The First Of Many Firsts

Yesterday I went on holiday with the kids for the first time. We are at the Hobbit Hole in North Shire, North Yorkshire. In a sad twist of fate, Laura booked this holiday two years ago but it was cancelled due to Covid. So here we are, on a holiday she booked for us, without her. 

I have found the days leading up to this trip hard. There has been a general feeling of trepidation. It is the first real first of many firsts. Yes, there have been a few firsts before this; the first time we had Sunday Dinner at home without her, the first time we went out for a meal or the cinema without her or the first time I took the kids to a party without her. But this one is different. She would have been organised and had a plan. Things that I'm a little more loose with. It's not for the want of trying to do that planning/organising thing, it's just my heart has been so heavy at the thought of going without her. After all it was only eight weeks ago we went to Edinburgh for weekend to see The Lion King. Just eight weeks ago. Together. As a unit. As a family. 

She was really looking forward to coming here. It was something a little different. A real Hobbit Hole. She booked a Hobbit Hole in the Lake District once, but it was just a basic room built into a hill. It wasn't proper Hobbit Hole like this. In her heart I knew she was a little disappointed as it wasn't exactly what she had hoped or imagined, such was her eye for detail. But this is exactly the sort of thing that she strived to do for the kids. She always wanted to do and try new things for them. She booked Lapland UK a few years ago and it was absolutely magical. Her reaction to the look on the kids faces was as memorable as theirs. It was exactly the same as her face when watching the kids faces at the opening refrain of "Ah Zabenya" at The Lion King. There were tears. From both of us. It was a beautiful moment that will live with me forever. Just at that instant as the show started, Laura tapped me quietly on the shoulder and with tears in her eyes nodded in the direction of the kids and there they were, faces transfixed, eyes wide in wonder with beaming smiles. It was just perfect. 

Of course it was even more emotional as Laura knew that moments like these with the kids would be her last. We already knew that her time with us was short. We were, at that point, three months into the year that she had been given. It never stopped her planning though. She wanted to do so many things with the kids that ultimately we will never do together. She booked a trip to the real Lapland this winter and also tea at the Ritz and Phantom Of The Opera (our favourite that we have seen many times, including Vegas) in London for us. But the dream was to take the kids to Disneyland. She wanted that so badly. It was the main thing on her Living List. She was on the verge of booking it when her condition suddenly worsened. I will take them at one point but I imagine that it will be every bit as hard as this simple trip has been emotionally, whether it's next year or in five years time. 

So this has just been a simple trip. A few days away in a place a mere hours drive from home but I feel her loss more keenly right now as I have ever felt it. It pains me to know that we will never go places together as a family, with her making that experience magical and thoughtful and as well planned as only she could. It hurts even more when I look back knowing that she knew that. This has been the first of many firsts but the first of many firsts is infinitely less painful than the last of many lasts. 

The Word

Laura knew. She always knew.

It was during the pandemic, so I wasn't allowed into hospital. I sat outside in the car park while she sat alone in the waiting room. We had been there from 11am, it had now gone 3pm. People who had been in after her were getting seen to and had left. Then she called me and said that I was allowed to come in. She had a theory that the people who got the all clear where being seen to first, then those, us, were last. Saving the worse 'til last. 

She knew.

I guess everyone hears the news in the same way: "we're sorry to say that the tests have came back positive, you have cancer" It's so tough to hear, to process, to actually understand. The Word itself. Cancer. My brain struggled with it. Squeezing Laura's hand a little tighter, as they briefed us, seemed like a futile gesture in the face of the Word. But its all I could muster in that moment. The Word froze me. 

They then gave us some time to let it sink in, to cry and to try to understand the repercussions of what we had just been told. The rest is a bit hazy. When they returned they did try to reassure us, reassure her, that it would be okay; she was young, fit and healthy. She could beat it. It's going to be difficult, yes, but they seemed confident, without losing the gravity of the situation, that she would beat it and fully recover. 

In retrospect, I think I knew this too. This was solely based on my knowing Laura for the last 20 years. She was tough and determined. However, it wasn't until she was well into her chemotherapy that I, to my eternal shame, actually realised how incredibly strong she was, both mentally and physically. 

The half hour drive back home was largely done in silence. We had a quick conversation about the kids and we decided that they didn't need to know for now. We'd cross that bridge, and the many other bridges that were being hastily constructed before us, when we got to them.

That night in bed Laura laid down the rules. They were her rules and they were fundamentally the same rules she applied to everything she did. They were her terms and were the same terms she had used all her life. They were implacable, non-negotiable. 

No-one outside family and close friends needed to know. She didn't want it on social media. She didn't want to draw attention to herself. She didn't want anyone to treat her differently. She didn't want anyone to see her as different. All of this would keep her focused on the most important thing; living. Living for the kids. She didn't need the distraction of external worries. 

Laura had the antidote to The Word and it was the very antithesis of that word: Living. 

The End of The Beginning

 It's the 16th of July 2022.

Two years ago on this very day, my wife Laura was first diagnosed with breast cancer. She had found a lump on her left breast only a few weeks previous. I remember vividly, in bed that night, her telling me about it and me feeling it. I think we both agreed at the time, with a somewhat nervous conviction, not to worry about it. Fingers crossed and all that.

That was two years ago. Two years since we crossed our useless metaphorical fingers. Laura passed away on the 14th of June 2022, just over a month ago, from secondary breast cancer. She was 40 years old and left behind two children, Aden, 8 and Hallie, 6.

I have decided to write this blog for the following reasons:

• to give my children a framework in which to place their memories 
• to give them something to look back on that will give them context to the decisions I made 
• I'm hoping that through writing about my experiences it will help me cope with the loss of Laura.
• to help anyone in a similar situation.

So this is the beginning. Not the end. It's the same story, yet different. The same characters, slightly altered. A great script ripped up and rewritten in a different way, but not essentially a better way, by the same writer. The writer had the storyline mapped out, the characters in place and a vague but hopeful plot idea of how it would play out and end. A beginning and an end. As it should be. As it has been for eternity. 

So this is our new beginning and it will have an altogether different ending. We know that the story won't be as good. How can it be? With the main character missing, and let there be no mistake, that is exactly what she was, the story can't be anything but different. However, we will now write our own new story and we will fill it with colour, with hope and with love. 

This is the prologue to our story.

To face the future we need to recognise and acknowledge the events that led us to this point. Sadly, we only need go back two short years ago.