I was devastated when my sweetheart passed away. But I found hope in the unlikeliest of places. By Heather Peck, 78
Bustling into the hospital room, the nurse beamed down at my husband Mike.
‘Let’s see how you’re healing,’ she said, examining his stitches.
Mike had undergone surgery for stomach cancer.
He’d always been fit and healthy, spending lots of time in his allotment and taking our children fishing, so the diagnosis had rocked us.
I couldn’t face losing my husband, and our children Sarah and Neil would be lost without their dad.
Thankfully the surgery was successful, and Mike was soon back on his feet and back to his usual thoughtful self, lugging a box of veg from the allotment round to the next-door neighbour.
But four years after getting the all-clear, Mike started getting stomach pains.
Fearing the worst, he went for tests.
‘The cancer’s returned,’ his oncologist said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
This time, the prognosis wasn’t good.
While Mike had treatment, our friends and family rallied round. But his condition worsened and we knew we only had a short time left.
As a family, we made the difficult decision to send him to a hospice so he could receive proper palliative care.
I felt so guilty sending him, but the staff at Keech Hospice, near our home in Dunstable, Bedforshire, couldn’t have been lovelier.
‘You’re doing the right thing,’ a nurse assured me.
Another suggested I joined the carers’ support group.
‘Everyone there knows exactly what you’re going through,’ she said.
So I did, and through the group I met Martin.
His wife Gerry had multiple sclerosis and attended regular outpatient physio sessions at the hospice.
'You're doing the right thing'
Like me, he appreciated talking to others who knew what he was going through.
I was glad of the support as Mike’s health deteriorated rapidly.
Our family gathered at his bedside to say our goodbyes and, just a week after moving into the hospice, he passed away, aged 75.
We’d been married for 46 years and his loss left a huge hole in my life.
‘We all miss Mike,’ my neighbour said one day. ‘He was a wonderful man. I used to love it when he turned up at my door with a box of fresh veg.’
Despite my grief, knowing that Mike had made so many people happy filled my heart.
I eventually joined the hospice’s bereavement support group, taking comfort in their kind words and advice.
Three months after Mike’s passing, Martin’s wife Gerry lost her own battle, slipping away peacefully at the age of 67.
Afterwards Martin joined the group too and, together, we laughed and cried, reminiscing about all the happy times we’d spent with our beloved partners.
Martin and Gerry had enjoyed 50 years of marriage and had two children and two grandchildren.
‘Gerry and I met at a jazz night,’ Martin told me. ‘I knew she was the one as soon as I saw her.
Eyes crinkling as he smiled, he added: ‘She poured her heart and soul into her florist business. I was so proud of her.’
Weeks passed, and my friendship with Martin grew and then, one afternoon, I was at home when a message popped up on my phone.
Would you like to accompany me on a bluebell walk? Martin asked.
He was a keen amateur photographer and loved getting out in nature.
I’d love to, I replied.
A few days later, we drove to the National Trust Ashridge Estate in Berkhamsted, Hertfordshire, to see the bluebells.
'Falling at my feet already?'
‘Shall we climb the monument?’ he suggested.
We made our way up 300 spiralling steps to the top. The view was breathtaking.
But as we went to go back down, my sunglasses reacted to the sunlight and I squinted, then tripped, falling at Martin’s feet.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, helping me up.
‘I’m fine,’ I told him. ‘Thank you.’
‘Falling at my feet already, eh?’ he chuckled.
Two months later, Martin and I attended a rock ‘n’ roll dance together. We both loved music and dancing but, as we were jiving away, one of the uneven floorboards shifted, and I tripped.
Suddenly, I was splayed on the floor, ankle throbbing.
‘I think it’s broken,’ I cried.
Sure enough, I’d fractured my ankle and had to spend a week in plaster, then another two weeks in a special boot.
Back home, I couldn’t even get upstairs unaided.
Martin suggested I stayed at his, especially as everything I needed would be on the ground floor.
‘Besides, I’m going on holiday for two weeks and need someone to watch my cat,’ he added. ‘You’d be doing me a favour.’
So I agreed, and while Martin was off on his boating trip across Europe, he texted every day.
Each time my phone pinged, I was excited to read about what he’d been up to with his pals.
We all got tattoos! he messaged one day. Skeletons and crossbows.
A tattoo? How could he! I thought.
I typed back: I supposed you think that’s funny.
It’s my body. I’ll do what I like, he replied.
He had a point so why was I getting so worked up?
A few days later, I was speaking to Martin’s son Ian and he told me: ‘You do realise he’s winding you up. It’s just henna. It’ll rub off soon.’
I felt so silly.
But I still didn’t understand why I’d felt so angry.
When Martin returned home, I felt so happy as he walked through the door.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said, reaching into his rucksack and pulling out a massive teddy bear.
It was lovely but I felt sad too.
‘Do I have to go home now?’ I asked.
‘Not if you don’t want to,’ Martin replied.
And in that moment, I understood why I’d been feeling the way I had.
We had feelings for each other.
Over time, those feelings blossomed into love.
Martin and I sold our homes and moved in together.
Our children were delighted for us.
Then on Valentine’s Day, after 10 years together, I was in the kitchen when Martin called to me into the living room.
‘What is it?’ I said.
I walked in, then stopped in my tracks. Martin was down on one knee with a ring.
‘Will you marry me?’ he asked.
I burst out laughing.
‘Yes!’ I chortled. ‘I suppose you’ll need me to help you up now!’
‘I can get up by myself,’ Martin chuckled.
So seven months later — with me aged 78 and Martin 81 — we tied the knot in front of family and friends at a lovely hotel.
All our family were involved in one way or another, from planning the wedding to videoing the whole day.
Ever the joker, Martin donned a purple suit and light-up bow tie, and skipped down the aisle with his best man Mick.
For our first dance, we had Buddy Holly’s My True Love. Then after 90 seconds, the music changed to a faster number.
As it changed, we were joined by some of our friends for a line dance, much to the surprise and delight of our guests.
Instead of asking for gifts, Martin and I asked for donations to Keech Hospice, and raised £640.
We were so grateful for everything they did for Mike and Gerry, and for supporting us in our grief.
If it wasn’t for Keech, we would never have met.
Now Martin and I talk about Mike and Gerry every day. They’re always in our hearts.
I know Mike would be happy that I was able to find love again.
I feel unbelievably lucky to have been blessed with love not once, but twice in a lifetime.