“David was a brilliant dad. I want to do him proud”
Paul's husband David died in October 2021, after being diagnosed with leukaemia. Now a single dad, Paul is facing a very different journey to the one they'd planned together.
David was three months from retirement when he got the diagnosis, so our dreams of going to Florida, being full-time dads and giving our son Harry* this amazing life just disappeared. We were told David had acute myeloid leukaemia, and something called MDS. Our lives were shattered.
David was so brave. He never wanted to believe that this was it. Whatever was going to happen, he was going to beat this. I don't think he ever really knew the significance of moving to the hospice.
One of the consultants said they'd never met anybody who could compartmentalise the way David did. When they said there was nothing more they could do, we were in floods of tears. Five minutes later I asked David if he wanted to watch a movie. He chose Die Hard 4. I thought, 'Wow. You've just been told that you have no chance of living and you want to watch Die Hard 4.' But he was thinking, 'OK, well, I can't change that. Let's focus on making the most of the time I do have.'
So easy and natural
Looking back, I wish I'd asked Marie Curie for support sooner. You want to try and do it all yourself. I wanted my husband David to know I was there for him. Our first Marie Curie Nurse came to stay with us on 3 October 2021. It was tiring, trying to stay up all night, every night with David, so it was such a welcome relief to have support.
Three wonderful ladies came to look after David for his final three nights at home before he went to the hospice. It was wonderful to have these happy, smiley nurses coming in and sitting down with David. It felt so easy and natural with them.
He had three more nights in the hospice, with me on a mattress by his side, before we said our goodbyes at 8.15pm on 9 October 2021.
A different journey
Those three nights at home were lifesavers because I was really struggling with sleep and getting our little lad to school.
The nurses would come in and I'd show them where the teas and coffees were and give them a bit of background on David, then I could go to bed safe in the knowledge that David was being looked after by experts. I had three very good nights of kip, which is incredible given the circumstances.
This was a time when I was mentally stressed out and having to cope with the fact that it wasn't going to be long until I was a widower and a single dad, which is such a change from the journey and the excitement of a few years earlier when we adopted our little boy.
A brilliant dad
David had this ability not to let things get to him, which is probably why we stuck together for 25 years. I'm a bit full-on and crazy with my ideas.
I described in my eulogy for David that I felt like a kite that was allowed to soar above the clouds in the sky, and that he would gently bring me down to earth – guiding me with care. That's the image I have of him. Of always being the rock. The sensible one. The one that would make the lovely roast dinners, and just always be there but letting me breathe and letting me be myself. He never tried to change me. That is why it worked so well. You find the yin to your yang, the Starsky to your Hutch.
David was a brilliant dad. I was the playful one who would kick a ball about, and David would teach Harry to bake. I have some lovely pictures of them together with a row of cupcakes they made together, which Harry took to school and gave to the teachers.
Remembering David
The first few nights were very tough, when I was planning for the funeral. I normally go to bed in my boxers, and one night about two or three days after David had died Harry came into bed to find me wearing a T-shirt.
'Why are you wearing a T-shirt?' he asked. 'It's one of Dad's,' I said. 'Does that make you feel closer to him?' he asked. 'Yes, I suppose it does,' I said. 'I've got an idea,' he said, and rushed off to his room to get the framed photo we gave him when we first adopted him. He brought it into my room and put it on the windowsill. 'Here, you have this, Dad,' he said. 'David will always be close to you.' That was incredibly sweet. After all the loss he's had in his life, to be able to process that and to share that with me was wonderful.
Another time we were playing with our cats, William and Charlie, on the bed, and he said, 'Why don't we give William and Charlie David's name as a middle name? In fact, can I have David as my middle name?' For a nine-year-old to think of asking that makes me well up.
The best send-off
My last gift to David was his funeral. I kicked into organisational mode and decided this was going to be the best send-off anyone has ever had.
We had a brilliant list of songs that I knew were important to David. I had a recording of him singing God Only Knows by the Beach Boys. The lyrics are so poignant: 'If you should ever leave me, though life would still go on believe me, the world could show nothing to me, so what good would living do me?'
My eulogy is the probably the longest on record at 29 minutes, but I wasn't prepared to give a five-minute summary of someone I knew for 25 years. When I finished speaking, I said that David wouldn't want to miss his opportunity to say goodbye. Over the speakers, you could suddenly hear David singing the opening bars of God Only Knows. It was a very emotional moment.
Doing David proud
I say to Harry, 'You, me and David was the best book I've ever read. It's the best film I've ever seen, and those memories will never be tarnished. We can always read that favourite book. We can always watch that favourite film. But now we need now to think about how we write the sequel.'
Just because David isn't around, it doesn't mean Harry's not going to have an amazing 10th birthday party. It doesn't mean we're not going to go on our first holiday abroad this summer.
Life can go on. It's not easy but we'll do David proud. That's the only way you can deal with it. I've always been an upbeat person and David would want us to be happy, and would probably want me to find love again, so that there's someone else in Harry's life to help carry on the journey.
We created a memory box; I made Harry responsible for putting it together. He came back with this tiny little box and I said, 'I think we can do better than that.' I found this wonderful silver hamper. Harry put the PG Tips monkey David loved in it and we put loads of photos in there. It sits in our living room with David's ashes on top of it. We're slowly adjusting and adapting to life without him.
*Name has been changed
If you want to talk to someone following a bereavement, we're here for you. Call the Marie Curie Support Line for free on 0800 090 2309. Find out more about our bereavement support service.
