Your Stories

2019 was an incredibly challenging year for me and those closest to me. 2018 ended on such a huge high. My business was going pretty well, my family were all well and I was celebrating my two sisters milestone birthdays at a party at the end of the December. But then January came. My mum fell ill visiting my sister over in America and flew home after some tests at the doctors.

After a hospital visit, it was clear she was seriously unwell. She was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was inoperable. My lovely mum succumbed to a bad bout of flu and passed away before treatment could even begin March 12th. Oddly, my dad also passed away from a brain tumor too 10 years previous, so it was particularly tough going through the process again. I kept my meditation practice up throughout that period of time. I wanted to be present for mum and not go into a panic about knowing she was going to die, and my practice helped me to do that. To reflect on mum’s life, her values and what she brought to our family, her friends and our community.

The next few months were emotional and challenging but I wanted to remain present with it all and spent lots of time walking in my beloved mother nature who supported me to let go of lots and lots of tears. Even though it seemed an age before the funeral, it was quickly over and I took on the role of executor sorting legalities. I kept rooted in my mum’s values, that she would have wanted things to be done properly and work with good people. This seemed to happen naturally anyway but on reflection of being focussed on my mum’s values (her roots) that focus really helped to keep me to remain grounded and rooted too during this time. It was almost as if I connected deeper with generations of mothers and daughters before me and the love and connection between them all. Letting go of our parents can bring up awareness of ancient values, but also difficult habits and patterns of behaviors long before our our own lives were present on this earth. I became aware of the interconnectedness of all things on a level much closer to home than ever before during that time.

I slowly got back to my life purpose which is transformational coaching after a break and some extra support to help me process what had happened and things began to feel more balanced. For a while, my branches had been swaying around in the wind, but it felt OK to allow that to happen. Because of my mindful practice in nature I could allow myself to bend through this massive change and not break. I spent time deeply exploring and expressing my emotions. All of them. Everything came up. Anger, sadness, the realisation I was lucky to be alive and terrible aching holes of separation, deep sorrow and loss. Walking mindfully in nature has assisted me greatly during emotional release. I was continuously reminded of a tree and how it is the symbol of renewal of life, how we are part of this continuous circle, how my nature has helped me to let go of mum in the form of her physical body, deeply knowing that she would still be with me even after her death in some way.

Mum had planted a seed in me! Her amazing values of compassion, kindness, selflessness, and truthfulness, I vowed that her legacy would live through my coaching work even more than before. A cycle had begun in my mum and completed when she passed, but she lived on through me and my family.

As the months passed by my grief evolved and shifted shapes, healing is not a straight line and we are always learning. I knew that now I had lost both of my parents my life would never ever be the same again. I really truly had to grow up and even in my 40’s I realised that there were some things I still hadn’t truly taken responsibility for. Practicing self-awareness with meditation in nature is not about relaxation or escaping life, it is the opposite, you become acutely aware of your own behaviors, your limiting beliefs and habits and the areas in your life where you are going around in little never ending circles. Being present with yourself instead of running around in those circles is always beneficial.

Then in September, my whole world fell apart again when my partner went missing and was found later in a nature reserve in Somerset. He had taken his own life. Just like that, no warning signs, no note. I don’t remember even feeling shocked, just a deep sense of separation. The person I had spent the last 11 years in a relationship with and was practically a father to my children was gone. Just. Like. That. An outwardly happy go, lucky soul, I thought I knew so well, had vanished from existence. Love crashed around me. My fresh start after losing my mum that I was just beginning to feel, fell underneath my secondary grief and loss. But somewhere, somehow a deep sense of purpose and love came through me. My values and my roots from my mum, that symbol of the tree I kept seeing came back in stronger than I ever thought possible and I realised that like the Autumn, I was going to have to let go all over again.

