Silent Killer Took My Soulmate
Roisin just thought that her partner had a hangover...
‘
That boy is really fit,’ I giggled to my mates. We were just 15 and hanging out in the park. We’d been joined by a group of lads who were larking around, but I had my eye on the shy one in the corner, Tony.
I was mortified when one of my friends went over to him.
‘My mate fancies you,’ she said.
My cheeks burned.
But he came over to chat – and, before long, we’d snuck away to sit on a bench for a cheeky kiss.
After that, me and Tony were inseparable.
I took him to the prom and that Christmas he met my parents Mairead and Liam.
‘He’s a lovely lad,’ smiled my mum later.
‘Be careful, though, Roisin, you’re too young for anything serious.’
But me and Tony were soulmates.
I’d never been with anyone other than Tony.
After school, I trained to work with children with learning difficulties, and Tony worked as a plasterer.
We bought a house and went on nice holidays. There was just one thing missing…
‘When are you going to propose?’ I nagged.
We’d been together over a decade and I wanted a ring!
‘You know I’m not the romantic type,’ he’d say...
So lucky!
On Christmas Eve 2014, Tony said my gift was in the kitchen.
Annoyed, I rummaged in the cupboards and stormed into the lounge to say I couldn’t find it.
And there he was, down on one knee waiting for me.
‘Roisin, will you marry me?’ he asked.
I burst into floods of tears. I started planning our wedding, but I had a nagging worry in my mind… I was late.
I’d come off the Pill to have some cells burnt off my cervix following a smear test, and I’d been waiting for the first day of my next period to go back on it again. But it never came. So, in January 2015, I did a test. Positive! The pregnancy was a shock and the wedding plans went on hold, but when we heard our baby’s heartbeat at my 12-week scan, we were smitten.
Conal arrived in September 2015, weighing 8lb 11oz, and we couldn’t believe how lucky we were.
‘He looks like you,’ I smiled, gazing up at Tony.
He was such a hands-on dad, taking his turn with night feeds and nappy changes.
‘Dada’ was one of Conal’s first words. Tony was sports mad, played for local football team Tullymore Swifts FC.
‘I can’t wait to start taking Conal along to matches!’ he’d grin. In January this year, Tony went out to watch the boxing with mates while I stayed at home with Conal.
The next morning, Tony woke up feeling sick.
‘One too many last night?’ I teased as he came downstairs. He grimaced and went back to bed. Hours on, I went to check on him. ‘Tony!’ I gasped. He was facedown on our bed. Still.
Shaking him, I panicked. ‘Help!’ I screamed, running outside. A neighbour called 999, my parents, and Tony’s mum and dad Brenda and Frankie. She then took Conal while we followed Tony in an ambulance. ‘This can’t be happening,’ I wept in a relatives’ room. And when a doctor finally came to see us…
‘I’m so sorry,’ he began. ‘Tony suffered a massive heart
He couldn’t wait to take our little boy to footy!
His funeral was full – Tony had so many friends FOUR MONTHS AFTER THIS PHOTO, HE WAS GONE...
attack an hour ago.’
‘No!’ I screamed.
‘I want to see him.’
I was taken through to Intensive Care, where medics were still working on Tony.
As soon as I saw him lying there surrounded by monitors and tubes, I knew he’d gone.
How could life be so cruel?
He was just 29. Conal, 16 months.
‘You can stop,’ I told the doctors, tears streaming down my face.
I just wanted them to leave my Tony alone.
Numb, we drove home.
‘Where’s Dada?’ Conal said as we walked in the living room, looking around. ‘Dada? Where’s Dada?’ We all burst into tears. I don’t know how I got through the next few days... I kept having panic attacks and passing out.
Tony had been by my side since I was 15. I didn’t know how to live without him. But I had to, for the sake of our son. His funeral was full – Tony had so many friends.
And soon his gym buddies and football teammates were planning to run the Belfast Marathon in his memory, to raise money to put in a savings account for when Conal’s older.
On marathon day, the family wore T-shirts with Tony’s picture printed on them.
Conal’s T-shirt said:
In memory of my daddy.
Apparently, Tony suffered a blocked artery from a large blood clot. Reports showed he’d had a heart attack two weeks before he died, which went unnoticed.
A silent killer.
He’d seemed so healthy.
Memory box
It’s agony that Conal won’t remember the daddy who loved him so much.
Brenda has bought a memory box for Conal, which we’re filling with Tony’s things.
Friends have written letters for it and I’ve made a diary of our lives for Conal to read.
I’ve had a teddy bear made from one of Tony’s jumpers, and me and Brenda had his name tattooed on our wrists.
‘Tony would be so cross,’ we giggled. ‘He didn’t like tattoos, he’d be telling us off right now.’
One of our friends had a star named after Tony, too. Me and Conal look at it every night. ‘Dada is a star,’ I tell him. And I know he’ll be watching down on us both forever.