Double tragedy led us to love
Grief left Silje Haarr, 45, heartbroken, but a guardian angel stepped in to save her...
Standing in the concert hall, I could feel the music pounding through my chest. It was April 2013, and I was at the Civic Hall in Wolverhampton watching my favourite band, Marillion, perform – a yearly tradition.
I’d met up with fellow superfans Trevor Tyers, then 44, and his partner Carolyn, 40, who I’d met through the band’s Facebook page.
What better than a night of good music and good company? I thought to myself.
The concert was spectacular, as it was every year, and so worth the 650-mile journey
I’d taken to get there from my hometown of Bryne, Norway.
Not that I wasn’t used to travelling to the UK – my fiancé Pete Hamill, then 42, lived in Windsor, and I’d be over regularly to see him.
We’d been together for about 18 months, after meeting on Marillion’s Facebook page.
We were both fans of prog rock, , had loads in common, and just a few months later, Pete asked me to marry him.
While a long-distance relationship was tough, I did plan on moving to the UK with my son Gabriel, then eight, once I’d completed my master’s degree in English.
Pete had always loved the Isle of Wight – we’d been there on holiday together – and we’d planned on moving out there after we got married.
We were so happy together, but Pete did have his problems. ‘I’ll just have a sneaky glass of wine,’ he said on my last visit.
But the longer we were together, the more I realised that these were more than just ‘sneaky glasses.’
Pete drank all the time, would always have an excuse.
‘It’s just Shloer,’ he’d lie, swirling red liquid in his glass.
As time went on, I realised that Pete was an alcoholic – had been for many years.
He was an expert at hiding it, and even his mum Annette had been fooled.
But now, I was getting concerned. ‘I’m worried,’ I said. ‘I want you to try and stop drinking.’ I also had my little boy to think about – if we were all going to live together, things couldn’t carry on like this.
Pete continued to make excuses, but like all other addicts, his health eventually caught up with him, to the point that no lie could explain what was going on.
That December, he called to
It was too late for me to help Pete
say that his liver was in trouble.
He was bleeding internally, and doctors wanted to put him in a coma to give his body a chance to detox.
Worried, I jumped on the first available flight and raced to the Princess Margaret Hospital in Windsor.
Walking in, Pete was covered in all kinds of tubes and wires – it was horrible. His doctor pulled me aside. ‘Pete’s liver has been destroyed,’ he told me.
It was heartbreaking – Pete had come to the end of the road because of his addiction.
I can take him to Norway to take care of him him, I thought.
But it was too late – Pete’s body was now shutting down.
Sitting next to him, I whispered in his ear.
‘Go to the Isle of Wight,’ I told him.
‘I’ll meet you there.’ On 20 December, Pete lost his battle, leaving me heartbroken.
I cried out to the universe as he drifted away from me.
‘If there’s a guardian angel somewhere out there, you have to either send Pete back to me, or send someone for me to spend my life with,’ I said.
How could I live without love? I thought to myself.
My whole future had been ripped out from under me.
I grieved, quietly and reserved, until I realised I hadn’t even told our tight-knit Marillion community about what had happened.
The band had brought loads of us metal heads together.
So I reached out the only way I knew how – through the Facebook page.
I explained what had happened, how alcohol had played a part, and encouraged everyone to hold on tight to the ones they love.
Likes and comments rolled in offering support, but even though I shared so much with these people, they didn’t really know what it was like to be in this situation.
But then, one comment caught my eye.
It was from Trevor, who I had been with at the concert months earlier.
We seem to be in the same situation, he wrote.
Shall we help each other? What did he mean?
It turned out that Carolyn,
who was all laughs and smiles the last time we met, had passed away just six days after I lost my Pete.
The coincidence was startling – but I knew I had to confide in Trevor instantly.
Despite only having met him once before, having someone in the same situation as me felt oddly reassuring.
Trevor lived in Leicester with his two sons – Luke, then 15, and Josh, 12.
We spoke about how neither of us could sleep, and I knew Trevor understood exactly how I was feeling.
As the days rolled by, my grief became less of a personal struggle, and more of a joint mission between Trevor and I to get our lives back on track.
