A season of secrets
It was Christmas Eve, ...but instead of joy, I was filled with dread
I had to spare them that pain just a little bit longer
Kalli Jefford, 30, Corby
Bundled on the sofa, my partner John, 53, hid his face under a cushion when he saw me coming.
‘Should you be eating that?’ I quizzed, eyeing the gooey chocolate doughnut beside him. ‘I know, I know,’ he groaned. John had type 1 diabetes... and a terrible sweet tooth.
Though he never let his condition get in the way of having fun with our boys, Harrison, 7, Ashton, 6, and Jakson-john, 4.
But in November 2015, tests showed John’s kidney function had dropped to just 30 per cent.
John was horrified when the kidney team said it was likely a result of mismanaged diabetes. ‘It’s my own fault,’ he sighed. Whatever the reason, there was no point dwelling.
Despite regular dialysis, John’s health went downhill.
He was admitted to Kettering General in April 2017 as he waited for a kidney and pancreas transplant.
But no matter how ill John felt, he made the boys’ weekly visits fun.
‘Come on,’ he’d say. ‘Take your old dad for a spin.’
Then they’d be off down the corridors with John in his wheelchair.
In time, John became confused, struggled to remember the kids.
We learned he’d developed vascular dementia, triggered by the diabetes.
Thankfully, the boys thought his forgetfulness was just another one of his jokes.
They still loved their visits, missed him like mad.
Then, in December 2017, finally some good news…
John would be allowed to come home for Christmas.
I was thrilled. Knew it would mean the world to the boys.
So, with renewed energy, I whizzed around the house.
I put up the tree and decorated every surface with tinsel and lights.
But as I placed the last of the red baubles, I couldn’t keep it in any longer...
‘Daddy’s coming home for Christmas!’ I blurted.
Three excited voices shouted out in unison, ‘Yay!’
Days before Christmas, John was well enough to leave the hospital for a few hours and go for dinner with me and the boys.
‘Not long now, love,’ he grinned. I beamed back.
But on Christmas Eve, John was poorly again.
He had to be taken to Intensive Care and put into an induced coma.
I didn’t tell the boys, but my nan Alma came to watch them while I went to see John.
Arriving at the hospital, a doctor explained that John had been poorly earlier in the day, so he’d had a brain scan.
‘He has a bleed on his brain,’ the doctor said.
They couldn’t explain why, but it was most likely connected to his uncontrollable sugar levels, high blood pressure and general ill health.
I waited for the results of the brain-stem-death tests to return, my stomach in knots. When the results came... ‘No!’ I yelped, tears falling. The tests showed John had suffered irreparable brain damage. He was brain dead.
Struggling to take it in, I asked, ‘Do we need to turn off his machine?’
But the doctors said he’d already passed away.
He was gone...
Suddenly, three little faces flashed before my eyes, and my heart ached.
The boys were so excited to spend Christmas with Daddy.
I shook my head, hoping to wake up from the nightmare.
As John was an organ donor, he was prepped for surgery.
Standing by his bedside, I soaked in every line of his face.
Then I leant forward and placed three kisses on his head, one for each of our sons.
‘Goodbye,’ I whispered, before I somehow left the room.
Outside, as the cold winter
air hit, something terrible dawned on me. How on earth would I tell the kids? I drove home reeling. Nan instantly knew something was terribly wrong.
Taking me into another room, my words came tumbling out.
‘Oh, love,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘How can I tell the kids their dad is gone?’ I sobbed. ‘It’s Christmas Eve.’
For a long time, we hugged, minds racing. Then...
‘I’ve got to keep it a secret from them,’ I said.
I couldn’t tell the boys that their dad was dead on Christmas Eve.
I had to spare them that pain just a little bit longer.
I knew it’s what John would have wanted.
Drying my eyes, I managed a smile and went to talk to them.
‘Daddy’s still poorly, he can’t come home,’ I explained. ‘But he loves you all so much.’
They looked disappointed, but didn’t suspect a thing.
That night, I lay awake, missing John desperately.
On Christmas morning, I splashed water on my face, joined the boys around the tree.
Ripping into their presents, Ashton said, ‘Can we call Dad?’ I couldn’t say no or lie... ‘Let’s make him a video instead?’ I said.
Pulling out my phone, the boys were so sweet.
‘Thanks, Daddy, I love my presents,’ said Harrison.
‘Merry Christmas, I love you,’ cooed Jakson-john.
But John would never see their video.
I felt like my heart was being torn in two.
I moved through the day on auto-pilot. Cooking, washing up, sitting in front of a film…
Everything was the same, and yet our world had been turned upside down.
Next day, I learnt one of John’s organs had been harvested and would go on to help someone as poorly as he’d been.
Despite everything, I was so proud.
For three days, I tried to work out how to tell the boys the truth.
Finally, on 30 December, I had to come out with it.
‘We need to talk about Daddy,’ I croaked.
It was like a dam had broken and I burst into tears.
‘Has he died?’ asked Ashton, horrified.
I nodded, and we all hugged and sobbed in a heap on the living-room floor.
The next few weeks were unbearable as we went through the motions.
When it was time to go back to school in January this year, the boys wrote letters for John.
Dear God, please look after my daddy for me. He was really kind, read Ashton’s.
My dad was really cool, and loved playing with us, said Harrison’s.
Jakson-john drew a little picture of his dad with an angel.
I wished they didn’t have cause to write those letters, but I felt so proud too.
I can only hope they’ll grow up to be just like John.
Even in his darkest hours, he wanted to help others.
That’s why I’m supporting a campaign to make the organ-donor register an opt-out one.
We never think these things will happen to us, but they can.
Even at Christmas.