people."

Paying tribute to her husband, she says he panicked at the diagnosis, but in the end he accepted that he was going to die.

"Michael took ill on St Patrick's Day with severe pains on his side. We were over in Blackpool with Philip and the Manchester United Supporter's Club. He wasn't really well the whole weekend.

"We came home and by Tuesday he was particularly bad, he was practically crawling on his hands and knees. He went to the doctors, he was very jaundiced. The doctor took one look at him and sent him for tests."

The couple found out on Good Friday that the tests had discovered shadows on the liver.

Phyllis continues: "His doctor told him that it was cancer and it would be treatable so we thought at least he had a chance to fight it. A few weeks later, in the Belfast City Hospital, when his oncologist came back from holiday we were told there was nothing they could do.

"He wasn't keen on sending him for chemotherapy. The cancer had spread to both sides of Michael's liver.

"He'd said to me 'I'm frightened. I don't want to die'.

"He thought he was too young ... he was too young. I think he felt cheated - Gavin was cheated and so was he. He had much more living to do. We were making plans for the future."

Michael and Phyllis decided to explore other options, including the partial removal of the liver and a new drug from America, in the hope of prolonging Michael's life only to come up against obstacle after obstacle.

" He lost all power of his legs towards the end. If we helped him out of his chair," recalls Phyllis, "he wasn't able to walk by himself or keep himself up. He told me that getting up the stairs at night was like climbing Mount Everest."

Trying in vain to fight the disease, he had one session of chemotherapy. It was to no avail and 10 days later, he was admitted into hospital: "I was told at that stage he only had weeks left. He died three days later on Wednesday, June 27."

His death, although expected, was sudden. "No one thought Michael would go so quick - it was about eight weeks from diagnosis to death - not even the medical profession could have predicted it.

"I knew he was going to die, it was terminal and nothing could be done.

"I kept thinking he would last another while longer, that I would have him for another little bit. That didn't happen - he went from being a healthy man to a stranger nearly. He wasn't Michael at all."

Losing the father of her children after the anguish of losing her first-born was a blow that Phyllis (49) feels she "didn't deserve."

The second heartbreak in the Brett family has left her feeling "empty" and " lost".

"I'm finding it very hard to cope with second time around. I can't get my head around it.

"I'm on my own and I feel empty ... a bit lost."

"We were at the stage of our lives where we had more time to ourselves with the kids growing up and doing their own thing.

"Suddenly, all that is gone. He spent his life helping other people ... in the end, no one could help him."