Please Don't Cry

by Jane Plume

  I was so tense after Phil left, that every muscle in my body was aching. I sat rigid, waiting for Shaun to ask me what the consultant had said – but he never did. Instead, he said, ‘I know it’s going to be hard, but will you please do something for me?’

  ‘Anything,’ I said, though I was already worried about what he might ask.

  ‘I want you to go and tell those that need to know that time is limited now,’ he said.

  Shaun’s policy had always been to be open and honest, and not to hide anything, so I was not surprised that he wanted them to know. I wasn’t sure how I was going to have the strength to do what he asked, but I had to try. I checked who he wanted me to speak to, then I left, planting a kiss on his forehead and promising him I would be back once I had done what he had asked, and fed and showered the kids and got them into bed.

  It was rush hour and the traffic was horrendous, although for the first time ever I was glad. It gave me a chance to try and make sense of the day so far and practise in my head the conversations I was going to have to have with Shaun’s family. As soon as I felt composed enough to cope, I went to see Shaun’s mum and dad. As I walked down the drive, Shaun’s mum saw me and cheerily waved hello through the window. I must confess I pretended that I hadn’t seen her, as I knew I would not be able to make a smile reach my lips. I knocked on the door and walked in, and she cheerily called from the lounge, ‘In here, my duck.’ I took a deep breath and opened the lounge door.

  ‘Goodness me, you look exhausted,’ she said. ‘Go put the kettle on, Mick,’ she instructed Shaun’s dad.

  ‘Wait,’ I stopped him. ‘I need to speak to you both.’ I sank to my knees in front of Shaun’s mum’s chair, took her hand in mine and proceeded to tell her what the consultant had said.

  They were heartbroken. I remember Shaun’s mum saying with a sob, ‘I brought him into this world. He shouldn’t be leaving it before me.’

  As she spoke I looked at them both and thought to myself that no one should ever have to lose a child, no matter what age they are. They had treated Gina as a daughter and had taken her death hard, but now the death of their son was becoming a reality too.

  Afterwards, I went to see David and Lisa, and David agreed he would be with me when I spoke to Lewis – the conversation I was dreading the most. I really didn’t know how he would react and thought that having another male present, especially his uncle to whom he was close, would help in some way. I also called Rich, Shaun’s best friend from childhood. I felt so bad having to tell him on the phone, but as he lived in Holland I didn’t have a choice. Each person I told was devastated.

  Shaun and I had decided not to speak to Ashton, as we felt he was too young to understand what was happening, but Lewis had to be told and I couldn’t put it off any longer. David arrived and I asked Lewis to come and sit with us as we needed to talk to him.

  I took a deep breath as I started to talk Lewis through the day’s events and before I had even finished that poor young boy was beside himself. Part of me had imagined he would be the way he usually was – stoical, just like his dad, putting on a brave face. But he crumpled. He just kept saying, ‘I knew this would happen. What have I done to deserve this?’

  I tried my best to comfort him, telling him how much his dad loved him and encouraging him to make the most of the time that they had left.

  ‘I will, I will,’ he repeated over and over again.

  I held Lewis as he cried, David and I both telling him we would always be there for him. I’m not sure how much of the conversation sunk in apart from the fact that his dad only had a very limited time left to live.

  I can honestly say that that day was one of the worst days of my life.

  • • •

  Later that evening, I made dinner and helped Ashton and Anni-Mae with their homework. I was on autopilot. My brain was on overload, there was too much happening to make sense of it all. With the young ones in bed, Shaun’s dad came and sat with the older ones for me so that I could go back to LOROS and to Shaun.

  When I arrived I gently opened the door to his room and peeped my head round to find Shaun asleep. ‘I hope he has nice dreams,’ I thought, creeping in carefully so as not to wake him. I had been there for twenty minutes or so when his eyes fluttered open. Seeing me there beside him, he reached out for my hand.

  ‘It’s been a shit day, eh?’ he said bluntly.

  I nodded in silent agreement. He then asked me to go through what had happened, who I had spoken to, who I had seen in the few hours since I left him. I told him everything. Shaun believed that honesty was the best policy and he expected that in return. He wouldn’t have thanked me for smoothing over the details. He would have known I was lying and would not have appreciated that.

  Shaun listened silently as I described the reactions of his family and friends, and relayed their messages to him. When I told him about Lewis, sobs racked through his body, uncontrollable and seemingly never-ending. I held him as he cried, tears flowing freely from myself as well. I had only seen Shaun cry a couple of times before, and certainly never twice in one day. The emotion had just been too much for him to control. We spent the rest of that evening in silence. There were no words to say.

  Eventually Shaun fell asleep, I sat beside his bed a while longer, watching his chest rise and fall, and thought I would go and fetch a drink and get some fresh air. But as I went to stand his eyes flew open.

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ he begged. I reassured him I was just going for a pit stop – a drink and to use the bathroom. He looked relieved.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ he said again.

  ‘You really don’t need to thank me,’ I returned.

  I meant it, too. Without Gina here to take care of him, he needed my support. I wasn’t about to abandon him.

  I had promised her.

  CHAPTER 10

  SLIPPING AWAY

  The day following that dreadful news, Shaun seemed to be in amazingly high spirits. He was chatting, laughing and joking when I went for my usual visit at the hospice. I had been there about an hour when he decided he felt up to having a shower.

  ‘I stink!’ he said bluntly.

  I laughed and said, ‘Well, I was going to tell you but didn’t want to upset you.’

  ‘Cheeky cow,’ he replied, laughing.

  ‘I am going to fetch some tea and biscuits,’ I teased him. ‘If you’re a good boy and have a wash, I might let you have some too.’

