I met Andy back in 1984 when he was a patient and I was a student nurse. He said he knew he was going to marry me the first time he saw me, although I do have to add, that he had high fever at the time! It was love at first sight for us both and we were married a few years later.
He was the kindest man I have ever known and also had a wicked sense of humour as you can see from this picture of him, larking around with the paper pants, prior to transplant surgery!
He gave his time freely as a coach at the local boxing club, helping many young people and acting as a positive role model. At his funeral is was obvious he had made a real difference in the lives of so many people and will be greatly missed by so many.
We shared grand plans for the future, dreaming of traveling the world. But in the summer of 2016, everything changed when he was diagnosed with liver cancer, with a transplant being his only option. The following year was fraught with stress and uncertainty before, in January 2018, he received the gift of a successful transplant, bringing hope back into our lives.
Andy was such a family man – he absolutely loved spending time with our two children, and I’m so grateful he got to be “Pappy” to our grandchildren.
When I look back, I’m thankful for that precious year of happiness we had together, believing we’d made it through the worst. It really was a gift, and in many ways, ignorance was bliss.
Living with a transplant certainly had its challenges, but looking back now, they felt small compared to what was still to come.
Andy became ill with sepsis but was recovering well in the hospital and was even supposed to come home the next day. I was visiting him when, all of a sudden, he said he didn’t feel good and collapsed right in front of me. He was rushed off for a scan and pumped full of IV antibiotics. A few hours later, he started to come around, and we were so relieved—we thought we’d dodged a bullet.
But the next day, the doctor broke the devastating news: the scan revealed that the cancer had come back and spread to his spine.
The next two years were bittersweet, to say the least. We did everything we could to make the most of the time we had, creating happy memories where we could, but living with a terminal diagnosis is heartbreaking. It’s not really living—it’s surviving. A large part of those two years was spent in the hospital, it was an incredibly tough time and then we had to deal with Covid too… and we all know how that went.
Andy stayed positive throughout, rarely complaining despite severe nausea and pain. He was truly inspiring.
He didn’t want us to feel sad, and I tried to stay strong for him, though inside I was broken and the anticipatory grief was overwhelming.
We were determined to protect him from COVID and ensure he didn’t die alone in a hospital. With incredible support from The Florence Nightingale Hospice, affectionately known as Florries, we were able to care for him at home during his final weeks.
I’m proud to support Florries by donating a portion of each sale of A Journey Through Grief. I know Andy would have loved this.
He will never truly leave those who loved him, as he lives on in our hearts and is only a thought away.
I know he wanted me to smile and be happy again and I work towards that everyday. I’m sure he would be proud of the life I am building and that A Journey Through Grief is giving hope to others navigating their own devastating losses. Anna x