Learning to love Christmas without you
It was their favourite time of year, so how was Ali Payne, 38, supposed to cope without her beloved husband by her side?
‘Telling the kids was the hardest thing I’d ever done’
At this time of year, something as simple as a mince pie can throw my day off-kilter. Straight away it takes me back to Christmas Eves spent with my husband, Jude.
every year, our children, Thomas and rachel, excitedly left santa a mince pie and a glass of his favourite tipple, Glayva, on the fireplace before going to bed. Then, Jude would throw me a mischievous smile and gobble the mince pie, making sure to leave a convincing trail of crumbs. We’d tiptoe around until we were sure the children were fast asleep before wrapping their presents. Afterwards, we’d snuggle down to watch a Christmas film with a drink in hand – Jude with santa’s glass of Glayva (coincidently also his favourite tipple) and me a glass of port. The film love, Actually would be on every year, but our favourite was national lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
Sad reminders
nowadays, i can’t watch that film, or see a mince pie, or smell the orange honey scent of Glayva without feeling sad and happy at the same time.
Because those special Christmas traditions – a symbol of our precious family life – are now also a painful reminder of what we lost. our darling Jude.
he left my life as quickly as he came into it. i was 24 when we met. We both worked for the scottish Parliament, and as we got chatting at a conference in August 2003, i fell for his warm smile which would come to light up my day. he made me laugh and feel loved in equal measure. When we got married on 28 october 2006, he thought it was hilarious to refer to me as ‘the current mrs Payne’. And when the children came along – Thomas in February 2009 followed by rachel in July 2010 – he loved taking family selfies.
‘Come on, everyone squeeze in!’ he’d say, hugging us all close.
Christmas brought out his cheeky side and we had a ball building up family traditions. it was like being in our very own special club.
But over the course of 2014, Jude started losing weight. he lost his appetite, suffered stomach cramps and felt lethargic. in 2015, he was referred for tests, and that April, we saw a consultant.
‘Jude, you have a form of blood cancer called non-hodgkin lymphoma,' he explained. 'There is a tumour growing on your bowel.’
i gripped Jude’s hand in shock, the words a blur. But Jude was strong. ‘ok, what can we do?’ he said. But the prognosis was positive. And, when he started chemo, his symptoms improved so much he went from exhausted to sprightly.
But, in August, a scan revealed the tumour had grown. Jude started some more aggressive chemo, but it wasn’t working, and by october, we were told there were no more options. We were told about palliative care, but even then we hoped he’d have years.
Family tragedy
‘Jude, i bought you something,’ i said to him one day, handing him three notebooks. ‘These are so you can write memories for the kids and me...’
But hope began to fade and Jude wasn’t well. ‘We’ll still have Christmas,’ he said, trying to keep upbeat.
i got organised, buying the kids presents and booking a trip to see santa. But a week later, the consultant advised us to tell the children – then six and five – Jude was going to die. it was the hardest thing i ever had to do.
‘What are the doctors doing?’ Thomas asked me. ‘Can’t they just cut the cancer out?’ ‘no, they can’t,’ i replied, struggling to hold back tears.
We set up a hospital bed for Jude in our spare room. ‘Come and give me a cuddle,’ he’d say to the kids.
We were able to discuss practical things – his funeral, the mortgage, the will. But the point beyond the funeral was harder to talk about.
‘i want you to try and find happiness again,’ he started to say one day. ‘no, no, stop it,’ i replied.
Then, just like that, he was gone. Family members bustled through the house, yet i felt so alone. i’d coped with Jude’s illness because he was with me. now i’d lost my soulmate, the person who loved me unconditionally, as i did him.
hours turned to days. The children and i read the notebooks Jude had written for us. We looked at photos. When they cried, i told them it was ok because it showed we loved Jude.
As Christmas approached, i tried to stay strong for the kids’ sake. i still took them to see santa, but as we waited in the queue, i worried that they were going to wish for daddy to come back. But instead they asked for the scooters i’d already bought them. i breathed a sigh of relief.
Trying to move on
But i wasn't prepared for how difficult Christmas eve would be. sitting alone on the sofa, with nothing but the memories of Jude on my mind, the loneliness hit me like a punch in the gut. desperate for support, i logged on to a bereavement website called Widowed and Young, which had been recommended by the volunteers at maggie's Centre, a cancer support charity. Talking to other widows and widowers in the forums, i was comforted to know i wasn't alone.
on Christmas day, the children and i sheltered in our own little world and took the scooters to the beach, letting the cold wind whip away our tears. The kids had never liked turkey, so we ate cottage pie instead.
Winter turned to spring, and although Jude was missing from every moment of our lives, i knew it was important the kids felt ok to laugh and play again.
i didn’t want the light to go out for them. When the second Christmas arrived, everything felt permanent.
on Christmas day, the kids rode their new bikes and helped me prepare lunch, before we visited family. For a little while it drowned out the silence, though it was tiring putting on a brave face for so long.
now it’s Christmas again. Three Christmases without Jude. it’s hard to enjoy myself – my heart wishes Jude was with us. But i take pleasure in seeing the kids happy.
If you’ve been widowed young, visit widowedandyoung.org.uk for help and support.
‘I’d never felt so lonely – I’d lost my soulmate’