I was once told that it was assumed my husband had committed suicide because I never talked about how he died. I was pretty shocked, but I suppose it was a reasonable assumption, given that I'm (on the whole) a very private person who doesn't talk about things like that.
So, for those who are interested, here it goes. The story of what happened to Simon.
Warning! It's a very long post, which might explain why I don't tend to talk about it!
Grieving
It's a funny old business....
I always remember my mum saying that she remembered where she was when JFK died, and Elvis, and John Lennon. The shock of hearing about their premature death was so strong that it stayed imprinted on her memory. I always thought that was a curious thing. Until Princess Diana died. I still remember exactly where I was when I found out - that feeling of disbelief; of needing to watch it on the news, it still not sinking in completely even then that somebody who had seemed so alive could be gone, just like that.
Fast forward a few years...
Simon had a (very common) 'minor procedure' in early August, 2008... a vasectomy, for those who really want to know.
However, in Simon’s case, a very rare bacterium from the groin travelled to the lining of his heart, gradually making him feel more and more ill. Just 'flu-like symptoms' mainly, aka those things doctors like to send you home with, with nothing but “it’s just a virus” ringing in your ear.
Next thing we knew, the beginning of October he was having emergency open heart surgery: an aortic valve and root replacement, and would have been (as the huge-handed surgeon told me later) literally hours from death had he not had it.
A few days later his heart stopped seven times in a row and they had to insert an ICD device to prevent that happening again.
He stayed in hospital for 6 weeks for IV antibiotics. Towards the end he was allowed to come out for a few hours. But he hated every second - being out, and being in hospital. He had terrible trouble accepting what had happened to him psychologically. He found the whole experience incredibly stressful.
At no stage did we actually think he was going to die though.
All this time I was travelling back and forth to first Worthing, then Brighton, then Worthing again. Having to be the absurdly grown-up one having the serious conversations with the surgeons and consultants. I was fairly heavily pregnant by this stage with Amelia due in January... Ella had her 3rd birthday whilst Simon was in Brighton; I didn't celebrate my 35th birthday at all; Matthew had his 5th birthday whilst Simon was back in Worthing. I did more driving those months than I had ever done before, trying to juggle preschool/school/hospital visiting, sometimes making those trips to the hospital twice in one day to keep Simon as happy as he could be. It was a struggle, but you don't think about it too much at the time - you just keep going, doing what you need to do. I had some lovely friends who helped out with school pick-ups too; heaven knows what I would have done without them.
Simon was allowed home at the end of November 2008... I remember on the radio one of the first songs we heard as we were leaving, "Today this will be the greatest day of our lives," and me, semi-seriously, saying to him that to me it was a great day (he rolled his eyes, not that into Take That so not very impressed!)... we so wanted him to come home.
But he remained incredibly stressed out. He had frequent appointments checking his blood levels, other appointments with his very understanding consultant, and also cardiac rehabilitation. He was in a state of panic, unable to relax ever.
Christmas wasn't great; a very muted occasion. I was too heavily pregnant to really enjoy it, and too busy trying not to be short tempered with my well-meaning in-laws. Simon couldn't enjoy it at all.
Amelia's birth, we'd agreed with the midwives, was to be induced - we needed to know when it would happen so we could arrange childcare; also as Simon couldn't drive (you're not allowed to for months after open heart surgery) we needed it to be me doing the 30(ish) minute drive to Guildford... not something easily done if you're in labour! (I also confess, I didn't want to be in the presence of my in-laws when I was in labour. I wasn't sure I could bite my tongue for that long!)
Thank God I was induced too - or Simon might never have met Amelia.
We went in for 9am, to be met by one midwife who was most disapproving of our induction decision and wasn't inclined to listen to our reasons. Fortunately her shift ended and we had a much nicer midwife who helped Amelia to be born about 12 hours after we arrived. We had to wait until the Saturday evening before we were allowed to leave, due to them being short staffed. Unfortunately we left before the paediatrician had had a chance to see Amelia so we had to go back to Guildford the day after.
My only real memories of those days are of my parents being there - they'd driven up from Spain to be there for the birth; Simon doing work from home - he'd been stressed about losing out financially as a result of being ill, so had started his gradual return to work; the midwife visiting home on the Monday...
