Nothing can prepare you for that moment in time.  An anxiously awaited appointment with a consultant who soberly informs your much loved husband of 42 years that he has terminal cancer and his chances of survival are slim at best.  I remember staggering out of the Freeman Hospital clutching on to Steven then sobbing in the car as we rang our two lovely sons.  The trauma and shock of that moment lies deep within me but, with help,  I am learning to draw on learnt experiences and use them as tools of strength.

I cared for my husband at home for a year and watched a fit, vivacious man go from striding up mountains to being helped on a short walk around the garden.  Until he couldn’t.  Morphine doses were increased. A wheelchair appeared.  McMillan nurses were in our home to help him shower.  Until he couldn’t.  I remember the thud as he fell out of bed early one morning and the love on my son’s face as he gently lifted his dad back into bed.  Until he couldn’t be in that bed. It broke my heart as I sat in the back of the ambulance as he was transported on his last journey to Marie Curie. We had him for just four more days.

As a wife suddenly become carer you have to get through this nightmarish time in your life, although there are such special moments I wouldn’t have missed.  As a carer you feel exhausted, anxious, terrified, alone, frustrated, angry,  all mixed in with a strong sense that this isn’t really happening – this is not meant to be, it will go away.  He will get better – it was all a mistake.

Of course it wasn’t a mistake and my lovely husband died.  We planned his funeral together and even managed to laugh about certain things. He has a burial plot in a beautiful woodland setting where I will also be headed when my time comes.  This gave him comfort and the fact that he would be laid to rest in a beautiful place that he had ridden round on his horse, cycled and walked. I still find that grave hard to look at.  When I see his name on a plaque and his dates of existence it seems unreal – I suppose I’m still expecting him to breeze in from a walk or a cycle holiday.

I am nine months down the line in my life without him.  This winter has been lonely, sad and at sometimes overwhelming and daunting.  I made myself eat nutritious food and rest.  I learned to spend time just being, being alone with my thoughts was helpful.  I’m very lucky because I have a loving family around me who keep an eye on me when they can but if I’ve learned anything this last year it is this – ultimately,  we do have to be totally responsible for ourselves. I am really proud of myself – for the things I have achieved this year.

Of course I had help – friends, family and I sought the help of a cancer therapist who I could talk to while caring for Steven, and after he died I reached out to a Life Coach (Alex Brown) whose practical advice has been invaluable in helping me accept, heal and tentatively move forward in a life of being just me. I’m still finding it hard to think only of the good times my husband and I had – and there were many.  The dark moments of his last few months still haunt me but I allow the thoughts to linger longer and discuss them with people I trust. And now, just as the light of summer approaches so are those glimmers – those wonderful memories of the man who wanted to be remembered.

PR