Small targets, regulate treats, regular visits from family and friends and as much laughter as we could muster. For 5 months Sandra fought. Blind in one eye, completely bed bound with careers 3 times a day as well as her mum, and then me taking care of her morning, evenings and night time. I slept on the floor on a mattress next to her bed for her last 5 months. The events of her final night haunt me 10 years on and I guess always will. Did I do enough? What could I have done better? Why was I so compliant? Why didn’t I scream and shout at the hospital when Sandra needed more morphine? Sandra just made her 52nd birthday.
I had therapy sessions, reluctantly, after Sandras passing, but it was Martine who brought me back from the deepest, darkest place I had ever been. Slowly I was able to go an hour without crying, then half a day, and then a whole day. She got me to write poetry about my deepest hurt, my anger, my frustration. All her teachings got me through.
As Martine brought me back to the world, feelings between us grew over the months. Martine had survived her husbands death from cancer after they had fought against it for several years. Survived, but she was not living. Going through the routine of life but detached from the wider world and just existing. No joy or fun beyond that from her growing university aged boys, two of which had flown and the third was about to fly the nest. In helping me, Martine brought herself back to life. We had 5 terrific years. So many experiences. So many people. So many places. So much laughter. Sensitive to her boys feelings Martine bought a beach house on the south coast for us to live in. Neither of us wanted to live in our respective family homes and trample on the memories of our dear departed spouses. It was Martine’s dream home and with me by her side she had the courage to fulfill her dream and together we remodelled the house and I’m really proud that the house was featured in one of those beautiful homes magazines. Martine was thrilled at that. Not because she was boastful, nothing further from the truth. It was an endorsement that she was able to create a beautiful seaside home for us and her yet to be borne grandchildren to stay in, refurbished on a shoe string from up cycled materials and extensive use of pallet wood as well as our own creativity and labour.
Martine was always on a diet. Her last thing was one of these residential places where you live on a carrot a day for two weeks and pay a handsome price for the privilege. She didn’t need to but always felt she needed to lose weight. So when she couldn’t finish our walk with the dogs on the beach I put it down to lack of proper nutrition. Ambulance call outs later things were not getting better in spite of increased food intake.
Martine told me later she knew she had cancer. Dealing with her husbands illness she had researched cancer to find a cure for him. She knew the disease inside out. Two blood tests and the dreaded first words from the oncologist “so how much do you know about your condition?” 3 months due to pancreatic cancer was the terrifying diagnosis. Martine was 58.
Both being widowed by cancer we had discussed this scenario at length. Both seen our partners have chemo and knew quality of life during treatment was not clever. Martine decided to get her affairs in order, no mean feat and live her last 3 months to the fullest. Leaving her boys parentless was an horrendous prospect for her, but she had brought them up over the past 9 years to be self reliant and supportive of each other. Financially they would be fine and they already lived together in the London flat, but she continually worried about leaving them so in her South African way, set about practical ways of ensuring they were left no worries, only left with the inevitable grief of losing their mum to deal with. Martine worked to achieve her goal. She wrote her memoir for them as well.
The end was in sight. I was fighting to keep her alive now 24 hours a day. Medication, injections, washing, dressing, I did it all. So many times I had brought her out of a coma, it was getting harder and more frequent but thank fully she had no pain, unlike by darling Sandra.
her work for the boys completed, martine told me she had had enough now. She was too tired of fighting, after a particularly bad night in which I had used up all the injections i had terrible trouble getting more insulin injections to keep her out of a coma for the next night. Martine said goodbye to each of her 3 boys. Told me I had to go out and find someone to love after she was gone and not waste my time mourning her, typical South African bluntness! I tended her that night at home and she died in my arms. I can still feel her heart fighting to stay alive, beating it felt like a thousand times a minute until it just stopped, and she was resting peacefully. She had chosen the time of her passing, how and where. Martine had the last say, the cancer didn’t.
Totally devastated I was back in that place again. I hit rock bottom again. But I had been a good student and learned the lessons Martine passed on to me. I survived on my own, just. I wrote poetry about Martine. I had written her a verse of poetry every day we were together. I walked, boy did I walk. I remember my website refusing to walk as far as I wanted, needed, so I walked the dog a couple of miles and then went for another 10 mile walk without her, music blaring full blast in my earbuds, trying to exhaust myself and get out all of the anger and find some peace. It helped but I had forgotten the most important lesson. Verbalise the pain and hurt. Martine had me do this on a website for widowers she had used and it really helped me. I tried the same website but it had changed and was not very active. Searching I found WAY and joined. It was a brilliant idea of Martines. I soon found people enduring far worse than I was. It was humbling. I started to count my blessings. Pretty soon I was filling my night hours listening and helping others. You can’t believe what pain and hurt others have to endure, it put my life and it’s misfortunes in a whole new light.
i have been lucky. I have two fabulous boys. I was blessed to have Sandra for many years. Blessed with Martine for 5 wonderful years, far too short a time. I had my health. A job I enjoyed and paid well. Wonderful supportive parents, neighbours and work colleagues. Counting my blessings and with Martines instructions not to waste my life mourning her ringing in my ears, I began to feel the desire to live again start to grow.
Now here’s the thing. Society and everyone in it has a predetermined view on what is an acceptable time after the death of a spouse/partner before they should even consider trying to form a loving relationship with a new partner. A year, two years, what is acceptable. Martine and I were very conscious of not being seen to be insulting the memory of Sandra by starting a serious relationship between us within a year. That seemed to be the generally publicly acceptable period of mourning. We started seeing each other 5 months after Sandras passing. Thank heavens we didn’t waste more time apart to satisfy the public acceptability view.