The Tuesday morning Simon had been due to go to Worthing for his regular cardiac rehab appointment so my alarm clock was set. I had been woken by Amelia for feeding in the early hours, so I had gone into her room and ended up staying so as not to disturb Simon's sleep.
He ended up waking me at 7 - calling out that he didn't feel very well.
I went in...
I will save giving any details of Simon's last hour or so, other than to say that I realised immediately the seriousness of the situation and called for the ambulance, and my mum (in the Travelodge up the road)... she came and looked after Matthew and Ella who were thankfully unaware of exactly what horrific situation was taking place upstairs in their parents' bedroom.
The First Responder and the paramedics did their best, attempting to resuscitate him for about 40 minutes, but he almost definitely wouldn't have survived even if he had been in hospital. Simon's consultant - I had phoned to let her know - drove to Billingshurst from her home in Haywards Heath to see if she could help, but ended up officially confirming his death, on our bedroom floor.
I remember asking for a blanket to put over him - he was already cold. I also remember their pitying faces as though I hadn't understood that he was already dead and it was too late... I knew what was happening all too well, but my instinct was still to look after him and keep him warm, as ridiculous as that may have been.
I remember Simon's ICD still firing in his chest - the defibrillator doing its best to do its job to kept his heart beating.
I remember the First Responder being very upset by the whole experience; I remember the paramedics suggesting that he go to their debriefing. I also remember offering to make them all a cup of tea afterwards.
I remember going downstairs to tell my Dad that Simon had gone (mum was walking Matthew and Ella to school/preschool) and my Dad saying to me that it should have been him, he wished it could have been...
I remember the police coming to interview me, as is standard procedure in any sudden death... my feelings of disbelief that I should be in that position.
I also remember the duty undertakers bringing Simon's body downstairs - quite noisily. (One of the unfortunate drawbacks of living in a three storey house with a small staircase.)
I remember looking online fairly early on about how best to tell the children what had happened, being introduced to Winston's Wish - their website was invaluable in those early days... that nobody should use the words "passed away/on", "gone to sleep", or refer to his "body"... use the concrete unarguable words - died, dead. Emphasise that it wasn't anything that they had done wrong.
Simon would have celebrated his 35th birthday too, only three days after his death - the presents I had bought ready - silly things like Best Dad socks...
I remember the post mortem result stating Simon died of septicaemia, a ruptured spleen and intra-abdominal haemorrhaging.
I remember lots of things... the funeral - trying to smile; some of my choir friends singing in the choir pews to help boost the singing; the musical director George playing the organ; the Depeche Mode CD playing at the end; me wanting to thank so many people for coming with a smile on my face - not wanting to be seen as crying snot bubbles in front of friends, family and strangers, the photos on the screen... lots of kindness, cards, rotas, babysitting, gardening, flowers, meals... and so much more.
So, back to where I started:
That feeling of disbelief; it still not sinking in completely even then that somebody who had seemed so alive could be gone, just like that.
And now?
Yep, it's still there.
Mostly, I have to say, I feel the overwhelming grief on behalf of our children, especially Amelia who had so little time with him and only a handful of photos.
Simon was such a loving Dad, full of encouragement, excellent at explaining anything that needed explaining, full of endless patience, always smiling (up until his illness), always ready with a cuddle...
I wish he was still here to do and be all those things for his three beautiful children. I know he lives on in them, but it's not the same as having him here when they're upset, when they've got something to celebrate, helping with homework, taking them out, holidays... everything you would want to be involved in as a loving parent.
That grief will always be there.
And this week in January will always be tough, lurching from Amelia's happy birthday, to Simon's anniversary, then what should have been his own happy birthday...
So please forgive my being so maudlin and depressed. The slightest problem suddenly gets blown out of proportion and I become the biggest grump, weepiest weeper and snappiest woman on the planet... (sorry to my children who bear the brunt!)
If you made it this far, then well done!
Please don’t feel you need to comment or say anything at all. I certainly am not asking for sympathy. I’m simply trying to explain why I find this week hard, and why I am who I am now... for the most part pretty fucked up! (Apologies for the language to those of a sensitive disposition!)
No comments:
Post a Comment