Smiling till the end
My brave, beautiful Helen smiled till the very end… Chris Bullen, 33, Washingborough, Lincolnshire
Helen was a true one-ofa-kind. Bubbly and full of love
My girlfriend Helen’s 30th birthday was going to be epic…I just knew it!
On the morning of her big day, in May 2017, I presented her with tickets to Disneyland Paris.
‘Pack your bags, we leave tomorrow!’ I declared.
‘Too exciting!’ she squealed. My sons Leo, 10, and Oliver, 8, were coming, too.
And I had more surprises up my sleeve. On our first night, I took Helen for a stroll...
‘So when are you going to propose?’ she teased me.
She’d ribbed me about it constantly – and I’d been waiting for a magic moment. ‘Actually, right now,’ I said, pulling out the ring and dropping to one knee. ‘The answer’s yes!’ she giggled. The boys were thrilled. They’d fallen in love with Helen, just like I had, three years earlier.
We’d met through mutual friends in May 2014. Though recently divorced, I wasn’t looking for a relationship. But Helen had me hooked. Covered in tattoos of her favourite Disney characters, she loved Lego, comic books and roller-coasters. With her then-bright-blue hair, Helen was a true one-of-a-kind. She didn’t take life too seriously, and was bubbly and full of love.
Six months later, she moved in, bringing her zest for life into our home.
Soon after the proposal, we set a date – for May 2018. We booked the local village church. Life was on track. I felt like the luckiest man with Helen there beside me.
Then, in February 2018, Helen was late home from her work as a delivery driver. Sometimes she was delayed, stopped to visit her Gran. But when an hour passed, I called her and a male voice answered. ‘Who’s this?’ I asked. ‘I’m a paramedic. Helen’s had a seizure,’ he explained. She was in Lincoln County Hospital for two weeks, and treated for a suspected virus, underwent extensive tests. In the March, the results floored us. Helen had central nerve system lymphoma – a type of cancer. ‘How are we going to beat this?’ she asked, full of strength. So I took my lead from her. The doctors were hopeful – the treatment had a high success rate. Helen started chemo, and set up a blog called The Awkward Cancer Patient, documenting her journey with her unshakeable sense of humour. A month later, she took part in Brave the Shave for Macmillan, raising a whopping £1,400.
She proudly displayed her new bald head.
‘This is me, warts and all,’ she said to me.
Then the doctors found a growth behind Helen’s left eye. But she was undeterred.
Despite chemo and more bad news, Helen had no hesitation about going ahead with the wedding.
‘If not now, when?’ she reasoned.
On our big day, my bride looked beautiful in a calf-length, white lace dress with a crochet hat beneath her veil.
Watching her walk up the aisle, tears pricked my eyes.
The turnout was just incredible, with 150 guests packing the church.
Our reception afterwards and our honeymoon to Norway were postponed. Until my
lovely Helen was better…
But in June, more minor seizures, more setbacks.
It seems that the tumour wasn’t shrinking.
Shocked, desperate, we agreed to test a new trial. But, three months later, we had more bad news.
‘The tumour’s growing. There’s no cure. Helen’s time is limited,’ the doctor said.
The words wouldn’t sink in – I broke down.
But Helen, as always, stayed strong.
‘It’s going to kill me, but it won’t beat me,’ she said firmly, clutching my hand. We told the boys as gently
and as honestly as we could. They understood, shedding endless tears.
And we gave the next few months our all.
When Helen had the strength, we’d enjoy special family days out, making new memories.
It was gruelling for her, but she never complained.
The chemo took its toll, with hair loss and weight gain.
Helen looked different, but she remained her bubbly, positive self.
And I still loved her as much as I always had.
Then Gillian, a family friend, had a great idea.
‘What about a trip to Disneyland?’ she suggested. ‘Perfect!’ I agreed.
Helen’s favourite place!
Gillian set up a JustGiving page, and very soon smashed the £2,500 target.
Family, friends and strangers raised more than £6,000 for the trip – so generous!
Helen was overwhelmed by people’s kindness.
And, when the family bought themselves tickets to join us, she was bowled over.
Everyone was coming – Helen’s mum Jane, 59, her dad Tony, 69, her brothers Michael, 35, and Matthew, 28, and their partners Kirsty, 27, and Katie, 23. Then…disaster.
Helen landed up in hospital after another seizure.
Discharged three days before the trip, she was exhausted, but still determined.
With Helen wheelchairbound, we drove to Paris.
She was too tired for the rides, but loved seeing the boys so happy. A fighter till the end.
Another highlight was meeting her favourite princess – The Little Mermaid, Ariel.
Helen didn’t stop smiling for a single moment.
But back home, eight days on, she quickly deteriorated.
Helen smiled bravely, bedridden over Christmas, and marked her Mum’s 60th birthday a couple of days later.
But on New Year’s Eve, she suffered another seizure.
Under sedation, surrounded by family, Helen slipped away peacefully on 2 January.
We’d had less than five years together, and I was heartbroken. I felt cheated, yet so incredibly lucky to have known Helen.
On 29 January, we celebrated her life with a colourful, Disney-themed wake, at her request.
Friends and family donned Minnie Mouse ears and bright clothes, as Circle of Life from The Lion King played. Even the rector wore an orange shirt and funny hat!
Over 300 people came to pay their respects. Friends from all over the world – including a pen pal from Australia who Helen had never met in person, and who watched the service streamed online. She was so loved. Helen’s dad closed the service with her favourite Peter Pan quote, directions to Neverland...
‘Second to the right, and straight on till morning,’ Tony smiled.
At home, Leo and Oli talk about her constantly.
We’re ‘Helen’s Boys’ Club’ – we cook her famous spag bol, watch her favourite X-Men movies.
Helen taught us so much, in such a short time.
How to laugh at life, to make it the best it can be.
I’m determined to carry on her legacy.
To live fully, and keep smiling – just as she always did.
l Chris is donating his fee for sharing his story to St Barnabas Hospice.
‘Second to the right, and straight on till morning…’