the picture that means so much
Emma Broome had the most wonderful holiday with her mum, but tragedy lay aheadé
Looking at this photo of me and mum on holiday, I’m instantly transported back to that day. I can remember everything about it – the heat on our backs, squinting in the sunshine and Dad smiling from the deck. But mainly I remember mum’s giggles as we grinned for the camera. She had the most infectious laugh – the kind that started in your belly and made your cheeks hurt.
Sometimes, even now, I can’t really believe she’s gone, that she’s not going to be there if I pick up the phone. Mum was my best friend. Growing up, whether it was boy drama or friendship fallouts, there was nothing I couldn’t talk to her about.
Along with my dad Ron, we were a tightknit team of three, and they were my biggest cheerleaders. They supported me in every decision – even when, aged 29, I decided to move to London. It was a huge change, but Mum was so excited for me, promising I’d make friends in no time.
Living the dream
I started my new job as an account manager just weeks later and, as always, Mum was right – I did make friends!
In February 2010, I met Gavin online, then 32. Mum relished poring over pictures of him when I made my monthly visit home. ‘He’s so handsome!’ she’d say, with a wink. She approved just as much when I introduced them a few weeks later. I thought life couldn’t be more perfect, but then, that same year, Gavin got a new job offer – to work aboard a luxury yacht as a captain.
It was quite the change from his role in marketing, but he’d worked with the couple who owned the yacht before, and had loved travelling the world. He’d told them he wouldn’t go without me, so they offered me a job, too. ‘Will you come with me?’ he asked. Before I could answer, I called Mum.
She didn’t hesitate, even when I reminded her that I’d never even set foot on a yacht before. ‘You can do anything you set your mind to,’ she said. So, in April 2011, we quit our jobs and gave up the lease on the flat we shared together to tour the world.
My duties included changing beds and cleaning, but it felt like I was living the dream – sailing around the Mediterranean and Caribbean. In the afternoons we’d have time to go snorkelling, and on weekends we’d explore new cities. The only thing missing was Mum and Dad. Phone reception was patchy, especially in sea storms, and I had to make do with texts and emails. I hated being so far away from them, so in the summer of 2011, the owner suggested they join us for the weekend.
We were due to be in Antibes on the French Riviera, so that August, Mum and Dad flew to France and we met them at a marina. We had an incredible day sailing around the coast, sipping cocktails and sunbathing. Then, after lunch, Gavin got the camera out. ‘Say cheese!’ he said and he took that picture of Mum and I. As I put my arm around her, I felt so happy.
We had such a wonderful holiday together that, of course, when the time came, it made saying goodbye so much harder for all of us.
‘mum was my best friend’
So, the following November, Gavin and I took a sabbatical from working on the yacht and spent Christmas in Derbyshire with Mum and Dad. We left their home – our bellies full of Mum’s finest dinner – for our next adventure. Gavin and I bought a campervan so we could explore America and Canada.
I rang home almost every day, and they were so happy when Gavin proposed to me in February 2013. ‘I can’t wait for the big day,’ Mum said tearfully. I teased her, telling her I might turn into a bridezilla.
all too sudden
The next month, just as we arrived in Canada, I noticed I had missed calls from Dad. Immediately, I started to panic. I was just about to call him back, when my phone rang. It was a family friend. ‘I’m so sorry Emma, your Mum’s had a heart attack,’ he said. ‘She’s gone.’ As the mobile phone fell from my hand, I just sat there. I could see Gavin’s mouth moving and see him touching my arm, but I couldn’t hear or feel him.
I didn’t understand. Mum was only 66. She was so fit and healthy – how could this have happened? I could feel the pain rising in my own chest as I struggled to catch my breath. It was too sudden, too quick. I’d never even got to say goodbye.
We rushed to the airport, where the check-in assistant had to ask me for my passport several times, as my brain couldn’t function. When we finally got back to Derbyshire, I fell into Dad’s arms. Of course, he was as devastated as me.
After the funeral, the family doctor got in touch with me to say he wanted to run some tests. He explained that, given how healthy Mum had been, he was concerned there was something genetic that had triggered the heart attack. But I wasn’t interested. Instead, I threw myself into rearranging our lives.
Gavin and I moved back in with Dad for three months. But I still had my career back on the yacht, and Dad encouraged me to go back and start living my life again. I called Dad pretty much every day, and he was with us when in June 2015 Gavin and I got married. The day went by in a blur – I couldn’t help but think how much Mum would’ve loved it.
Then, in September 2016, Dad had a heart attack, too. To lose both my parents in such a short space of time – I’ve never known pain like it.
terrifying results
Gavin reminded me about the tests that the doctor had suggested. ‘I don’t want to lose you, too,’ he said, worry etched on his face. So, I agreed to go ahead with them. The results were terrifying. It turned out I had familial hypercholestrolaemia (FH) and lipoprotein (a) – genetic disorders characterised by high levels of bad cholesterol in the blood. They
were linked to early heart disease, and it was likely I’d been born with it. It could also have been the reason for Mum’s early death – and Dad’s, too.
I lived in fear for a long while, certain their fate would be mine, too. There’s next to no medical funding or knowledge behind my disorder, so there’s no cure. But the doctor put me on medication and I started to help fundraise for the Heart UK charity. Last October, I marched to the Houses of Parliament to discuss the importance of child and parent screening, to enable the disorder to be spotted at an early age.
I torture myself thinking about how different life would be if Mum and Dad had known about the condition. Maybe they’d still be here. But then I focus on all the happy memories. Whenever I see a sunflower I think of Mum – they were her favourite – and I remember how Dad was always telling me how proud he was of me. And, of course, the treasured photo of Mum and I on board the yacht. I will always feel so proud to be their daughter.
✱ For more on Emma and health awareness, visit lifeacrobat.com. and for more on her condition, visit heartuk. org.uk.
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‘I’ve never known pain like It’