A long goodbye
when his wife died, Mark Dunbar, 35, from Insch, Aberdeenshire, found proof of her everlasting love...
Ascene I’d never forget – my girlfriend Jennifer, her face shining with pride and joy as she cradled our newborn daughter Katie.
It was September 2014, and Katie had arrived weighing 5lb 1oz, after a 10-hour labour.
‘She’s the image of you,’ I told Jennifer, my heart bursting with happiness.
A true beauty, like her mum. I just knew she’d grow up to be like her.
Jennifer was one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I’d ever met.
She was forever buying gifts for her friends and family, thinking of ways she could make them smile.
I knew she was the one for me so, when she fell pregnant in January 2014, I was thrilled.
And now here we were, a family...
A few months later, on holiday in Lake Como, Italy, I asked Jennifer to be my wife.
In June 2015, we got married at The Marcliffe Hotel in Aberdeen.
‘I can’t wait to grow old with you,’ I said.
‘Me, too. Let the adventure begin!’ she laughed.
I’d hit the jackpot – she was the love of my life.
We spent the next 18 months in a whirlwind.
I worked on an offshore rig, was away for weeks at a time.
Meanwhile, Jennifer juggled her marketing job with looking after Katie.
When I was home, my son from a previous relationship – Rhys, now 10 – would come and stay with us. Life was good.
Then, just after Christmas 2016, Jennifer found a lump in her right breast. Doctors thought it was an abscess and prescribed antibiotics.
But, in three weeks, the lump had tripled in size.
‘Is this cancer?’ Jennifer asked the GP.
‘We’ll need to do a biopsy to be sure,’ she said.
Waiting for the results was really nerve-racking.
They confirmed our worst fears – it was cancer.
I was in pieces, but Jennifer was so calm.
‘So what happens next?’ she said, her hand holding mine. On 8 March, Jennifer had her first chemotherapy session. My work were so supportive, and gave me four months off. Every 21 days, she had another cycle of chemo, a total of six cycles.
It was brutal and, combined with the steroids, it took its toll. Normally happy-go-lucky, the drugs sent Jennifer’s moods all over the place. She was in and out of hospital, weak and poorly. She missed spending time with Katie. And Katie missed her mum, too.
Rhys knew Jennifer had cancer, but Katie was too young to understand.
On 21 June, Jennifer had her last chemo session. And, a couple of months later on 2 August, doctors operated, cutting out lymph nodes from her right armpit and damaged tissue from her breast. With Jennifer home, I had to go back to work. Then, on 21 August, I got a call. ‘I got the all-clear. We’re
Kicking the door down, I found Jennifer having a seizure
cancer-free!’ Jennifer squealed.
Tears of relief rolled down my cheeks.
What a weight off our shoulders. What a stressful year it’d been.
A week later, I was home and gave my wife the biggest hug.
‘I’m the happiest man in the world,’ I said.
The four of us went away for a weekend in the countryside to celebrate.
But three weeks later, as
I got ready to take the kids horse riding, Jennifer complained of a headache.
We were walking out of the door, while she was upstairs in the bathroom.
Then, for some reason, my instinct told me to go upstairs. ‘Jennifer?’ I called.
As I reached the bathroom, I heard loud banging noises.
Frantic, I kicked the door down, and found Jennifer having a seizure.
‘Help!’ I screamed. While Rhys ran next door to our neighbour Laura, 36, I dialled Emergency Services.
‘Please wake up!’ I begged Jennifer, putting her in the recovery position.
Rhys was so brave. Leaving Katie with Laura, he sat outside on the pavement and waited for the ambulance to arrive.
‘Dad – it’s here!’ he yelled, after what seemed an age.
I sat holding Jennifer’s hand as we raced to Aberdeen Royal Infirmary.
‘There’s a dark shadow at the back of Jennifer’s brain,’ the doctor said. ‘We’re doing more tests.’
I went to see her in Intensive Care.
‘I can’t remember anything,’ she said.
Two days later, she had an MRI.
The doctor pulled me aside.
‘The cancer’s spread to the membrane in her brain,’ she told me. ‘It’s untreatable. Jennifer’s got three to four months.’
My head was spinning, the world was closing in. So I went for a walk, desperate to make some sense of it all.
Then, with my heart breaking, I went to see Jennifer.
The doctor was with her, explaining everything.
She glanced over at me, gave one of her big smiles.
‘I don’t do anything by half measures, do I?!’ she said.
I was in awe of her courage. The next day, 27 September last year, we went back home. Katie knew her mum had been in hospital, but she still didn’t know why.
‘Take me to Tesco, Mark,’ Jennifer said the next day. ‘Why?’ I asked.
‘You’ll see,’ she said, with a twinkle in her eye.
We spent £109 on greetings cards – everything from those to celebrate birthdays, weddings and babies, to anniversaries and graduations.
I had a fair idea what Jennifer was up to, but I didn’t ask questions.
Jennifer spent the next few days writing each and every one of them.
Then she made a wish list of everything she wanted to do – such as spending a night with me at The Marcliffe Hotel where we got married, taking Katie horse riding, having a photo shoot as a family.
‘I don’t feel like I’m dying,’ she’d say to me.
I never knew how to reply to that. Her bravery really was something else.
At the beginning of October, though, Jennifer’s health started deteriorating. Her neck and head hurt, she felt unbalanced. She spent a week bedridden at home, until we were told to take her to Insch Hospital for round-the-clock care. And, eight days later on October 22 last year, my beautiful Jennifer slipped away as I held her hand. She was just 33.
I was numb, on autopilot for those next days.
I was honest with Katie, and told her Jennifer had died and gone to Heaven. I said she wouldn’t see her again, but that Jennifer would always be with her. Rhys knew what had been happening, but that didn’t make it any easier. After, going through Jennifer’s things, I found the stack of cards that we’d bought in a drawer. There were three letters for me, the rest were for the kids, her family and my parents. Cards for every special celebration she’ll miss, for years to come.
A long goodbye...
It was so thoughtful of Jennifer – as always.
Two days later, I read the first to the kids. Overwhelmed, Rhys and I broke down. Katie comforted us with hugs. She’s turned out just like her mum.
Rhys got his first card in November, for his 10th birthday, telling him how much Jennifer loved him. He couldn’t speak for sobs. I made Jennifer some promises before she died. One was to take Katie to the spot where I proposed, on her 18th birthday.
Another was to publicise her story, to raise awareness about breast cancer, and the importance of life insurance and critical-care insurance, whatever your age.
So here I am.
Losing Jennifer has been devastating, but I feel so lucky to have met her.
The memories we have and the box of cards she left means she’ll always be with us.
I’m donating the money raised from this interview, and any other media coverage, to Insch Hospital, where Jennifer was so well looked after. The kids and I will make sure her kindness lives on.