This was a journey I HAD to take. There was no choice, I was going on this rollercoaster ride whether I liked it or not. I was blessed from that point onwards with connections to people that had the same values as me. His friends, my friends, his family, my family, his networks, my networks. everything was merging together. People were so kind and compassionate, so understanding, the gap between us human beings suddenly became a lot smaller through this tragic loss I was experiencing. Love showed up and reemerged in a BIG way! Together with some special people we raised almost £6000 in 3 weeks for his funeral and an amazing charity called The Lions Barber Collective who train barbers in suicide awareness. I found myself empowered through my deep sadness and I started a support group online called #loveYOUmore. I named the group this way as my partner always used to tell me he loved me more. Losing Daz has been the most challenging period of my life, but also the most self-aware I have ever been. I have realised that loving OURSELVES more is a poignant message for us all from his tragic passing.

Loss and separation has brought more and more connection and clarity for me, which sounds crazy but it has. After Darran passed away, I could see how everyone was pulling together through my loss, their loss. His death was actively helping other people to open up and let go. When someone dies, love grows even bigger and seeds of life are sown again. The symbol of the tree of life came back to me once again. Another cycle had completed and also begun. Another chance for me to become even more rooted and grounded in my values and my truth while the wind blew me around me and my family. Another chance for me to learn to let go, to plant more seeds in their place, to show up in my life as my true self, be kind, compassionate and find new ways to love again. Creating #loveYOUmore – a safe space for people to express their loss and pain, helped me and others too and I think that is the key, to be strong in our values and help others through whatever we are all going through. Helping others is my life purpose and passion.

Alan and I met on 14th June 2006.

We married on 14th June 2014 after eight years of absolute bliss.

On 5th June 2019, after a couple of months in Marie Curie Hospice, he looked me straight in the eyes as his lungs failed to take one more breath.

Nine days later, on our 5th wedding anniversary, I sat by his coffin, saying my last goodbyes.

On 21st June we held his funeral. It was his 65th birthday.

Alan, the man at the centre of my world, my formerly fit and healthy husband, who people called a hero and inspirational, was no more.

Even though we were told back in November 2017 he had a life limiting disease, even though I had prepared for his death, when it came it was still an awful shock.

I had grown up with the expectation of meeting a man, getting married, having a family and growing old with my chosen partner. Life didn’t work out that way.

After a failed marriage in my 30’s at age 49 I had a good job, a good social life, but I was not happy. I was childless (for medical reasons) and felt empty. I yearned for a soul mate. Someone to share my interests with. Someone who I could rely on, love, and be loved by. Meeting such a person was not happening naturally, so I tried internet dating. And that is how I met Alan. From our blind date on 14th June 2006 the happiest chapter of my life began.

After the shocking news that Alan had Motor Neurone Disease in November 2017, I went into grief. It was hard to accept he was going to die in 6 to 24 months as he was so fit and the initial symptoms were minor – loss of strength in his right arm. However the disease progressed quickly, causing weakness in other limbs and breathing issues. From day one I kept a daily journal, and notes of all medical meetings. Poems started to spring up in my mind so I put them in the journal too. In less than 6 months from diagnosis, I went from high flying business woman, to full time carer, secretary, housekeeper, ‘nurse’ and provider of as much love and support as I could muster.

Quite early on after his diagnosis we decided to ‘go public’, using Facebook to keep everyone up to date on Alan’s progress and educate people about the disease. Sometimes I poured out my feelings of sadness publicly via social media, which usually resulted in copious messages of support from friends and family. Despite such support, at one point I felt so completely heartbroken, I called the Samaritans. Discussions with a bereavement counsellor, a few months later, revealed I was in anticipatory grief.

Life with MND was exhausting. Fundraising events and a steady procession of friends, family and medical professionals visiting Alan at home meant there was never much time to rest. Despite everything he and I managed to stay positive and avoid becoming absorbed in self pity. We were deterimined not to let MND define us and to live our lives to the full.

