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Our last tragic resolution

Sadly, I won't be making any more wishes for the coming New Year...


Published by: Lucy Laing & Jai Breitnaur
Published on: 21st January 2011

Our glasses clinked together as I leaned in for a kiss. ‘Happy New Year,’ smiled Rob, 52, my fiancé.
‘So… any New Year’s resolutions?’ I asked, as he topped up my glass with bubbly.
‘Nah,’ he shrugged.
‘Nothing…?’ I smiled.
‘Nope,’ he replied.
Maybe I was going to have to spell this out for him!
Me and Rob had been together 10 years, but still weren’t married.
On Christmas Day, I’d joked to my daughter Mandy that maybe he’d bought me a wedding dress, instead of one of his usual, practical presents.
I’d been wrong…
‘Er… a door handle,’ I’d laughed. These prezzies were a running joke with us.
‘No point in buying you something that won’t get used,’ Rob had winked.
That was him, Mr Practical. I knew that’s why he was worried about us getting married, in case he couldn’t afford it.
But it had taken us 30 years to get this far! I’d fancied Rob when I was a teenager. When I listened to that song Bobby’s Girl, I’d dream about being his girlfriend, but I’d been too shy to talk to him.
It was 20 years later, when I’d bumped into him down the local pub, that things had changed.
At my 40th birthday party there, seven weeks later, we’d been dancing to Stevie Wonder’s
song You and I, and smooching like teenagers!
Then, four years ago, he’d proposed. But I still dreamed of getting hitched.
‘We should make a joint resolution this year,’ I told him now. ‘Let’s make 2009 the year we get married.’
‘Umm,’ he winced.
‘Imagine a wedding in Cyprus, with all our family and a barbecue on the beach,’ I encouraged.
‘I’ll think about it,’ he smiled, pecking me on the forehead.
By May, though, we still hadn’t made any plans.
Still, at least we’d booked a holiday to Spain. Maybe after a few glasses of sangria, I could persuade him…
But we’d barely unpacked before Rob slumped on the bed.
‘I’m so cold,’ he shivered, crawling under the duvet. ‘I’ll just have a little sleep.’
He spent the next two days in bed. And, when I finally managed to get him out of bed, he could barely walk.
‘You’re all hot and sweaty,’ I worried, helping him into the shower. ‘Why don’t you freshen up and we’ll go for a relaxing walk along the beach?’
Ten minutes later, when I went into the bathroom, he was just standing there naked.
‘I... I can’t remember what to do,’ he croaked.
How had he forgotten how to wash himself?!
‘Y-you must have a fever,’ I said gently. ‘Come on, back to bed.’
I was worried though. Back home, I took him to hospital. What if he’d had a stroke? Or a blood clot from the flight?
But an MRI scan revealed something much worse…
‘Cancer?!’ I gasped as the doctor gave us the results. ‘But he’s only 52, and always kept fit and healthy.’
‘I can have chemotherapy, though, can’t I?’ Rob asked.
‘The tumour is at the front of your brain,’ explained the doctor. ‘We can remove a little of it to reduce the pressure and improve your quality of life.’
‘What are you saying?’ I asked, panic welling inside me.
‘I’m sorry,’ sighed the doctor. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’
My stomach clenched and I thought I’d be sick.
My fella was dying.
I looked at him, staring at his hands. I wasn’t even sure he’d heard what the doctor had said.
‘How long?’ I asked in a hoarse whisper. Rob visibly flinched.
‘The best case scenario is three years,’ the doctor gently said. ‘Rob, however, isn’t the best case…’
I couldn’t help myself, and I began to cry.
‘It’s all right, love,’ Rob soothed, putting his arms around me.
As he stroked my hair, I prayed he wouldn’t be taken from me. Prayed we’d fulfil our dream of getting married.
He had a brain operation four days later.
When they opened him up, the surgeons discovered that the cancer had gone much deeper than they’d thought. A doctor took me to one side, and told me to prepare for the worst.
Back in Rob’s room, I sat on his bed.
‘I don’t think I’m going to get better,’ he managed to whisper.
‘Don’t say that,’ I said.
‘We’ve wasted so much time, let’s get married,’ he croaked.
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I nodded. They were tears of happiness, because we’d finally be husband and wife… and tears of sadness, because our hand had been forced so horribly.
With help from my daughter Danielle, 25, I organised our wedding in 10 weeks.
That October – the day before I turned 50 – I walked down the aisle towards a frail, but smiling Rob.
As we danced to Stevie Wonder’s You and I, just as we had at my 40th birthday party, I felt a million dollars.
‘I can’t believe we’ve been together 10 years,’ I said, tears brimming in my eyes.
‘We’ve had some good times,’ he smiled.
Soon after the wedding, Rob went downhill quickly. I couldn’t help but think this festive season might be our last...
‘The kids are coming to us for Christmas,’ I told Rob in early December. ‘We’re going to make it really special.’
I’d got a massive turkey and bought Rob an iPod. But on Christmas morning, he could barely move.
‘Give me a few minutes,’ he whispered, trying to get out of bed. ‘I don’t want to spoil Christmas Day.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said, gently. ‘We’ll save the prezzies and turkey, and enjoy them tomorrow.’
Inside, I felt a stab of cold fear. Luckily, the next morning, he was well enough to come into the living room.
‘Sorry about yesterday,’ he said. ‘I feel better today, though. Now, where’s that turkey!’
We had a fabulous day. Rob even managed to eat most of his dinner. He loved his iPod, too, although I could only guess what he’d got for me.
‘It’s not another door handle is it?’ I teased him, as he handed me a tiny box. Inside was a gold necklace and a diamond pendant.
‘It’s gorgeous!’ I gasped, as Rob hung it around my neck with his shaky hands
‘Whenever you wear it, you’ll think of me,’ he smiled, sadly.
Not just a Christmas present, but a goodbye gift.
All too soon, New Year rolled around, but there was no party and no grand resolutions this time.
How could we plan for the future when we didn’t know how long Rob had left?
As the end of January fast approached, Rob became housebound. Then, one night, he woke up screaming in pain.
The tumour was pressing on his pain receptors and the best the doctors could do was give him morphine injections and move him into a hospice.
I gave up work as a police custody officer, and spent every day at his bedside.
By February, he was exhausted and weak. I’d sit with him all day, but he barely spoke. Then, as I was leaving one evening, he reached for my hand.
‘I love you, Julie, but I’m ready for God now,’ he whispered.
He fell unconscious that night and, three days later, he died with me by his side.
‘I’ll never forget the time we had together,’ I whispered, reaching for the beautiful necklace he’d bought me for Christmas. ‘And I’ll never forget you.’
It’s been 10 months since I lost Rob, but I thank God for the 10 years we spent together.
I’m planning on spending this Christmas with family, but I’ll work on New Year’s Eve because I have no need to make plans for the future – when I married Rob all my wishes came true.
Julie Lovatt, 51, Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire