The way I see it: I had to learn how to become a widow
Cathy Jones, 54, was devastated when her husband died, but there was something she hadn’t expected…
‘When the love of your life dies, they take a part of you with them’
Sitting on a sun-drenched balcony, a cool glass of wine in hand, this should have been the perfect way to see in my 54th birthday – if only my husband Hywel were here to share it with me.
Nobody wants to become a widow, but after 15 years of marriage, here I am.
It’s not like divorce. When the love of your life dies, they take a part of you with them – and the future you’d been so sure of. The long evening walks, the plotting of holidays, growing old together. It stings to think what will never happen.
I was 32 and Hywel was 37 when we met at a nightclub in Cardiff. Like me, he had children from a previous marriage, but most importantly, he was also an avid traveller.
We married in the Seychelles in 1997 and, a couple of years later, our son Eliott was born.
In the summer of 2006, Hywel started to complain of a pain in his neck. When he went to the doctor, they told him it was swollen glands.
But he got more and more exhausted. In March 2007, a biopsy revealed he had multiple secondary tumours in his neck. ‘We can beat this,’ I said, grasping his hands.
A month later, Hywel had an operation to remove the tumours and after six weeks of radiotherapy he was told he was in remission. We were ecstatic.
But then, in June 2010, a routine scan found new tumours in his lungs. ‘I’m so sorry,’ the oncologist said. ‘It’s terminal. I’m afraid we have no idea how long you have left. It could be six months, or two years.’
I remember feeling the blood drain from my limbs. Turning to face Hywel, he looked just as drawn. ‘This isn’t the end yet,’ I told him. ‘We need to make the most of every moment we have left.’
So that’s exactly what we did. We took the kids to Center Parcs, and booked holidays to Cape Town and Majorca. We tried our best to have a good time, but Hywel’s prognosis always loomed over us.
Then we found out about a choir run by a charity called Tenovus Cancer Care. With his love of music, it was the perfect outlet for Hywel to meet other people who understood his situation. They became our lifeline. Soon, we both started volunteering for the charity. But by
January 2012, Hywel became so poorly he had to be fed by a tube and could barely speak, let alone sing any more. Six months later, he passed away at a local hospice.
For the next year I lived in a fog. They say grief comes in steps, but it’s not linear. It’s a scribbled mess. It’s some feelings all at once, while others return for round after round.
Trying to cope
When I smiled I felt guilty. When I couldn’t work the computer I felt angry at Hywel for not teaching me how to. And when they played songs he loved on the radio I felt frustrated that I would never hear Hywel humming along again.
Hywel made me promise I’d take the kids on holiday after he passed away. So I took the boys on a cruise around Portugal and the Canary Islands. Surrounded by couples, I’d never felt more alone. It was tough for the kids too. We all had a Hywelshaped hole in our lives.
As time passed, denial gave way to acceptance. I started working for Tenovus Cancer Care, and friends made room for me in their plans. But still I missed travelling with Hywel.
So in 2017 I decided to book my first solo trip to Rhodes with a company called Friendship Travel, to coincide with my 54th birthday.
Gradually I found myself enjoying the solitude. For my birthday, I went to a rooftop restaurant with the other widows and divorcees on the same holiday package as me.
Although it was nice to be with other people, when I got back to my room that night I did have a little cry for Hywel. I still missed my wingman.
Although the grief never leaves me, I have learnt to let myself enjoy new experiences, because the person I loved most in the world doesn’t get that opportunity.
The real feat is to plaster on a smile and face the world. It isn’t about forgetting him, it’s about taking him in my heart in all that I do.
To find out more, go to tenovuscancercare.org.uk