Love is being the best carer to Rob I can be

WE got together when we were 15. My dad always said: “Make sure you marry a tall man” and Rob’s probably the smallest person I could have found.

But what he lacked in height he made up for in personality. I knew from the very beginning that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

Our life was perfect. A great marriage, supportive families, three beautiful children. Then Rob was diagnosed with motor neurone disease.

I couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through his head, but it was him telling me to pull myself together, not the other way around. Rob made me understand that we had a stark choice: either we could waste what time he had left by dwelling on all the things he’d miss out on when he was gone, or we could make as many happy memories as possible.

But sometimes I wonder how I have got through days. How I have got dressed in the morning, how I have found time to eat, how I was still standing up. Carrying on as normal is easier said than done. Normal would be Rob picking the kids up from school or taking them swimming. Normal would be Rob reading Maya a bedtime story or changing Jackson’s nappy. But Rob can’t do those things any more, so I have to be mum and dad.

There was a stage, during the first lockdown, when I had no outside support. Occasionally, I felt like giving up. But when I married Rob, it was for sickness and in health. That might not sound very sexy, but when all the other constituent parts of love are stripped away, it’s all t hat’s l eft. When Rob was diagnosed, love was being the best carer to Rob I could be.

It’s important that people reading this don’t think I’m in any way special. I honestly believe that anyone in my shoes would do the same.

Rob might think I’m Superwoman but when you love and care about someone, your priority is to make them happy, whatever the circumstances.

And as long as Rob and the kids are happy, then so am I.