Stories

Stories >> Stories home >> Never the bride

Never the bride

I spent 19 years proposing to Lisa. Then she agreed... and disaster struck


Published by: Sue Hardy and Laura Hinton
Published on: 5 January 2012

My whole body went numb as the consultant's words hit me. ‘You've got stomach cancer.' All I could think was ‘how?' I'd only had a bad bout of sickness and indigestion.
The doctor droned on. I should have listened to him, it was important stuff but... I'd got the Big C. I was going to die. Leave behind my partner Lisa, 39, and our son Paul Andrew, 18 - he was due to start studying electronics at uni soon, but I probably wouldn't live to see it.
Then there were my kids from a previous relationship Catherine, 27, and Matthew, 25, and Lisa's son Michael, 23. I'd be leaving everyone behind...
Lisa squeezed my hand, bringing me back from my haze, and led me out of the room.
I followed her like a zombie.
‘It's not as bad as you think,' she sighed, putting her arm around me. I slowly nodded my head.
‘I know it went in one ear and out the other,' she added. ‘I'll explain everything at home.'
That was my Lisa - a rock.
And, back home, she sat me down with a cuppa. ‘You'll need chemo, but the doctor is positive you'll beat this,' she smiled. I'll beat it.
Christmas arrived a month later, but I struggled to feel festive, convinced it would be my last. Lisa kept my spirits up though, always laughing and putting a brave face on things. In fact, she kept me smiling over the next eight months of my treatment. Put her life on hold, bless her.
‘I feel terrible,' I'd moan, vomiting into my sick bowl.
She'd be there in an instant, wiping my brow - even helped administer the four chemo injections a day I needed, too.
It was such a massive relief when the doctor confirmed the treatment had worked. But the main thing fighting cancer hammered home was how much I loved Lisa. Now I'd got my life back, I knew more than ever that I wanted her to be my wife.
The problem was persuading her of that! Ever since we'd met through my brother Brian 19 years before, I'd pestered her to marry me. How could I not want her to be my wife - the way her face lit up when I told a joke, the way she was always so brutally honest, the way she'd been there for me through thick and thin...
Yet she'd always said no to my proposals before. ‘It's just a bit of paper,' she'd laugh, brushing me off. ‘We're fine as we are, love.'
Well, this time I was determined to pull out all the stops. A year after my diagnosis, I whisked her off on holiday to Goa, and secretly had a blue diamond engagement ring made for her over there.
Then one night we went for a walk along the beach. As the sun set over the turquoise sea, I sank down on one knee in the sand. ‘Please, Lisa,' I said, ‘make me the happiest man on earth. Be my wife.'
Tears sparkled in her eyes as she nodded. ‘Nearly losing you has made me see everything differently,' she cried. ‘Yes, I'll marry you.'
It took all I'd got not to do a little jig of happiness!
‘How about next November?' Lisa continued. ‘It'll give me time to sort out everything.'
‘Perfect,' I grinned.
Back home, we got ready for Christmas and it was truly magical. We just did the usual stuff - had all the family over, watched films and Christmas specials, ate until we felt like we'd explode. But somehow it felt all the more special this year, knowing how close we'd come to losing everything.
Instead of me facing death, we were starting an exciting new chapter of our lives as man and wife.
‘This is the best Christmas we've ever had,' sighed Lisa on Boxing Day, snuggling up to me on the sofa and bobbing her head under my arm so she could lay her head on my chest. I kissed the top of her head.
‘Yeah,' I whispered into her hair. ‘It's been fantastic.'
‘In January, I'll start sorting the wedding,' she added. ‘There's so much to do. I'll have to get my mates over to help me choose a dress, find a wedding venue, sort out invites...'
‘Slow down and relax,' I smiled.
Unsurprisingly, by New Year's Eve, Lisa was exhausted. ‘Don't think I'm up for the social club tonight,' she sighed. A few of our family were heading there.
‘Shall we stay in with a few drinks instead?' I said, rubbing her feet. ‘Nobody will mind.'
So we spent the evening chilling out on the sofa. At midnight, Lisa toasted her wine glass to my can of lager. ‘To 2011,' she grinned. ‘The year we finally tie the knot.'
‘You've made me wait long enough!' I chuckled.
The following morning, we cuddled in bed before she asked me to pop out for some cigarettes. ‘Ooh, and make me a bacon butty when you're back,' she laughed. ‘Seeing as I'll be slaving away later!'
‘All right, bossy,' I teased. Not that I minded - she was right, she'd be rushed off her feet later.
The family always came over for a big meal on New Year's Day.
Lisa loved being hostess, though. In fact, she loved all kinds of family gatherings, had thrown no end of birthday parties for the kids as they'd grown up. She must have baked tons of cakes for them over the years. She'd also done all the catering at the pub we used to own.
Landlady and party host - that was her role. But then she had the personality to do it, and everyone loved her. ‘You're just my cellar-man,' she'd tease me.
‘I'd be your anything,' I'd smile.
In fact, our Paul would turn 18 at the end of January... and I was pretty sure Lisa was already well underway with plans for that. I couldn't keep up with her!
Now though, my tummy was rumbling, so I put the bacon on. As it was sizzling away, I heard Lisa's mobile ringing in the front room, and trotted upstairs with it. ‘I'll ring them back,' Lisa yawned, sitting up and sipping her cuppa. Poor love, she was exhausted.
Suddenly... ‘Oh, the bacon!' I gasped, running downstairs. I'd forgotten all about it!