The holiday adventures we had enjoyed before diagnosis did not stop. We went to Vietnam for two weeks in April 2018 – using a wheelchair to get around. During the summer of 2018 we did a road trip to the top of Scotland, and holidayed in Wales twice – again using a wheelchair, and renting disability friendly properties to stay in. In December 2018 we rented a fully adapted cottage in Yorkshire and hired in a carer to help me with hoisting and all Alan’s personal care needs, because by then he was 100% paralysed, on a ventilator 24 x 7, and being fed via a tube in his stomach because he had lost the ability to swallow. In the last few weeks of his life, he lost the ability to speak.

Three weeks after Alan died, I rented a remote cottage in North Devon and started writing a book. A true story about love and a positive life with MND. Drawing on my journal notes and the poems I composed, it chronicles the last 18 months of our life together.

During his illness Alan had told me what he wanted me to do after he died – including travelling, being pampered and finding someone new but I have found returning to life as a single person tough – made harder by the arrival of Covid. 2020 was to be the year I picked myself up and started living again.. He would be horrified to think I had been confined to our home instead of carrying on our adventures with him in my heart. But writing the book, which will be my gift to the world and a legacy to the man I loved so deeply, keeps me going. I want to see it published and start doing talks around the UK to promote it. The profits from it will hopefully help find a cure for this most horrible, neurological condition, and support Marie Curie, Macmillan and Myton Hospice. But more importantly. I hope it will inspire other families who face life with MND.

The 12 September, 2006, was the day my life changed. My husband Franco left for work in the early hours as usual. He gave me a good morning kiss, and I heard the front door close and drifted off to sleep again only to be woken at 7.20am by the sound of the doorbell. It was my his colleague’s wife, saying we had to go to the hospital as he had had an accident. A cold sweat came over me instantly knowing something was wrong. She drove me to the hospital, forgetting that my husband’s place of work was on the way, and we encountered his car destroyed on the driver’s side with policemen and cordons everywhere. I started to feel panic set in. I wanted to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

The journey seemed like for ever. I rushed into A and E to find him with multiple injuries to his spine and lungs. Franco was the strongest person I had ever met. What had he done to deserve this? He was so kind and gentle with everyone, and he had already had his fair share of pain thrust upon him at the age of 20 finding out he had a tumour, only 5 months after we had met in 1984. Extreme therapy was used to fight it and he miraculously recovered.

Within an hour or so of being with him at the hospital they rushed him into Resuscitation and gave him an emergency Tracheostomy. He was now hooked up to all the machines possible. How can one person endure such pain for so long? He fought so hard to overcome his injuries, but they were too serious and on the 12 January,2007, he died with me by his side.

I can’t recall very well the following months, I was barely able to remember anything from the previous four. All the days flowed into one. No day, no night, a blur of getting up, and continuing my life without my wonderful husband.

I knew I had to get back into a routine. Franco and I unfortunately never had children and my parents and brother had all now returned to England. I had nothing and none to put my energy into. His family were trying to cope with the loss themselves, so I started my English Language courses a few weeks later for family and friends to occupy my time. The hustle and bustle of children and their enthusiasm for life gave me the focus I needed. My friends were exceptional, they never left me alone for long, inviting me to join them on every occasion. My new life, the new me emerged. Franco will always be with me.

I mention him everyday in one way or another. Even with the obstacles put before us in our 22 years together, we had a fabulous marriage, and wonderful times together, leaving lots of happy memories, and that is what I remember the most.

A few years later in 2014,the same date 12 September, would come back to haunt me, my wonderful mother died after a blood clot, following two strokes, only a few days after the death of my beloved father too. I could never have imagined one date could have given me so much sorrow. I have become the woman I am today because of these life changing events. I feel strong. You can go on, and you will get through it. Take one day at a time and surround yourself with people who love you, whether that be friends or family. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Just follow it and stay strong.

My story of loss and bereavement starts back in the Spring of 2010. We were on a short holiday in Kent. It was partly a business trip, researching an area of Britain for our holiday consultancy the Real Britain Company. I was suddenly aware that Ian, my 57 year old husband (I was 55 at the time) wasn’t taking in what I was saying to him. Ian also confessed he was feeling generally anxious and out of sorts. I wanted to walk along the white cliffs of Dover, but he just couldn’t. We sat on a bench and looked at them from afar. When we got home the anxiety continued. In fact he felt so out of sorts that he bought me a solitaire diamond ring. He had been planning to do this for our 25th wedding anniversary three years time but he felt he shouldn’t wait.

