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The missing cuddle

Just days after heartbreak came a little ray of hope...


Published by: Amy Thompson & Sally Windsor
Published on: 2nd February 2011

Tall and well-built, my hubby Stephen looked like the sort of bloke who could handle himself. With his military background, you wouldn’t want to pick a fight with him. But today, someone had…
‘Put ‘em up!’ bellowed our youngest Jonathan, seven.
‘You sure, Jonny Pog?’ Stephen raised an eyebrow, calling him by his nickname.
He nodded. Stephen puffed out his chest. ‘Right,’ he boomed. ‘You’re for it now…’
Laughter filled the room. Jonathan ducked away from his dad, giggling as Stephen chased him. They were always messing about. As tough as he appeared on the outside, my fella was a big softie inside.
Friends had introduced us when my daughter Linzi, from a previous relationship, was three. She still saw her real dad, but soon started calling Stephen ‘Dad’, too.
And when our sons Ryan and Jonathan had come along shortly after we married, we were one big happy family. Stephen was a brilliant dad, bathing the kids and tucking them in for me, and making up bedtime stories every evening.
Even when they weren’t his own, he had a knack for settling babies. The minute they started crying, you only had to pass them to him. As he rocked them gently, they’d stop bawling and drift off to sleep.
‘I don’t know how you do it,’ chuckled his sister Helen, whenever he’d stop her little ones crying.
‘What can I say?’ he’d smile. ‘Must be a natural.’
The years rolled by, and we watched the kids grow up. Stephen left the army, and started coaching Farnborough Rugby Club. Linzi got a job in care, Ryan worked in security, and Jonathan followed in his dad’s footsteps, joining the marines.
‘Where did the time go?’ I sighed one day, flicking through wedding brochures. Jonathan was 21 now and getting married to Kesorn, who he’d met in Thailand.
‘Just think, though,’ Stephen said. ‘They’ll be having kids soon and we can enjoy all the good times, but give them back when they cry!’
‘Babies never cry with you anyway,’ I grinned. ‘You’ve got some magical power over them.’
‘True,’ he nodded, smiling.
The wedding was beautiful, with Kesorn, 21, in a stunning white dress and Jonathan in his uniform. We were so proud of him. So were Linzi, 27, and Ryan, 22.
But over the next four years, the pitter-patter of tiny feet was nowhere to be heard. We didn’t harp on about it, though. They probably wanted to enjoy married life for a bit.
And there were other things to think about – Stephen started getting pains in his groin and back. ‘It hurts every time I move,’ he winced.
He’d suffered a perforated bowel
a few years back and had surgery. I wondered if it was related. ‘Come on,’ I said, picking up my keys. ‘I’m taking you to get checked out.’
By the time we got to hospital, he was in agony. They kept him in for a week doing tests. Thankfully, the pains were nothing to do with his previous surgery. ‘You’ve probably pulled a muscle,’ doctors said.
At the end of the week, though, when they tried to send him home, Stephen wasn’t up to it. ‘There’s something really wrong,’ he said. ‘Please, give me a few more tests.’
They agreed to keep him in one more night. The next day, the results of a scan confirmed Stephen’s fears.
‘You have two large blood clots,’ the doctor said. ‘One near your heart, and one in your groin. We’ll have to take you into theatre.’
We were stunned, but grateful we’d got to the bottom of things. Stephen was taken for surgery. But it wasn’t over yet… ‘We discovered something else,’ his consultant said. ‘I’m afraid you have non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma…’
‘Oh God,’ I gasped. ‘Cancer.’
‘Yes, but the most treatable type of cancer,’ he added. ‘We’ll start chemotherapy right away.’
Far from being scared, Stephen took it in his stride. ‘We’ve got to stay positive,’ he said. ‘I’ll be okay, you heard what the doctor said.’
Me and the kids were worried, but my fella always had a smile on his face – even after gruelling chemotherapy and losing his hair.
After seven months of treatment, we went to see his consultant.
‘It’s worse than we thought,’ he said, sadly. ‘You have a very rare type of non-Hodgkins lymphoma. You’ll need more chemo and a bone marrow transplant.’
It was a devastating knock, but Stephen smiled through the pain, refusing to let anything get him down.
His sister Pat was found to be a perfect donor. We had to wait until he was well enough for the op, but the chemo left his immune system so weak, he kept getting infections.
When he started losing weight, I panicked. Stephen didn’t, though.
‘Always wanted to lose that spare tyre,’ he chuckled, patting his tummy. ‘Hard part will be trying to keep it off.’
The way he acted, we were all convinced he’d get well. But just before Christmas 2009, tragedy struck. Stephen was rushed into hospital after collapsing and, a week later, his doctor took me aside. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do,’ he said, gently.
Surrounded by family, I held Stephen’s hand as he slipped away. He was 52. How would I cope without my soulmate?
I’d loved him every minute of the 30 years we’d been together. Now all I could see was a huge, dark hole in our family. The kids were in pieces.
We held his funeral at East Hampstead Park Crematorium last December but when Jonathan and Kesorn went to visit her family in Thailand four days later, she fell ill and started throwing up.
I was so worried, and couldn’t face more bad news. When Jonathan called to tell me, his voice trembled with nerves. ‘Is she okay?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said, slowly. ‘She’s better than okay… she’s pregnant!’
My heart stopped. ‘R-really?’
‘Yep,’ he said, proudly. ‘We’ve been trying for three years, but didn’t want to tell anyone. I was starting to think it’d never happen. She’s due in August – around Dad’s birthday!’
Happy tears spilled over my cheeks as I thought about Stephen. He’d have been so chuffed! For the first time since he died, I felt hopeful about the future.
When baby Olivia was born in August, 11 days after what would have been Stephen’s 53rd birthday, I held her in my arms and smiled. She was beautiful. ‘Your granddad would have loved you,’ I whispered. She scrunched her face up and began to cry. Automatically, I looked up for Stephen… A pang of sadness shot through me.
‘Let me,’ Jonathan smiled, taking his daughter. Cradling her in his arms, he rocked her gently.
Her eyelids drooped and she yawned. ‘You’ve got the magic touch, just like your dad,’ I said.
Olivia’s now five-months-old and beautiful.
I felt hopeless when Stephen died. But he’s left me so much to live for – 30 years of happy memories, a wonderful family, and enough love to last a lifetime.
Jacqui O’Garra, 56, Camberley, Surrey