In the face of grief, I’ve seen the good of humankind

Last month I lost my beloved partner Graham, suddenly and totally unexpectedly. 

We’d had a normal morning and he’d shown no signs of being unwell until he shouted my name with a sense of urgency I’d not heard before. 

I was upstairs on the phone. By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs, he had crashed to the floor in front of me, and in front of Flossie.

I hastily bundled Flossie into a room off our hallway and phoned for an ambulance. While I waited for what seemed like an eternity (it was in fact only six minutes), I performed CPR on the love of my life and desperately tried to save him. 

Paramedics and air ambulance doctors appeared and immediately took over. They spent nearly an hour trying to revive him while I watched in terror and disbelief. 

Flossie is scared of men. There were now seven people just the other side of the door from her. She was distressed and barking. I had to leave her in there while the nightmare unfolded. After several minutes, she went silent. She knew.

I was and still am in a state of shock at what has happened to my little family. The post mortem stated that the cause of death was a massive heart attack. I still can’t make sense of it. Graham was a fit, healthy chiropractor and veteran triathlete. 

He was 61, twelve years older than me, so I had considered, fleetingly, that he might die before me. But I didn’t think it would be for another couple of decades. You think you have time. I am completely unprepared for the situation I now find myself in.

I am glad for him that it was quick, that he was at home and that I was with him as he took his final breath. However, it was hugely traumatic for me and I am haunted by those final moments.

Flossie has been amazing. It was several hours before the coronor arrived to remove Graham’s body. I went to check on her, clipped on her lead and walked her past Graham so I could take her outside. 

She did not want to go near him. She had already accepted what had happened and did not recognise the body as the man she so adored. I took her out into the garden and then put her in her bed where she could feel secure.

The aftermath has been terrible and it will continue to be terrible for a long time, I imagine, but people have been so incredibly kind. 

I’ve stood in a wind-swept field with rain pelting down my already tear-soaked face as a compassionate dog walker who I occasionally chat to insisted that I take her phone number. She offered to do anything to help. Anything. And she really meant it.

Two friends who I met while walking Flossie last summer stood outside Haycombe Chapel for Graham’s memorial service. I barely recognised them in their smart clothes. I’m used to seeing them trudging across muddy fields in waterproofs and walking boots. It was so touching. They said they had come to represent the dog walking community. 

The outpouring of love and kindness towards me and Flossie has been truly humbling. I have been inundated with cards, messages, phone calls and visitors, offering flowers, food and help. And it really makes a difference. 

While I grapple to come to terms with my loss, I have have seen the good of humankind. It provides comfort and solace, and Flossie and I will be holding on to that for dear life as we try to forge our way ahead on this new, unknown path.