“I kept saying ‘I love you’ until he passed away”

Nothing could be done

Simon was only 47 when he was diagnosed with bladder cancer in July 2018. It was only four weeks after we'd bought our first house together. He had surgery to remove the tumour, which was a success but then the cancer came back into his kidney and pelvis and we found out in October 2019 that it was terminal, so nothing could be done.

Simon never accepted he was going to die, even when it got too bad and he had to have a syringe driver and a hospital bed at home. He didn't talk much about dying, but he did say he wanted to be in his own home, which is what I wanted too so I could care for him.

I had started to prepare and asked my mum Ethel if she would move in to help when the time came. I knew losing Simon was going to be devastating so I wanted her support, but then coronavirus struck and in March 2020 Mum was hospitalised with symptoms.

"I wasn't able to process losing Mum"

For the first week and a half she was able to speak on the phone every day. Then on Sunday 5 April, I'd been speaking to the consultant and I asked if there was any way we could get her out of the hospital on oxygen. He said there was a possibility but within an hour of that conversation I had a phone call to say she had died, at 73 years old.

It was a shock, it was traumatic. To think the last time I saw my mum in person was in A&E. I told her I was going home to pack a bag for her and pick up some clothes.

I wasn't able to process losing Mum as I had to make what time I had left with Simon count. Having to care for Simon and arrange my mum's funeral at the same time was just awful knowing I would be doing the same for Simon very soon. We live right next to the cemetery, and I remember being at my mum's funeral and thinking I need to get home for Simon.

Providing much needed support

It was the St Benedicts community nurses that came in every day who mentioned the Marie Curie night sitting service. The Marie Curie Nurse came in on three occasions; 10pm to 7am so I was able to sleep. This made such a difference in the last two weeks. It helped me to focus physically and mentally. I completely trusted them and knew Simon was being looked after. I honestly couldn't have given Simon the care and devotion he needed and deserved.

I would have paid thousands for what the Marie Curie Nurses provided. Simon died on the morning of the 8 May 2020 aged 49, the nurses had just arrived. I'd gone upstairs and they appeared at my door and said, "you'll have to come Sarah. It's not going to be long."

Simon's bed was in the sitting room, facing the bay window with a recliner next to him as I knew I would be sleeping there. The sun was streaming in and we had the best of Glastonbury playing. I ushered the nurses out, held Simon's hand and kept saying "I love you Simon it's okay" and he passed very quickly. It couldn't have been a more beautiful passing if there is such a thing.

A sense of normality

To be able to care for Simon at home, in a house he loved very much, meant everything. I wanted the room to be perfect, with his own bed sheets, pillows and blankets. Little things like that made a very un-normal situation feel normal. It helped me to give him what he needed the most at the end.

Of course, Mum's death was different. In some ways, it almost feels like it never happened because I didn't see her for the final two weeks of her life. It's left me with a lot of thoughts like, should I have done more? I was so busy caring for Simon. It never dawned on me that might happen to my mum. There are days I still wake up and I go to ring her.

Two very different types of grief

I have two very different types of grief now. Not being with Mum has impacted me massively. It made me feel like a failure as a daughter. It made me feel very guilty that I wasn't there at the time that she needed me the most.

With Simon, I don't feel like I failed. It's amazing how two people you love the most in your life can have two very different deaths, and you can be left feeling two very different types of grief.

What I hold on to now is that Mum knew I loved her. We said it all the time. We had an exceptional relationship. I have to believe I'll see them both again.

I feel like they're both still here. I still talk to them. Simon was in the process of doing up the garden, so his colleagues had a collection that raised £1,000, which I've now used to finish it. I planted cherry blossom for Simon and pussywillow for Mum. It's a calming space where I can go and sit.

Remembering them both

I've also had these two beautiful chairs made outside on the patio facing each other with a tag with each of their names on them. It makes me laugh because every time my mum came over Simon would disappear to the garage, because my mum would ask him question after question after question. I can imagine Simon now looking down on me saying I spent all my time trying to hide from your mum and now I'm sat next to her.

People still talk about my mum. She was a real character. She'd planned her own funeral to every last detail. Although I couldn't fulfil all of it, I could fulfil her wishes for the music. She was being cremated so she asked for This Girl Is On Fire by Alicia Keys, which gives you some indication of her personality.

I try to remember them both and the good times in my own ways. I'm hoping to start volunteering for Marie Curie's 'Check-In and Chat' befriending service. I think it'll give me purpose. I feel like I need to not just exist, but to really make a difference.

If you're dealing with the loss of a loved one, find practical and emotional support with our information for bereaved family and friends.