He almost felt like a guardian angel to me.
We would text in the morning to check the other one was out of bed and we provided a shoulder to cry on when the reality of our situations sunk in.
Two months later, in March 2014, I whisked myself away to Tenerife with my family for a change of scenery.
The streets were bustling as as I stepped out of the taxi from the airport – a carnival was going on! Why not join in? I thought to myself, so I scooped up a shiny blue mask and took a picture of myself in it to send to Trevor.
Having a ball of a time over here, how do you think I look? I asked him.
Beautiful, he replied, and I felt butterflies in my stomach. Wait, I thought.
Is he flirting with me?
I wasn’t against the idea, considering how close we’d become over the past few weeks, so I flirted back.
It was a leap, but I dived in headfirst – after all we’d been through, Trevor and I deserved some fun.
Of course I felt guilty about Pete – I thought maybe he’d send some sort of cosmic revenge my way.
But I reasoned that he would have wanted me to be happy.
The next month, I invited Trevor to visit me in Norway, as our conversations were still flowing better than ever.
Before he arrived, we checked in with our old other halves’ families, to let them know what we had planned.
‘I couldn’t be happier to see you smiling again,’ Pete’s mum Annette said to me, seeing how nervous I was to tell her I had moved on.
Carolyn’s family also gave their blessing, and all the stress of the situation disappeared.
The moment Trevor touched down on Scandinavian soil, I felt like I was in a fairytale.
I kissed him at the airport, and it was like a movie scene – pure magic.
The next five days were a blur, and Trevor and I were inseparable – just holding him was enough to make my heart beat a little bit faster.
We became intimate with each other as soon as we could – it was even better than I had ever imagined!
When he had to return home, my heart ached for him to stay, but I was also excited to come and visit him next.
Every month for the next three years, Trevor and I would take it in turns to pop on a plane to see each other.
On one visit to the UK in April 2018, Trevor surprised me with tickets to see Macbeth at the Royal Shakespeare Company.
I’d always been a huge Shakespeare fan.
‘This is amazing!’ I told him, before we settled back to watch the play, starring my favourite actor Christopher Eccleston – I was also a massive Dr Who fan!
But as the curtains were closed after the last act, and people were making their way out of the theatre, Trevor took my hand and dragged me up to the stage.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked. ‘Just wait,’ he said. I turned around to see if any onlookers understood what was going on, and when I faced Trevor again, he was down on one knee in front of me.
I gasped, completely overwhelmed by what had quickly turned into the best day of my life.
‘ Vil du gifte deg med meg?’ he asked in perfect Norwegian – meaning, ‘Will you marry me?’
Trevor had never spoken a word of Norwegian in his life!
I looked down and saw him open a weirdly shaped box.
‘So, it’s not an actual ring yet, because I couldn’t figure out your size,’ he explained.
‘It’s a measuring ring, though, so still counts.’
I burst into tears of laughter.
‘I love you,’ I giggled.
‘And yes, I will marry you.’ I couldn’t believe how thoughtful his proposal was and I felt so lucky.
I knew he was the one for me, and I couldn’t wait to be husband and wife.
We got married on 15 July 2019 at the registry office in Penzance, a place we’d shared a magical holiday together back in 2014.
It was a small ceremony with close family and friends, and I got to wear a beautiful white gown that my mum Torunn, now 72, had helped to make.
‘You look beautiful,’ Trevor, now 49, said.
After saying our vows, I performed a special song on the piano that I’d written especially for Trevor.
It was the perfect day, and Gabriel, now 15, Luke, 22, and Josh, 19, were so happy for us.
Since then, we’ve dedicated our time to moving in together.
I’m still over in Norway with Gabriel, but by this summer, we hope to move to Leicester.
I can’t help but believe that it was a guardian angel that directed me and Trevor to be together in our darkest hours.
We both found love after losing our partners, and now we’re so happy together.
Perhaps Pete had something to do with it?
The future looks nothing but bright for us now, and I guess my desperate prayers paid off in the end.
Trevor had a romantic surprise for me
Search for ‘Singing Unbound’ on Youtube to see Silje’s wedding perfomance.