As Ethan whispered ‘I love you’ into his mummy’s ear my heart exploded with pain... I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him she was dying
ANY loss can be a shock. But Simon Thomas’s wife Gemma died just three days after she was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukaemia. In new book Love, Interrupted: Navigating Grief One Day At A Time, the former Blue Peter and Sky Sports presenter tells of her final hours at the Churchill Hospital, Oxford, and how he had to tell their son Ethan, then eight and now nine, she was gone. The extract begins early on November 24, 2017:
Just after five o’clock on that Friday morning, Gemma needed the loo and I helped her to the bathroom with drip in tow. As I lay her back on the bed and helped her head on to the pillow I looked into those deep, hazelnutbrown tired eyes and said: “Darl, get some sleep.”
I watched her eyes close, the eyes I remembered seeing for the first time 16 summers ago, not knowing they were closing for the last time.
Two hours later, Dr Andy came into the room, a look of grave
Happy family strike pose Ethan gives Gemma a hug concern on his face. He examined Gemma and told me she wasn’t sleeping at all; she was unconscious.
Later he told me a CT scan had revealed 15 to 20 separate bleeds inside her brain. Then he said the words that will never leave me – “I’m very sorry to have to tell you Gemma is critically ill and there’s a very real possibility she may not get better.”
Despite the shock, my mind remained oddly calm. I asked what I should do about Ethan. He said that, in his experience, however dire the circumstances, it would be better to bring Ethan in to see his mummy.
It would be something he would probably thank me for later in life.
When Ethan arrived, I picked him up and told him I loved him so much. And so did Mummy. I lifted him towards his Mummy’s left ear to let him speak. As he whispered in her ear how much he loved her, my heart was exploding with pain. The boy who had enjoyed the most special of relationships with his mum was seeing her in her final moments.
How the hell could this be happening? I never told him she was actually dying; I just couldn’t bring myself to say those words.
At about one o’clock that afternoon, I found myself beginning to accept that, however much I prayed for Gemma to be healed, it wasn’t going to happen. It was time to prepare to say goodbye.
Over the next four and threequarter hours I never stopped telling her how much I loved her.
I recounted the story of when we first met and how I had fallen in love with her. I whispered my memories of our wedding day and how she had made me the happiest man alive.
I said sorry for times I had let her down. I reminded her again and again what an amazing mum she had been. I felt as if I needed to make some promises. I promised her I would continue the amazing job she had done of bringing up Ethan; I would raise him to be a man she would be proud of. I promised I would not return to the drink and I wouldn’t give up on my faith.
Ilooked up to see the look of profound sadness on the faces of all her friends and family, and the tears that were starting to fall. The clock passed five-thirty and Gemma’s laboured breathing became even louder. I knew she was about to go.
An amazing sunset provided a vivid, beautiful red backdrop as we gazed beyond where she lay. My eyes never left Gemma’s face. And as I tried to take in every last moment, she started to look different. The pain of the hours of laboured breathing
abated and a look of pure peace began to shine from her face. Her breathing – for a moment – became normal and then, with a quiet stillness, she fell silent. Aged just 40 years and 180 days, the life of Gemma Rachel Thomas had come to a sudden end.
It felt like a bomb had exploded and we were at the epicentre. The blast was so shocking and intense it left us numb. Everything felt so quiet. In place of her laboured breathing there were tears from those she had left behind.
I picked up my phone and rang my mum and dad. My dad’s health hadn’t been good for some years and his mobility problems had become so pronounced they hadn’t been able to get from Norfolk to Oxford to be with us. I can’t begin to imagine what that day had been li the distres hours befo the worst a
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My legs went and I crumpled onto the pavement, screaming ‘Why?’