Dead under the Christmas tree
Friday 25th December 2009
Have you ever seen anything so terrible that you can't quite believe what you're seeing? I hadn't, until I came home and found my 32-year-old boyfriend, Tom Kemps, lying dead under our Christmas tree. His body was sprawled out on the edge of the settee, pine needles littering his back, presents scattered where he'd collapsed. Cold, waxy skin, blue lips.How? Why? I'd kissed him goodbye just a few hours ago. 'Wake up, love!' I screamed, falling to my knees as the fairy lights twinkled over his lifeless body. 'Don't leave me!' It was January 2005, and ever since meeting through friends 10 years earlier, I'd fallen head over heels for this gorgeous mechanic with a dry sense of humour. When he moved in eight months later, he'd quickly become like a dad to my two girls, Lucy, now 18, and Laura, 20.
And when I decided to apply for a nursing course in the autumn of 2005, he'd been all for it.
'But I left school at 16,' I'd sighed. 'Bet I don't get in.' 'A clever girl like you?' Tom had smiled. 'Course you will!' So I'd sent off my application and when Christmas had come, we'd had a family dinner and exchanged pressies. As always, Tom had got mine just right. 'Thanks, love!' I'd beamed as I unwrapped a pretty necklace and Lord of the Rings box set. But just 10 days later, after we'd come back from the January sales, Tom had complained of feeling poorly. We'd spent three long hours trudging around town. 'Rest up, love,' I'd said. 'I'm just driving Laura to work, won't be long.' I'd dropped Laura off at her job at a residential home and now, 15 minutes later, I'd got home to find Tom dead. Adrenaline surged through me as I dialled 999, then watched in a haze as paramedics tried to revive him. Please God let him be OK, I willed, as they gave him mouth to mouth. But it was no good. 'I'm sorry,' one paramedic said eventually. My Tom was gone. As the paramedics carried him away, I slumped on the settee in shock.
His black coat was still hanging on the back of the seat, the kettle still warm from where he'd boiled it for a cup of tea. How? How? The days that followed passed in a blur. I barely registered the girls taking the decorations down, the coroner telling me Tom had suffered a blood clot in his heart. 'But why?' I sobbed. 'He was only 32, he was fit as a fiddle.' 'I'm afraid I don't know the cause,' he said. So that was it. No explanation. My heart had been ripped out and no one could tell me why. When Tom's funeral took place at Bramcote crematorium in Nottingham, 10 days later, it was so packed, people were standing outside. As for me, I was a sobbing mess as his favourite song, The Pogues' Fairytale of New York, played. I was still in a state when, two months later, a letter arrived. My hands were shaking as I read the words. 'I've got an interview for the nursing course,' I told Lucy.'That's great,' she said.
'It's not,' I cried. 'I'm too scared to go.' I was about to bin the letter there and then, when I stopped and thought of Tom. I remembered how he'd been when I was applying. I could imagine what he'd say. Chin up, you numpty! You can do it! he'd have said in his deadpan way. So, in March, I summoned all my strength and forced myself to go along. Whether it was a stroke of luck, or Tom watching over me, I made it and won a place on the Nottingham University course. When the first day arrived, I was terrified. Just stepping into a lecture theatre for the first time made my whole body shake, but I forced myself out of bed each morning, and in to college. And whenever it got tough and I was tempted to quit, I thought of Tom. Whenever Tom was struggling, he would just make some dry joke and get on with things. Remembering that, and the way he used to call everyone a 'numpty' gave me the push I needed.
I stuck at it too. And three years later, in November 2008, I passed my course and was waiting to graduate. 'If only Tom was here to see it,' I sighed to my sister, Helen Jones, 42, who worked as a jeweller. 'He could be,' she said. 'Why don't I make you a bracelet using some of his ashes? That way, you can always have him with you.' I was so touched I could barely speak. So Helen got to work and a few weeks later, came round nervously clutching a velvet box wrapped in ribbon. Nestled inside was a gorgeous silver band, with a little glass charm bearing a heart-shaped pearl charm containing some of Tom's ashes. 'Thank you so much,' I cried, as I slipped it onto my wrist. A few days later, I fixed 'Tom' around my wrist again as I nervously put on my cap and gown. Queueing up to accept my certificate, my heart was thumping. But knowing Tom was there calmed me down. And as I accepted my certificate, I touched the bracelet containing his ashes. 'I miss you so much, love,' I whispered.
Now I'm a qualified nurse, helping to save lives. This Christmas, I'll wear the bracelet and think about how much I love Tom, and promise to keep making him proud. Since he died, putting up the Christmas tree fills me with sadness, but this year, with my bracelet on and the girls with me, I'll try to remember the happy times instead. Just like Tom would have wanted.