The picture that means so much
Karen Whybrow’s husband had always looked after her. But now it was her turn
As I felt the warmth of the sun against my skin, and my new husband’s hand placed in mine, I don’t think I’d ever been happier. It was May 2011 and Ben, then 33, and I were nearing the end of our idyllic three-week honeymoon in Mexico.
It had been Ben’s confidence and sense of humour that’d attracted me to him in July 2008. While we had lots in common, I liked that we also had different interests – Ben’s penchant for hip-hop was worlds apart from my love of indie rock! In August 2010, Ben surprised me with a solitaire diamond ring.
He already had a two-year-old daughter, and we were both set on a bigger family. When Georgina was born, Ben was hands-on, taking care of bathtime and bedtime even after working hard all day as a builder.
Months after I fell pregnant again in 2015, Ben started feeling unwell. After four days in bed with an upset tummy, we called the GP, convinced IBS or Crohn’s was the worst possible scenario. But the doctor suspected a tumour. And, in April 2016, Ben was diagnosed with stage four bowel cancer. While I was in shock, Ben, ever the level-headed pragmatist, joked to the doctor that he had until July, my due date, to make him better.
By the time Harriet was born, chemotherapy was proving fruitless. The tumour was growing and Ben described the pain as an inflated balloon in his stomach, covered with pins. When he started radiotherapy in March 2017, he was experiencing severe pain in his back and down his left leg, and soon needed a wheelchair.
I explained to Georgina, then four, that Daddy was poorly, and Ben believed he’d be better before she was old enough to remember. But by July 2017, the cancer had spread to his liver and he was bedridden and surviving on protein shakes. Ben had always been the one to look after our family, but now he needed me to help him to wash and dress.
Then, one morning that same month, Ben started bleeding. Georgina was with my mum, Gillian, then 61, and Ben’s
‘BAD CELLS HAD TAKEN OVER’
mum, Linda, then 67, collected Harriet, then 13 months, before I raced Ben to the hospital.
There, two days later, doctors said there was nothing more they could do. As Ben slipped in and out of consciousness, he was moved to a hospice.
I told the girls bad cells had taken over Daddy’s body, and, three days later, on 3 August 2017, Ben took his last breath. As unprepared as I was, a part of me had known it was coming.
Losing Ben, my anchor, was like living a nightmare, and each day was a struggle. After seeing a life coach, I realised I had to think about the future and move forward, for myself, the girls and Ben, too. I qualified as one myself in December 2018, calling my business The Anchor, in tribute to Ben.
Georgina, seven, remembers her dad’s sense of fun, recalling him taking her to Tesco in her pyjamas, and Harriet, three, says, ‘Daddy’s in our hearts.’ I take comfort in that. He taught me so much, and gave me the strength to keep going without him.