From the heart: One final goodbye – from wife to widow in just eight weeks
Lisa Barton, 38, went from wife to widow in just eight weeks. she shares her heartbreaking story
Iwatched with a smile as my husband, Wayne, twirled our little girl, Bryonymay, around the dance floor, before scooping her up, burying his face into her hair. Heads High by Mr Vegas – a happy, upbeat number – was playing, but I could see the sadness in Wayne’s eyes as they danced to it. I knew what my husband was thinking and I wanted more than anything to take the pain away.
I first met Wayne while I was working as a barmaid in 2008. I was a single mum to my son Callum, then seven, and worked a few shifts part-time around him. Wayne, 26, was a lorry driver and a regular in the pub. When we started dating, I knew straightaway that he was special. He was a kind, friendly man who chatted to everyone in the pub, buying them drinks. And he was great with Callum, playing football with him and letting him win at arm wrestles just to make him smile.
After three months, we moved in together and in December 2011, we found out we were expecting. ‘This baby will complete our family,’ Wayne said.
Bryony-may was born in May 2012, and Wayne was the first person to hold her. ‘She’ll be a daddy’s girl, that’s for sure,’ I said, teasing him that he was hogging her with cuddles.
Back at home, Wayne was always the first to volunteer to do a feed, even if he was exhausted after a long shift at work, and he always managed to stop her crying. I joked that it was ‘Wayne’s magic touch.’
Early symptoms
Then, around four years after Bryony-may was born, Wayne started complaining of acid reflux and painkillers wouldn’t shift it. He also started having trouble swallowing. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong, it just won’t go away,’ he groaned one night.
The GP told us it was likely just stress and exhaustion, but in March 2016, Wayne woke up one morning and his breathing was crackled and raspy. After another visit to the GP, he was referred to hospital for tests and, that April, I waited at home with Bryony-may while Wayne went to get his results. ‘It’s oesophageal cancer,’ Wayne’s cracked voice over the phone said. After dropping Bryony-may off with a neighbour, somehow I made it to hospital, but it felt like a blur.
Holding each other, we cried. ‘You’re going to get better,’ I said, breaking the silence. I just wanted Wayne to say yes, to agree with me, as if by doing so it would actually make it true. But he just nodded.
We didn’t want to tell Callum and Bryony-may, but we agreed it was best
‘Somehow I made it to hospital, but it felt like a blur ’
they understood why Daddy would be at hospital. Back at home, we sat them down. ‘Daddy isn’t well and will be away from home sometimes but we’ll try to make him better,’ we explained.
Devastating news
Wayne began immunotherapy and chemotherapy to kill the cancerous cells in his body. I quit my job and became his full-time carer. Three months on, just as we were picking ourselves back up, we found out the cancer had spread to his liver.
‘I’m afraid it’s terminal,’ doctors said, after we’d been called back to the hospital. ‘There’s nothing more we can do.’
Nothing could have prepared me for hearing those words. I clung to Wayne so
tightly as the doctor carried on talking but I didn’t hear a word of it. All I could think about was losing Wayne and imagining the day that I’d have to say goodbye.
Wayne continued with chemo and had radiotherapy in an attempt to prolong the time he had left. For the next 10 months, I woke up in the morning not knowing what state Wayne would be in, if he had energy to sit up or if he’d lie back in bed all day, being fed through a tube in his stomach.
In March 2017, after a spell of feeling a bit better, Wayne and I took the opportunity to spend a night away in a hotel at the London Docklands. We wanted to forget about cancer, even if it was just for one night. That evening, at dinner, after he managed to keep down some soup, Wayne suddenly got down on one knee and pulled out a ring.
‘Please, do me the honour of being my wife,’ he asked. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more. We excitedly phoned family, but, after returning home to our routine of hospital appointments, reality set in that with neither of us working, we couldn’t afford a wedding.
But a kind-hearted member of the public had read about a story the local press had done, and contacted Hanbury Manor, who offered us a free venue.
I was so overwhelmed by their generosity and it meant that Wayne and I could set a date – 30 December. That date gave us something to look forward to. Instead of spending days worrying about how long we had left, we spent the time talking of flowers and colour schemes.
But while I rushed about shopping for a dress, Wayne began to deteriorate and doctors recommended bringing the date forward due to his ill health.
We moved the wedding to 19 November. On the day, Wayne could hardly keep anything down, except water, and could only walk a few steps. But when I walked down the aisle holding my dad Alan’s hand, with Bryony-may as flower girl and Callum nearby as a groomsman, Wayne’s smile was so big – he didn’t look ill, he looked just like he had when we’d first met.
After the ceremony, I thought Wayne would be too exhausted but he was the first on the dance floor with Bryony-may. I kept flitting from moments of such happiness – I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have met such a wonderful man – to heartbreak, knowing he was going to be taken from me. When we had our first dance to Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now by Starship, it took all of my strength to not break down. I felt Wayne’s grip tighten around me, and I knew, like me, he’d realised that not only was this our first dance, it was our last dance, too.
Slipping away
Two days later, Wayne was admitted to hospital with sepsis. He had one last round of immunotherapy but his body just started to shut down. Still, he refused to spend his last few weeks in hospital and asked to come home. I made him as comfortable as I could in our bed and it meant Bryony-may could sit with him, reading him stories and singing him songs.
Then on 27 January 2018, Wayne’s breathing became raspier and, with his family around him, he said his last words, ‘I love you,’ before slipping away. I climbed into bed next to him and laid there all night. We’d only been married eight weeks.
As the weeks passed, Bryony-may kept asking why I couldn’t bring her daddy back. ‘It’s not fair, I just want him to be here,’ she sobbed. Callum was devastated and refused to speak about it.
Wayne was buried on Valentine’s Day, which felt appropriate, like we were spending one last one together. I’m not sure how you’re supposed to get over losing the man you love and I’m not sure I ever will. I’m just pleased I got to marry such a wonderful man and I know that, one day, I’ll get to dance with my husband again.
‘It was our first dance, and last dance, too’