We married again…
I was losing my hubby – then, for one week, he came back to me
As the plane came in for landing, I looked out of the window and smiled as my home town got closer with each passing moment. I was back.
My parents emigrated from Glasgow to New Zealand in 1956, when I was 3.
Now, in 1980, aged 27, I was back in Scotland for the first time in 20 years.
First stop, visiting my Aunty Margaret and Uncle Jimmy, then seeing friends.
We met at a local bar, but I was soon distracted.
Within the group, I spied a cutie!
He had beautiful, blue eyes and a gorgeous smile, with a gap between his teeth.
Instant attraction.
Butterflies fluttered around in my tummy.
We got chatting and Michael, then 30, was lovely.
‘I’d love to visit New Zealand,’ he grinned.
‘We could arrange that,’ I said.
For the next month, when I wasn’t with family, I was with Michael – Mick – going for walks, talking.
We even shared our first kiss. Magical. Flying home, I was heartbroken to leave him.
But, for the next three years, we visited each other every six months.
There was no doubt in our minds we’d be together. It was a matter of when, not if.
I’d told Mick early on I couldn’t have kids.
‘It’s OK. It’s you I want to be with,’ he said.
Then, in 1983, Mick moved to New Zealand – indefinitely!
‘Let’s give this a proper go,’ he said.
Mick wasted no time, applied for citizenship.
I ran a saddlery shop, Mick was an electrician.
In March 1984, we collected his citizenship documents from New Plymouth District Court. He was staying! And, as we walked home… ‘Will you marry me?’ Mick asked. ‘Yes!’ I screamed. Just four weeks later, we’d done it! We picked a local venue. My mum Betty, then 51, made my wedding dress. The perfect day. Life continued, and our happiness grew. We had a couple of horses, a dog, 10 cats, 6 cows and Honky the donkey. Mick doted on me – we were blissfully happy. Only in 2010, I noticed changes. Mick would break something, replace it on the shelf and deny knowing anything about it. It was odd. He was always honest. He started repeating himself, forgetting we’d already seen something on TV. His driving changed, too. He used to be safe, now people would toot their horns. It wasn’t my Mick. I knew something wasn’t right, but was too afraid to find out. Then, Mick’s colleague called. ‘He’s been making mistakes. It’s not like him,’ he said to me. ‘Have you had him checked for Alzheimer’s disease?’ Though I hated to admit it, it made sense.
So I made a doctor’s appointment, where Mick had to do a mental test.
He scored really low, and was diagnosed with early onset dementia.
More tests followed, and his memory deteriorated.
Finally, in 2013, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I was devastated. Yet Mick never complained, he was calm, like always.
But, over time, he got progressively worse.
He lost his job, became a shell of the man I knew.
He used to whisk me out for dinner, or on day trips, and now he didn’t bother. In 2016, his speech changed. He’d trip up on big words, stutter, struggle to string a sentence together.
I’d prompt him, finish his sentences. He was always so patient. It was heartbreaking. I soon had to start cutting up his food for him.
By then, while he knew I was
He used to be a safe driver, now people tooted him