Minutes later, breakfast was ready. I shouted for Lisa, but she must have fallen asleep because she didn't answer.
Yep, when I got to the bedroom, she was laying down. ‘Sleepyhead,' I chuckled, gently nudging her.
But something wasn't right, she was too still. ‘Lisa!' I tapped her shoulder. She didn't move. She wasn't breathing...
Panicking, I dialled 999. Then grabbed Lisa's hand. ‘Don't worry, love - help's coming,' I whispered.
It arrived in minutes and, as I begged them to take good care of her, I called my brother Darren, 36. ‘Come here quick,' I told him. ‘I need a lift to the hospital, Lisa's collapsed or something.'
‘She'll be fine,' he soothed. ‘This is Lisa we're talking about!'
He told me that all the way to hospital, too. But when we arrived, she was hooked up to a life support machine. A doctor told us what was happening, but the words drifted past me again, only the odd one standing out.
Massive brain haemorrhage... induced coma... brain dead...
I found myself shutting down, just as I had when I'd been told about my cancer.
Only this time Lisa wasn't there to take it in for me.
‘It's likely she had this all her life,' the doctor added. ‘There was no way of predicting when or how it would happen. She didn't suffer, though.'
But it was little comfort.
She had so much to live for. It was New Year's Day - this was the year we were going to finally marry after years of waiting. I slumped on to a chair and buried my face in my hands.
‘This can't be happening,' I sobbed. ‘After all we've been through with my illness, I never thought I'd lose her.'
Somehow, I called the family. For the rest of the day and night, we went in two at a time to sit with Lisa. Whenever I was with her, I held her hand and squeezed it so hard, as if my strength alone could wake her.
‘We're all here,' I whispered. ‘You can't get rid of us that easily.' Yet her eyes stayed closed.
The following morning, a nurse came to find me.
‘Have you thought about organ donation?' she asked.
‘No, you're not touching her,' I snapped. I was furious - how could they ask me that?
But as I walked away, I remembered a conversation I'd had with Lisa years before when she'd been filling out her driving licence form. ‘I've ticked the organ donor box,' she'd told me. ‘If anything happens to me, the only thing they can't take is my eyes. Everything else, they're welcome to!'
She was a very spiritual person and believed in the afterlife, so she'd wanted her eyes intact so she could see. I'd never thought I'd need to think about her decision, though. Had always expected her to be here.
Still, I needed to speak to the children first. ‘It's up to you,' Michael told me, his voice breaking. ‘You knew her wishes best.' The others nodded in agreement.
With a heavy lump in my throat, I signed the consent form. This was what Lisa wanted.
The following morning, doctors confirmed there was no brain activity.
As the family shuffled in to say goodbye, I waited to go last. Walking into the room, I felt utterly lost. How could I have fought death and won, only for the love of my life to be stolen from me?
Suddenly, I realised the nurse was still in the room, checking Lisa's temperature. ‘Let's get you comfortable, Lisa,' she said gently, before turning to look at me. ‘Everything will be done very carefully,' she promised.
‘Thank you,' I said, smiling at her through the pain. ‘You're being so respectful - thank you for that.'
She left the room, and I gave a shaky sigh. This was it. Time to say goodbye. I held Lisa's hand for the last time. ‘You... you were already my perfect wife,' I whispered. ‘It didn't matter that we didn't get married because it's only a bit of paper, remember.'
Walking away, I felt empty - like a piece of me had disappeared.
The next days were a painful blur. The house felt so empty without Lisa, yet her laughter, her smell, and her presence were everywhere. At night, I'd bury my nose in her pillow and breathe in her scent, try to kid myself she was still there.
At her cremation 10 days later, more than 400 people attended. My family all pulled together to support me. My brother Antony and his wife Christine even made me a calendar with all the children's birthdays written on it.
‘It means a lot to me,' I croaked. ‘Without Lisa here, I'd forget them all!'
Later, we had her ashes scattered under a silver birch tree in our local park. ‘She'd have liked that,' Michael reassured me.
‘She wouldn't have wanted us all to go to a cemetery.'
Life carried on without her, but it wasn't the same. Paul's 18th birthday came on January 29. But he didn't want the big celebration Lisa had planned - it wouldn't be the same without her. ‘I can't face it without Mum,' he said.
Another fortnight passed, still the grieving was so raw. Then I got a letter from the organ transplant team. ‘Dear Mr Weir,' it read. ‘We are writing to inform you that Lisa's organs were gratefully received...'
I gasped as I read on. All those people my Lisa had helped! Two men living on dialysis machines had her kidneys and were now leading healthy lives. Another received her liver, and three babies had her heart valves. She'd saved six lives. Even her smoker's lungs were being used for medical research. I felt a lump rise in my throat as I tried to take it all in. ‘You're still making me proud, Lisa,' I smiled. I realised then that I'd done the right thing. Some good could come from this tragedy.
The kids were all just as happy, too. Lisa, who'd always been there for them, was still helping others. I suppose the worst year for our family turned out to be a lifesaving one for so many others. It's a small comfort, but a worthy one.
People say it means part of Lisa lives on - but she'll do that forever in my heart.
Paul Weir, 45, Failsworth, Manchester