LOVE, LOST AND FOUND
One reader on finding joy after grief
When I think back to my childhood, my dad is always there. He’s picking me up in his arms and swirling me around until I’m dizzy. He’s on all fours taking part in some kind of imaginary game with me and my brother, Martin. We were a busy, happy family and I grew up knowing that both Mum and Dad were interested in everything we did.
Dad had served as a Royal Marine Commando and went on to be a police officer for 35 years. He was so delighted that I wanted to join the RAF that he took me to the careers office himself. He was fascinated by my job as a telecommunications operator and very proud of every promotion I got.
As I married abroad, while serving in the RAF, he was unable to walk me down the aisle, but he was utterly thrilled when my daughter, Mea, was born in 1995. He loved his role of ‘Pappy’ and gave her the same time and attention I’d had as a little girl.
When Mum died a decade ago, after years of ill health, Dad and I grew closer than ever, united in our grief. He was in Blackpool and I was in Bedfordshire, but I saw him at least once a month and we spoke on the phone every day. We even went on holiday together each year.
HARD TIMES
In early March last year, when concerns about Covid-19 were growing, we spoke on the phone as usual. He told me he had been sick and thought he had food poisoning. I wasn’t too concerned (he was only 73 and, although he had diabetes, he was fit and active). But his health got worse. He began struggling to breathe and his temperature soared. He wasn’t able to get out of bed. I decided I had to see him.
Driving up the M6 was eerie. It was so quiet and took three hours instead of the usual six. When I arrived, I was sure from his symptoms that he had Covid and phoned 111 for help, but it took more than two hours to get through. They wanted to speak to him, but he couldn’t breathe properly and he was scared.
When the paramedics arrived, the worry in their eyes confirmed my worst fears. Dad had Covid. I went to comfort him and say goodbye as he was taken to hospital, but the paramedics warned me to stay back. They said I could follow the ambulance, but when I got to the hospital, I was told I couldn’t go inside. That was the last time I saw my dad.
I phoned my husband who came to join me. We’d been married 27 years, but our relationship had become strained and difficult, and we were on the verge of separation. I’d told Dad previously that my marriage was unhappy and I felt it was ending; he’d said to keep trying, but to do what made me happy. Desperate for support, I tried to cling to my husband, but we both caught Covid and had to isolate together, which made things more difficult between us. I was thankful for my brother, Martin, who supported me by phone, and my chats with Mea.
Covid was new and terrifying, but the staff’s care for patients and their families never faltered. Dad’s doctor, Rob Downes, slept by his bed, and when Dad was put into an induced coma on a life support machine, Rob said I’d still be able to say goodbye.
A few days later, Rob phoned and told me, his voice strained, that the policy had changed so I couldn’t be with Dad, even at the end. I asked what would happen if I just turned up and he replied, as gently as he could, that I’d be arrested. I broke down then, wailing in grief. When I calmed down, Rob said a palliative care nurse, Jackie Brunton, would be contacting me.
Jackie helped me and Mea Facetime Dad. It was just 30 seconds each, but to see him and speak to him meant the world. I could see the lady with him and her eyes were so kind and warm. I knew he was being looked after. He wasn’t alone when he died on 2 April and it meant so much to know he was with someone who really cared.
Dad wanted a military funeral, a full Royal Marine send-off with a tot of rum put in his jacket pocket, his friends
carrying his coffin and his ashes to be interred with my mum in the plot they had both chosen. But instead, we had to have a small family cremation.
STARTING AGAIN
I couldn’t believe I’d lost my lovely dad. I was devastated. My husband left the day after the funeral and went back home. I’d thought Dad’s death might bring us together, but it didn’t. It made me realise how short life is and it was the trigger for acknowledging it was time to go our separate ways. Last August, I moved into Dad’s house. At 49, I was on my own again. I returned to my job with the MOD, and took on a volunteering role at the hospital where Dad had been looked after.
I was busy, but my life felt empty. I missed Dad terribly and I worried about Mea, who was also worrying about me, no matter how much I tried to reassure her. My friends were concerned that I seemed lonely and suggested I join a dating app. At first, I wasn’t interested, but they persuaded me to give it a go in September. I was looking for friendship (and nothing serious) when I connected with Gary Mansfield, a 54-year-old divorced engineer. We got on so well after a few weeks of chatting on Whatsapp that we decided to have lunch together.
We met at Lancaster Station. I remember walking towards him. He was so smart in his shirt, jeans and jacket. He had a huge smile and blue eyes. We went to a pub for lunch and, as we walked across the market square, a white feather fell at our feet. I felt comforted by it, as if Dad was watching over me.
Gary listened to me intently. We laughed and laughed and had lots in common. We managed a few more dates and were inseparable by the next lockdown, so decided to spend it together. I knew he was the person I had been looking for, even though I hadn’t been looking at all.
As Gary had lost both his parents, he was able to give me a different perspective, to listen and not judge. He
I knew he was the person I had been looking for
didn’t claim to understand how I felt, but sharing his experience of grief with me helped. It was hard starting a relationship during the pandemic, but meeting Gary showed me things would get better. When I had a bad day, he knew what to say, encouraging me to go for a walk and to practise some self-care.
In December, Gary suggested a drive to Lancaster Station, where we’d first met. We got out of the car and I was stunned when he got down on one knee and proposed. I was so overwhelmed. I never thought I’d find love again or meet someone so special.
Now I’m divorced and we’re planning our wedding for later this year, once Covid restrictions lift. My brother will be giving me away. Dad would be delighted that I have found happiness again. It’s even more special to find love after devastating loss and to be able to look to the future with real hope and excitement.
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