Over the next couple of years Ian became increasingly depressed and anxious. He lost confidence and became quite withdrawn, especially in company. He also found it increasingly difficult to keep up with conversations and everyday activities, such as emptying the vacuum cleaner or putting a duvet cover on, became a challenge.

During this time our doctor diagnosed acute anxiety and prescribed anti- depressants that didn’t work and Cognitive Behaviour Therapy courses. There was not any consideration that this was anything but acute anxiety. I was increasingly convinced that the anxiety was the result of his struggle to do everyday things and to communicate effectively, rather than the cause.

To try to keep his brain active and to combat the anxiety we tried new things. Scottish country dancing was a disaster. Bridge classes became just another cause of stress. His golf game, his passion, started to suffer. He was an active member of the village drama group. When he couldn’t learn lines any more he helped out backstage. When he realised he was being carried he stopped all together.

To cut a long story short, after 5 years of witnessing my lovely, competent, sociable, husband decline into a frightened, depressed, shell of himself, incapable of doing anything of significance on his own, and after numerous visits to psychiatrist s, neurologists and other professionals Ian was eventually diagnosed as having mixed Dementia – vascular and Alzheimers.

I cried for 2 days. This was the first time I grieved for Ian. For the loss of much of his essence already and for my future loss.

So we have this devastating news. What came next? The answer is simple — NOTHING. The nice lady from the Memory clinic told us, left us with a few leaflets and we never saw her again. We were offered no counselling, no emotional support of any kind from the NHS.

Now it’s not in my nature to wallow for too long, so once I had got over the initial shock I had to try and DO something about it. I found the Alzheimers research site and offered us up for a drug trial project. Off we went to London to be assessed for suitability. To cut another long story short…this eventually led to the re-diagnosis of Dementia with Lewy Bodies. Basically Parkinsons that starts in a different part of the brain.

Living with someone who has DLB is like being a single parent to a toddler, but with none of the joy. Just as new parents are not pre-wired to cope with small children, so carers, even spouses, are not automatically equipped with the ability to cope with such dependency in an adult, even a much loved one. You run the full range of emotion every day.

Frustration, irritation, impatience, anger.

Loneliness, depression, boredom, fatigue

Sympathy, pity, love

Guilt, sadness, grief

Eventually I had to face the awful gut wrenching guilt of putting him into a nursing home, and I grieved some more. His decline was rapid and after only 8 months in a home Ian died.

In the final couple of years I would sometimes look at him and think ‘ I don’t remember who you were.’ The process of preparing for his funeral — digging out old photos and writing a eulogy — took me back to before the illness kicked in and I started to recall the person I fell in love with.

Now I can conjure those images readily. They are bitter sweet of course.

I’m done with grieving. I grieved when he was diagnosed. I grieved when he went into the nursing home. I grieved as he lay slowly dying. Now it’s time to start living my life again.

We gave up the Real Britain Company when Ian couldn’t cope any more. However I didn’t want to stop working. I didn’t want to be just a carer. I needed something more stimulating to do particularly in the latter stages when our social life had all but dried up and I was largely confined to the house. Also I knew that I must have something to fill the void and keep me going when Ian eventually died. In this respect i suppose I am lucky compared to most other bereaved people. I had time to plan my life after his death.

I started up my business Peach Perfect www.peachperfect.co.uk, my very own online boutique shop filled with perfect presents for customers “to inspire and desire”. I’ve faced so many challenges, creating a website (twice), building up relationships with customers and suppliers, and working hard to give online visitors a shopping experience that’s memorable for all the right reasons! Now I’ve reached a stage where Peach Perfect is nicely bedded in and the business is growing well. It really as been my saviour. I still miss the husband I lost slowly over so many agonising years but it has given me a focus and a determination to get on with life.

I AIN’ T DONE YET!