Shock real life: Now I’m engaged to the best man
After suffering devastation and heartbreak, Karen Abbotts, 54, learned how to love again
Looking at the faces of the 100 guests as I walked down the aisle, my heart was racing. Waiting for me down by the altar was my groom, Jem, then 23, and to the side of him, his best man, Steve, then 31.
‘Congratulations!’ Steve whispered as he passed Jem the diamond band.
It was 1990 and the three of us had been the best of friends since Jem and I first met in a pub four years earlier. We all spent so much time together, but not long after Jem and I got married, Steve met someone and moved away to Rochdale.
We kept in touch for a while, speaking on the phone every couple of weeks and taking it in turns visiting each other, too.
But then Jem and I had our daughter, Emily, in 1992, our son, Tom, in 1995, and Steve had a son. Life moved on for all three of us and we fell out of touch.
It was sad, but for me and Jem, family came first. He had such a big heart and couldn’t do enough for the kids. We were a happy little unit and a few years later, when we decided our family was complete, Jem decided to have a vasectomy.
Heartbreaking news
So, one Friday in March 2004, Jem went under the knife. It was a short operation and by Monday he was back at work. But less than a week after his surgery, Jem started to feel unwell. ‘I think I’ve got the flu,’ he groaned.
A home visit from the doctor confirmed that Jem had an infection and he was given antibiotics.
But the following morning, Jem’s condition had deteriorated. He was incredibly pale, his lips were blue and when he began slurring his words, I knew something was seriously wrong. Calling for an ambulance, Jem was taken to hospital and I followed once my parents had arrived to watch the kids. But by the time I was on the ward, the doctor delivered some devastating news.
‘His heart’s stopped, we’re doing all we can,’ she said.
The doctor explained she believed that Jem had contracted sepsis – a potentially life-threatening condition caused by the body’s response to infection.
I felt so helpless as Jem was placed into an induced coma and I was told to expect the worst. Worried whether Emily, 11, and Tom, eight, would get a chance to see their dad again, I asked my parents to bring them to the hospital.
‘Daddy, we love you,’ Emily whispered, leaning in. ‘Please get better and come home.’
Over the next few days, medics battled to save Jem but his organs were failing. And after four days, the doctors told us Jem was brain-dead – the life-support machine was the only thing keeping him alive.
‘I’m sorry, there’s nothing more we can do,’ the doctors said. I burst into tears and shook my head in disbelief.
It was too late
Just 10 days after his minor operation, at the age of 37, Jem died.
I was utterly heartbroken, and now, I was faced with the impossible task of telling our children.
Back home, I took Emily and Tom into the garden.
‘Daddy didn’t make it,’ I whispered as I held their hands. ‘He’s not coming home.’ Through our tears, we huddled together.
It didn’t seem real that we would never see Jem again, and now, at the age of 37, I was a single mother of two, and life seemed more difficult than ever.
Two weeks later, we held Jem’s funeral in the same church where we married. Jem was kind, funny and loved by everyone who met him, reflected by the 400 people who came to pay their respects.
An inquest into Jem’s death was held in the aftermath, which found that bacteria had got into his wound during the vasectomy. We built a legal case afterwards but no blame fell on the hospital. Sepsis was difficult to spot and by the time Jem was diagnosed, it was just too late.
I hadn’t known anything about the condition but I was determined that no one else should have to go through what Jem did.
Two years later, I was part of the group that started the UK Sepsis Trust, and I began volunteering, giving talks to doctors and nurses around the country.
Although I was getting on with life, I didn’t stop missing Jem and the house felt so empty. Then, one day in October 2017, 13 years after Jem’s death, a friend told me Steve had come back and visited our local pub, looking for Jem. He had no idea that he had died.
After years of silence, I rang Steve and told him everything. He was devastated, but as we began to chat about the three of us in the old days, we shared a giggle. It gave me a lift, and soon we were chatting on the phone every day. I told him all about the kids and Steve revealed that his relationship had broken down and he was now single once again.
‘I would love to see you,’ he messaged.
A few months on, Steve came down to visit, and he looked exactly the same as he did the day I married Jem. He was funny, full of life, and suddenly I began feeling something unexpected. I was laughing and enjoying life once more.
Over the next few weeks, Steve and I continued to see each other, and the more we were together, the stronger my feelings became.
But I wasn’t sure if it was all one-sided, until one day in December 2017, Steve took me to my favourite restaurant and grabbed my hand.
‘I think I’m falling in love with you, Karen,’ he confessed.
‘I think I’m falling in love with you, too,’ I smiled back.
While, at first, I was scared to tell Emily, then 24, and Tom, 21, I needn’t have worried. They were both so happy for me and both took to Steve so well, especially Tom, who loved hearing the stories that Steve told about his dad.
In fact, all my family and friends were happy at the news.
Living in the moment
Over the next few months, Steve and I moved in to a new place in Lichfield – and, on holiday in Norfolk in 2018, he proposed to me.
Now we’re planning another wedding, only this time it’ll be Steve saying the vows, which might seem strange to some.
But while I’ll never stop loving Jem – and we’ll be thinking about him on our special day – it feels right.
Moving on is always hard, but Jem would want me to be happy and I’m certain he knows that Steve will take good care of me.
After all, there was a reason Jem chose Steve as his best man all those years ago.
Now, we have all learnt to live in the moment and live each day as if it were our last, because you never know when your time is up.
‘I was laughing, enjoying life once more’