Hubby drowned on our honeymoon
Russell tragically drowned on the honeymoon
Thursday 29th January 2009
Why on earth would anyone take their whole family on their honeymoon? I know that's what people thought when I told them that my new husband, Russell, and I were bringing mine. But we'd already booked our two-week family holiday to Fuengirola, Spain, for October 2008. So when we'd started planning our wedding, it had just made sense to turn it into a honeymoon.
'Are you sure you don't want to have a romantic break?' my mum, Ann Haughney, had asked.
'Sure,' I'd said firmly. 'All that matters is having Russell with me.'
A lot of brides might have wanted rose petals on the bed and romantic walks along the beach, but as long as Russell,39, and I were together, I knew we'd have lots of laughs. So now, two months after getting married at Holy Ghost Church near our home in Bedfordshire, Russell, Mum, my dad, Noel, brother, Damien, 27, his girlfriend, Sarah Ward, 28, and I were having a ball at the Gardenia Park Hotel, Fuengirola.
We'd been here eight days, and although we were staying in the same hotel, most of the time, it was just Russell and I on our own. We'd first met on a trip to Southend, Essex, nine
years ago. We'd lost touch, until he'd phoned me five years later, in January 2005.
'Hello stranger,' he'd said.
'That's a bit of a blast from the past,' I'd laughed.
'I've never stopped thinking about you,' he'd admitted.
At the time, my first marriage was ending, and from the moment we met up at a pub, two days later, Russell and I just clicked. By the end of that year, we'd moved into a two-bedroom rented house in Luton and got engaged.
I had more fun living with Russell than I'd ever had in my life. We played Tomb Raider together and watched James Bond DVDs. So you can imagine why, now, hand-in-hand on the sandy beach, there was nowhere I'd rather be. It was 1pm and the clouds in the sky meant that, apart from a few surfers, we practically had the beach to ourselves.
'I'm going to wade into the water,' Russell smiled.
'I'll stay here and watch our things,' I said, pointing to the rucksack on my back. 'Don't go
too deep.'
'I won't,' he said, giving me a cheeky grin.
I watched as Russell waded in up to his chest. Silly man, I thought.
'Why don't you come back in a bit?' I shouted.
Russell didn't reply, and seemed to drift further out. We'd swum here before and I knew he could touch the bottom. Then another wave came in. I squinted as I tried to see Russell.
He was disappearing further away from me, being sucked out to sea.Suddenly, I started to panic.
'Help!' I screamed, running towards a group of surfers. 'My husband's in trouble.'
But they didn't understand me. My eyes scanned the beach and that's when I saw the lifeguard's hut. I ran as fast as I could to it. It was locked. When I turned back to
sea, Russell was even further out.
Throwing my rucksack onto the sand, I ran into the water. My sundress clung around me but the undercurrent was pulling my legs. I knew there was no way I could make it out to him.
I ran back onto the beach towards five other surfers.
'Please!' I panted. 'Help my husband!'
'Where is he?' one asked.
I pointed out to sea, and they ran towards the water. Soon, 15 of them were racing out to Russell. My legs gave way just as two British women came over to see what was wrong.
'It's my husband,' I sobbed. 'My family are at the Gardenia Park Hotel.'
'I'll get them,' one of them said, while I sat there in stunned silence.
Before I knew it, Mum, Dad, Damien and Sarah were by my side. I buried my head in Dad's chest.
'They're going to save him, love,' he said. 'They've got to.'
Minutes later, the surfers waded back of the sea carrying a surfboard with Russell lying on it.
When I saw his face, strangely pale and still, I froze.
'He's not breathing!' I cried, trying to start CPR.
'Let them deal with it, love,' Dad said, as one of the surfer's started pumping Russell's chest. When the paramedics arrived, they took over the CPR and put a defibrillator on Russell.
After a long time, one of them looked up and shook his head.
'No!' I screamed.
But he was gone. This was our honeymoon. The start of our life together. Now I was waiting for the coroner to arrive to declare my husband dead. Dad called Russell's mum, Janet, back in Basildon, Essex, and told her what had happened to her son. I couldn't speak to her.
Russell's body was flown back to Stansted four days after he died. Back at home, I was so desperate to block it all out that I went back to work as a temporary insurance claims coordinator. That's not to say I didn't spend the evenings filling the living room with wedding pictures, and the nights snuggled up in bed sobbing as I hugged Russell's dressing gown.
We had to wait for the coroner to open and adjourn the inquest before we could have the funeral. It was held three weeks later at Basildon & District Crematorium. As the James Bond theme echoed round, I put my head down and watched the tears drip onto the floor. Two-and-a-half months have passed. I keep Russell's ashes in an urn in the living room and miss him every day. I've found out that Torreblanca-Carvajal beach only has swimming safety measures in place from June to September. It's shocking. We didn't see any signs warning of dangerous currents or any red flags warning us not to swim.That's why I'm telling my story.
I want to stop anyone else from having to go through the heartbreak I have. Russell and I had only been married for two months, only together for three-and-a-half years. But even though he was snatched away from me, I wouldn't change those happy years for the world.