Chapter 13
Widowhood
In 2010 we were asked to a lunch party somewhere outside Oxford and it was there that Geoffrey first had difficulties with breathing and a heart pain. I rushed him back to Charlbury and telephoned the doctor. She confirmed that he was in trouble and booked a place straight away at the Manor Hospital in Oxford. He was in the hospital for a week having tests and finally given a stent. He was still working at the university and went back as soon as he could. But it was all too much for him and he retired; not as he would have wished but as I wished. He wasn’t well enough to work. For the next seven years Geoffrey got less and less able in every way. He found walking difficult, slept in the afternoons and stopped writing a book he had wanted to finish. He had a crisis in 2017 and was rushed to intensive care in the John Radcliffe Hospital. He was there for three weeks and then my daughter Jessica very kindly fetched him and we brought him home. He had become very small and very fragile. For the next three months I looked after him with the help of district nurses and physiotherapists. I made a bed up in the sitting room from where he could watch the television. Wimbledon was on at the time and he enjoyed watching the games. It was all very hard work and I got very tired. He couldn’t really do anything without my help, which was lovingly given, and I truly thought he was getting better. One Saturday we had been out for a picnic in the car, enjoyed ourselves, came back and he had a short sleep in the chair. I went upstairs to ring my daughter Eliza in the Cayman Islands. I next told him I would get the supper at about seven. But very sadly when I came into the sitting room, I saw he had died in the chair. I was so shocked I thought my heart would stop beating. I rang our neighbours and Pete and his son Oliver rushed in and tried to resuscitate him, but to no avail. Jessica came over to help and to be with me. I was distraught. The worst thing I kept thinking of was that we hadn’t said goodbye to each other. I hadn’t told him how much I loved him that day.
Being a widow is horrific or at least it was for me. I hated every minute of it, I just couldn’t get used to being on my own. Almost anything started a flood of tears sometimes two or three times a day. I have never had a group of friends who drop in at any moment and so frequently didn’t see anyone for days at a time. Both my daughters Jessica and Tiffany were working and with all their commitments couldn’t come to see me very much. Somehow the weekends are the worst and Sunday is horrible on your own. Sunday is a very lonely day and was the worst day for me. I don’t think people are generally meant to be solitary although, of course, some are quite happy on their own. Well, I wasn’t one of them. Those months after Geoffrey died were the worst times in all my life I had ever had and I watched myself heading for a nervous breakdown. Many unwanted thoughts came into my head especially in bed at night. What was the point of life now, was the sort of question I would ask myself? Would it matter to anyone if I wasn’t here? There were many suggestions from family and friends that I might buy a dog. But much as I love dogs you can’t have a good conversation with a dog and a dog is a big commitment, which I didn’t feel up to. No. I decided I needed a companion to live with me and my granddaughter Emma provided the very solution.
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