It happened to me
My first Christmas without Emmy
The sun had barely risen on Christmas Day 2016, but Emmy was shaking me awake, thrusting a garish jumper in my face. at 31, my wife was a big kid when it came to 25 December, and I knew I had no choice but to pull the brightly-coloured knitwear over my head.
A satisfied smile on her face, we snuggled down to watch Elf – her favourite film – before the chaos of Christmas Day began. I remember kissing her forehead as she nuzzled into my chest.
I wish I could say that this year we’ll repeat that idyllic morning, that I’ll wake up to Emmy’s smiling face and watch her as she opens the presents I’ve carefully picked out. But the tragic truth is that I’ll never spend another Christmas Day with my wonderful wife…
It was September 2015 when I found myself typing out an email to my childhood sweetheart, Emmy. Back then, I was living in Australia – as far away as you could get from our hometown of Hereford – but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Or about the promise we had made when we were teens – that we’d get married when we turned 30.
I didn’t know if she’d reply, but when she responded, it was like no time had passed. All those feelings I’d had as a teenager came rushing back and soon we were emailing or Skyping almost every day. We spoke for hours, counting down the days until we’d see each other. Emmy even had two countdown apps on her phone.
Devastating news
It was during one of our three-hour chats that Emmy revealed she’d been unwell – she was exhausted with constant diarrhoea. While her GP thought it was IBS, it wasn’t getting better and, a doctor myself, I urged her to get more tests.
That Christmas I flew home and Emmy was waiting at the airport. She ran into my arms, and that was it – I was totally and completely in love. We started planning our future, even discussing children and marriage, and I agreed to move back to the UK to be with her.
The only thing tainting our happiness was Emmy’s health. She was still rushing to the toilet every 15 minutes, had a sore neck and night sweats. Again, I urged her to go back to the GP, armed with a list of questions to ask. This time she was sent for a biopsy of the lymph nodes in her neck.
It was four days later when we received the news. Emmy had medullary thyroid cancer, which had spread to her lungs, spine, liver and bones. It was incurable and she had just a 10% chance of surviving for five years. ‘We can offer chemotherapy to give you more time,’ the doctor said.
Wanting to get away, we went to Devon for the weekend, crying and holding each other. We’d only just found each other again, and now this. But we didn’t dwell on what-ifs. Instead I gave her a cup of tea in bed the following morning and asked her to marry me. ‘Yes,’ she said, grinning. Doctors said that the chemotherapy would affect Emmy’s fertility, so we froze nine embryos before starting treatment. And even though she had to take chemotherapy pills every day, she was determined to make the most of the time we had left together. She drew up a bucket list, making plans to see Coldplay, write a book, get a puppy and raise money for The Royal Marsden Hospital, where she was being treated. Her strength and positivity left me in awe.
‘we’d only just found each other’
That and planning the wedding was a distraction from the cancer. The night before our big day, in September 2016, I couldn’t sleep. I was way too excited that I was going to get to marry the love of my life. I couldn’t help but gasp as she walked down the aisle – she was the most beautiful bride. There wasn’t a day that went by when we were together that I didn’t pinch myself.
And, as Christmas approached, Emmy was determined to make it the best ever. She didn’t say it, but I knew she worried it could be her last. Still, Emmy couldn’t hide her excitement as we put the tree up and decorated the house.
She made me promise to watch a festive film every day throughout December, and she baked mince pies and strudel.
She dragged me around Christmas markets, buying presents for everyone, then insisted we play games – usually Articulate – in front of the fire.
We actually had two Christmases – one with my mum on 23 December, where Emmy and I cooked a full turkey dinner. Then we went to her parents’ on the actual day. Emmy wore her Christmas hat all day and insisted on dressing me up as a pudding, but I didn’t mind – all that mattered was being with her.
After Christmas, Emmy started radiotherapy. But the cancer continued to spread and, by May, she was struggling to walk. Her fight was leaving her exhausted and she quickly deteriorated. Seeing Emmy looking so frail made me realise we didn’t have much time left. By June 2017, Emmy knew she couldn’t carry on any longer.
She lay in her bed at her parents’ home and, with the French doors open and the birds singing outside, Emmy slipped away from us. I held her hand as tears streamed down my face. My darling wife had gone.
With my grief still raw, I helped arrange Emmy’s funeral, which 700 people attended. But afterwards I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
There were days when I’d cry uncontrollably. Luckily, I had Molly, our puppy, to look after. Knowing I had to care for her gave me a reason to get up.
The best gift of all
And now, with Christmas just weeks away, I’m dreading the day without Emmy. Christmas was a huge celebration for both of us. It’s hard glimpsing couples strolling round looking at presents for each other, or snuggled up in cafes.
This year I’ll be with my mum before visiting Emmy’s family – but no doubt it will be a quiet day without her. I’m planning on finding a surrogate and using our frozen embryos to start a family. News of a pregnancy would be the best gift of all this Christmas. Emmy wanted to be a mother so much, and I’m hoping for a little piece of my wife. I can’t wait to hold our baby in my arms.
Each day that goes past is still just as painful as the day she died. She was a fighter. Throughout everything she remained so strong. She was quite simply the bravest person I’ve ever met. And while the grief is still so raw, I’m also so grateful we were given a second chance at love. What she gave me in 20 months is more than I could have dreamt of having in a thousand lifetimes. ✱ Jake and Emmy have written and illustrated a series of children’s books to continue their fundraising for the Royal marsden. available at mollivers.com
‘all that mattered was her’