We all know the saying, ‘You never know what you’ve got till it’s gone.’  It’s so true.  We were teenage sweethearts and were married for 48 years.  We had both retired and life was in our hands - or so it seemed.  Everything changed on the 4^th December 2017.  Mary had been feeling anxious for a short time before that and we instinctively knew something wasn't quite right. I can still hear the doctor's words that day in A&E as we stared in disbelief and fright at the image on the CT scan. "There's something there that shouldn't be there.” 

Looking back I don't think the enormity of that diagnosis fully hit home.  Our kids came, rallied round and showed their love for their Mum.  We felt optimistic that something could be done.

Mary had neurosurgery on the 19^th December (our wedding anniversary).  This was followed some weeks later with 6 weeks combined chemo and radiotherapy in Belfast.  The Brain Tumour Charity say this 'gold standard' treatment hasn't changed in 40 years and that’s why we need to do something.

When we came back home Mary and I resumed our walking.  There were days we would walk 7 miles or more but it wasn’t long before anxieties began to set in. It's hard to explain unless you've witnessed it but these were acute episodes and could last days at a time.  Although I never thought of it this way I had become Mary’s carer and that was my sole purpose in life. 

Weeks passed and the anxieties continued. There were no distractions and precious few lighter moments to lift the gloom.  Mary had lost the ability to read since the neurosurgery.  She couldn't stand loud noise or TV.  The only activity she had to look forward to was her daily walks but eventually that was affected too. She became increasingly unsteady.  Then one morning in September she lost her balance getting out of bed and injured herself in the fall.  I phoned the District Nurse for help and she arranged for Mary to be admitted to the Hospice.  I didn't want her to go but I had no option.  She spent 2 weeks there and hated it,  constantly asking when she could get home.  She had lost the ability to walk and was in a chair.  She was only discharged when a care package could be put in place - care workers, hospital bed and lifting equipment.  But, with typical defiance,  Mary would have none of it.  She sent the care workers packing including the Marie Curie nurses and insisted on the removal of all the equipment.  Nothing would do her but to get to her own bed upstairs.  That's what she wanted most.  Later the District Nurse described her as the most determined woman she had ever met. 

After the Hospice remarkably she managed to regain her walking to a degree.  We would do 2-3 miles a day but the progress was short lived.  Eventually the unsteadiness returned and those final few weeks became harder and harder. When she went into the Hospice they said she had days left but she proved them wrong, persevered and kept going right up to the very last day of the year. How strange, providential even, that Mary completed the whole year before leaving us.  Just like her walks and her gym.  No compromises or shortcuts - she always completed whatever she set out to do.  

Mary was unique - strong, determined, feisty, brave and loyal and I miss her greatly as do the family.  Grief is personal and it’s easy to forget that other people are going through difficult times.  Some broken things just can’t be fixed but one thing that helps is the love and support we can show one another when the chips are down.  It’s what gives dignity to the human condition.  

The Brain Tumour Charity is at the forefront of the fight to defeat brain tumours, making a difference every day to the lives of people with a brain tumour and their families.  They fund pioneering research to increase survival, raise awareness of the symptoms and effects of brain tumours and provide support for everyone affected to improve quality of life. They are committed to having the biggest possible impact for every person affected by a brain tumour.  For this reason I am taking park in the Twilight Walk in October and I am indebted to any of you who reads this and shows their support in any way no matter how small. 

Thank-you,

James