At 7.05am on Thursday 27th April, my dearly beloved wife, my one true love and the mother of my two children gained her Angel’s wings and peacefully left this life for the next. I wasn’t with her in her final moments. Having spent the previous two nights with her at the incredible Sue Ryder hospice, my seven-year-old had asked me to stay at home with him and his three-year-old brother instead. We knew the end was near and I had to make a choice: to pick between my needs or that of my children’s. Every parent has these choices to make, but on this occasion the emotions felt unfairly raw. I made my choice, I prioritised my future relationship with my son over a relationship that physically (but not emotionally) was about to come to an abrupt end. I will never regret that decision, especially as Zoë already knew that my love for her was eternal. The boys and I did get to see her one last time shortly after she passed away, and the way that they handled that moment was truly inspirational to me.
Zoë spent her final hours being comforted by her mum, dad and their dog Molly; having spent the last two weeks of her life in the hospice surrounded by the love and warmth of her treasured family and close friends. She fell into a state of permanent sleep and stopped eating and drinking seven days before her huge warm heart stopped beating. The incredible palliative care team at Sue Ryder ensured, as far as I could tell, that she had a calm, dignified and painless death – many thanks to their skill along with morphine and midazolam. I was in awe of the compassion they showed us as a family and it was a privilege to walk this path with them by our side every step of the way.
When Zoë’s cancer recurred, as I always knew it would, it was merciless, aggressive and relentless. It was no one’s fault, simply another roll of the dice, and the dice were loaded against her. It could have recurred in an operable area, but it didn’t. It took just three months from the first sign of trouble (a symptomless routine surveillance MRI) to her untimely death. This in itself is a classic hallmark of high grade gliomas, as when they come back, they tend to come back very angry!
Her disease very quickly robbed her of the quality of life she had fought so fiercely and successfully to regain and maintain after surgery. She had chronic daily nausea and regular headaches from mid-February, but in true Zoë style, she didn’t let this stop her achieving the things she wanted to achieve – such as visiting Parliament to campaign for additional funding for Brain Tumour research. In the final month she suffered from visual disturbances (including double vision) and a loss of balance and mobility. In the final three weeks she became confused and had memory issues, and she slept for her final week of life. Despite these deficits, her character still shone through her disease and there were moments of joy: letting her children push her in a wheelchair which nearly resulted in her getting a dunk in a river, or a cheeky trip to the local pub on an otherwise bleak day.
Zoë never liked to talk about “fighting cancer”; as an English teacher, words and their meanings were important to her, and she felt if one succumbed to cancer, then using that phrase suggested it was a failing on the patient’s part, which of course it isn’t. If this was a fight, it wasn’t a fair one – Zoë was in a boxing ring facing Mike Tyson, with both her arms and legs tied behind her back, yet despite that she embraced every single treatment that me or her doctors asked of her.
Zoë had always strived for quality over quantity of life, so I am glad that her deterioration was sudden and not drawn out. I will also be forever indebted to her for being so clear about her wishes, as it made my shared (with the medical staff) decision-making easier at what is an incredibly stressful time.
The two nights I spent sleeping at the hospice, next to Zoë, were incredibly moving and comforting to me. It is an incredibly calm and special place at night, and I relished listening to the snoring and breathing sounds that emanated from Zoë; sounds which I had become so accustomed to over through our marriage.
Zoë’s biggest fear was a personality change that could scare the children – a real and possible fear with a brain tumour, but a fear that mercifully was not realised. The children became comfortable, as we all did, in spending time in her presence at the hospice – we even celebrated my three-year-old’s birthday in her room – quite possibly the weirdest but most poignant birthday party I have ever attended. On occasion I found myself hoping her death would come more quickly, but then I reflected that actually it was a gift to spend this remaining time we had with her, being near to her and with her. At other times I found myself referring to her in the past tense, and quickly corrected myself – she was still alive, albeit asleep. This was my first experience of watching someone die, and I was once again learning on the job!
Zoë extended me one final and generous kindness, she wrote me a letter to be opened in the event of her death, and in it she told me that she loved me and that I had tried my best. I was left in no doubt whatsoever that she truly believed I could have done no more for her, and for that, I will be forever in her debt.
In that same letter she told me that she believed her legacy was her children, and while I agree, I see so much of her in them, I think her legacy is much bigger than that. Zoë touched an incredible number of lives across this world; the students she taught, her family, the friends she made and of course the strangers she spoke to wherever she went. I was reminded of this only this week when I received an email on the Maggie’s Fundraising page, which included the following: “I was the first person to donate after meeting Zoë on the train from Bristol two months ago and hearing about the event. Her determination, strength and positivity were inspiring and I have often thought about her since”.
Nobody who met Zoë could fail to be struck by her huge heart, incredible smile, compassion and humour – her approach to life, especially after her diagnosis, was an inspiration to us all and will stay with me and the boys for the rest of our lives.
I found a quote, from one of Zoë’s favourite poets, Kahlil Gibran, which for me sums up her attitude: “Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you as by the attitude you bring to life; not so much by what happens to you as by the way your mind looks at what happens”.
It was my honour and my privilege to call Zoë my wife. Her passing will leave a huge hole in the lives of many, not least mine, but I take comfort in everything she has taught me, especially the ability to give a bloody good hug.
#teamzoe 
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