Voices from beyond
Each month a reader writes to a loved one in the afterlife and Mandy Masters tunes in to share their reply. This month Joan Casey writes to husband Dennis
Your kindness was plain to see
Dear Dennis
My tummy was full of butterflies as my bridesmaids, Danielle and Hollie, helped me into my lovely white wedding dress. We had started off the morning at a posh hotel before the girls had helped me get ready for my big day.
‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ I smiled, twirling as they spread out the intricate lace train behind me. Then, off we went!
Arriving at St Catharine’s Church in Wigan in a white limousine, everyone turned to look as I entered and smiled. But my focus was on the handsome man waiting for me at the front. You!
Dressed in a sharp black suit with a bow tie, you turned to look at me and your face lit up.
‘Wow!’ you said, grinning from ear to ear.
It was just like our wedding day exactly 50 years ago to the day. Same church and same hymns, except, of course, both of us had a few more wrinkles this time around and some of our original guests had sadly passed away. My grandson, Liam, had walked me down the aisle instead of my dear dad and my granddaughters had stood in for bridesmaids as my original ones were too frail to walk now.
We even had a lady vicar this time round – whoever would have imagined that back in 1963!
Even after all these years, we still loved each other as much as we did back then, which is why we’d had the idea to renew our vows to mark our golden wedding anniversary.
That day back in June 2013 was perfect, like the first time we’d wed, aged just 17 and 19.
We’d only been together two years then, having met at the local dance hall.
I can’t say it was your dancing that attracted me – you had two left feet! But your kindness was plain to see and I fell for you.
Everyone who met you loved you, too, including my parents, and it was the start of nearly 60 blissful years of marriage.
Back in those early days we didn’t have much money, what with you still training to be an electrician, but we were happy. And it wasn’t long before we welcomed our two kids Dawn and Darren.
They were such lovely children and we had a wonderful family life, staying close even as they grew up and left home. Not that they were gone for long!
When we decided to up sticks from Greater Manchester to buy a B&B in Somerset in 1996, the kids followed us. By then they both had children of their own and it was wonderful all working and living alongside one another.
Darren loved making a fuss of the customers and they were always commenting on how warm and welcoming he was. From the outside we looked like the perfect family.
Little did anyone know Darren was struggling with a drinking problem.
One evening, after he’d been in bed unwell, you went to check on him and found him dead in his bed. He was just 33, leaving behind two young children.
With the hotel full of guests, we had no choice but to put on smiles and pretend nothing had happened. But it broke our hearts. You never cried though, you were trying to be strong for me. But you were never the same after that. Losing a child is something you can never get over.
Racked with grief, Dawn and I asked a psychic who was staying at the B&B for a reading to contact Darren.
‘Put your fingers on the table,’ she said. But before we could do so, the table began moving all on its own. Darren was there.
‘Ask him if he’s still drinking,’ I said, only for him to reply that he was. I sighed. Still, he seemed OK up there.
As your health began to fail we gave up the hotel in 2008, after 12 years, and travelled the world together.
But as you got older, your declining health forced us to spend more time at home.
In September 2018, after a multitude of things went wrong, you went to hospital where you fell gravely ill.
Dawn and her husband, Paul, were due to go on holiday abroad to celebrate their anniversary, but they decided to cancel because we were all so worried.
Yet you were dismayed. ‘No you must go,’ you insisted. ‘You can’t not go just because of me.’
Dawn reluctantly went and I moved temporarily into my granddaughter Danielle’s house so I could be near the hospital where I visited you daily.
‘Call me if anything happens and I’m not here,’ I told the nurses, giving them Danielle’s number.
One morning, I arrived as usual and headed to the ward to see you, but a nurse blocked my way.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But your husband died. We were calling you, but no-one answered.’
They had been ringing my phone back home.
I was shocked and devastated. After nearly 60 years of marriage, you were gone just like that aged 77.
I hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.
Now three years on, I still feel sad whenever I think about you. It’s hard to keep going, but I do.
I’m living with Dawn’s family in a nice granny annex and I can see our old hotel from my bedroom window. Looking at it reminds me you’re never far away, at least that’s what everyone tells me.
Now Mandy is giving me the chance to speak to you again at last and say a proper goodbye, until we’re reunited again in Heaven.
Joan xx