  He promptly struck the two-fingered ‘V’ sign at me. But as I was about to leave his room, he came and stood in front of me, put his arms around me and put his head on my shoulder which, if I’m honest, I believe was so that he didn’t have to make eye contact with me.

  ‘So,’ he began, ‘am I going to see Christmas?’

  This was the moment I had been dreading. He wanted to know exactly what was said during my conversation with his consultant. I couldn’t lie, that isn’t me, so I answered truthfully. ‘He says there is as much chance that you will, as there is that you won’t,’ I braced myself, not knowing what to expect.

  ‘Well, that’s good enough for me,’ he said, surprisingly chirpily.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, slightly confused.

  ‘Simple,’ he replied. ‘If there is a chance that I will be here we need to start planning. Believe me, I intend to make it a Christmas that no one forgets!’

  I knew that he meant it, that he would pull out all the stops to make his last Christmas as special as possible. I’m sure I saw a glimmer of a spark in his eyes that had been missing for far too long.

  He disappeared into the bathroom and I walked round to the cafe area, speechless. I was in awe of that man and truly hoped that I was at least half the person that he was. He knew he only had a matter of weeks to live, yet here he was still putting others first. Yes, he wanted to be able to enjoy Christmas, but more than anything he wanted it to be a Christmas that everyone else would remember.

  By the time I got back with the tray
of tea and biscuits, Shaun was out of the shower and was lying on the bed dozing. I quietly placed the tray down trying not to wake him – no such luck. From behind me, he said, ‘I hope you’ve got chocolate biscuits.’

  I laughed, swung round and said, ‘Well seeing as you no longer smell like a wet dog you can have some,’ playfully tossing him a packet of biscuits. I went to sit down and take a slurp of my tea, when I heard, ‘Hold on, hold on. You need to get a pen and paper first.’

  I went to speak, to ask him what it was for, but as I opened my mouth he stopped me.

  ‘Please,’ he said, pulling his best puppy-dog face at me. I dutifully went off to get some paper and a pen from one of the nurses, and when I came back in I asked, in mock subservience, ‘Can I sit down now, sir?’ He just gave me a mischievous grin and nodded.

  We drank our tea and ate our biscuits before I asked, ‘So what are we writing? My Christmas list? If so this paper is not big enough!’

  ‘There’s plenty of room to write an apple, an orange and a piece of coal,’ he joked. I promptly stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed, but then his face clouded over and turned more serious. ‘There are things we need to plan,’ he said, sadly.

  ‘Oh Shaun, we don’t have to do this now,’ I said, a lump rapidly forming in my throat.

  ‘I want to,’ he insisted. ‘I need to. Once I know this is done I can get on with making the most of the time I have left.’

  Who was I to argue?

  We spent the next two hours planning Shaun’s funeral. Obviously he wanted to be buried in the same plot as Gina. He chose a white coffin, exactly the same as hers, and the pallbearers he would like to carry him. A couple of them would be the same people who had carried Gina, others were friends he had chosen because of the amazing support and help they had given him since Gina’s death. He wasn’t religious so didn’t want to choose any hymns, but chose three songs to be played during the service. We decided that the order of service and the memorial cards would be identical to the ones we had both chosen for Gina. He picked out the clothes that he wanted, saying he didn’t want the traditional suit and tie that he believed people would normally be dressed in. ‘I want something comfortable, that I look at my best in,’ he explained, choosing his jeans and one of his favourite red T-shirts, the shoes he wanted, which were his red Vans to match the red T-shirt, and even which aftershave he wanted to wear. He asked me to make sure that they didn’t shave him – Shaun hadn’t had a close shave since his hair grew back following the first round of chemotherapy, preferring the designer stubble, as he put it. He told me that he wanted me to be the first person to see him in the chapel of rest – he even joked that if he looked rough I wasn’t allowed to let anyone else see him – and he wanted me to be the last person ‘before they hammer in the nails’.

  Shaun also explained that he wanted two cars to follow the hearse, the first for me and the five children, the second to carry his mum and dad, and his brothers David and Andy, with their partners. He asked me if I would choose the words to be placed on his headstone, after discussing it with his boys, obviously. He even stated that he wanted his wake at The Bottom Railway, the local pub. His exact words were, ‘Make sure everybody has a bloody good piss-up.’

  We talked about the personal things that he owned and who he wanted to have them, or things that people were to be given. He asked me to make sure that I kept his and Gina’s remaining things safe, and give them to the boys when they were old enough.

  He had a will in place, but the only items specifically covered were his and Gina’s wedding rings. There were other items that had a great deal of sentimental, rather than monetary, value and it was important to Shaun that these items went to the right people, people that he had chosen and he knew Gina would have chosen if she had had the chance. I promised him I would ensure every one of his wishes was carried out.

  Again, he seemed relieved that the boys were going to live with me and that it was now legally set in stone.

  While this conversation felt like one of the hardest I have ever had in my life, Shaun was very matter of fact about it all. I tried to mirror that for myself but it was so tough. The man in front of me was the bravest I had ever met. He had dealt with losing his beloved Gina with so much pride and strength, and now here he was facing up to his own death in the same way.

  I had no idea he had planned this so thoroughly and in so much detail, and I was touched. He really did want everything sorted. I think he knew the less I had to deal with the more time and attention I would be able to give all the kids, especially the two most precious to him, his wonderful boys.

  After I had written everything down he read through it a couple of times to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, then he called for the doctor and asked him to witness the document. The consultant signed beneath Shaun’s name, and Shaun thanked him and shook his hand before he left the room. Then he turned to me, placed the folded-up piece of paper into my hand, folded my hand around it and said, ‘This is yours now, you need to look after it until it’s needed.’ It was horrible knowing that he was really saying ‘put it somewhere safe till I die’.

  He never mentioned the letter, wish list, whatever you want to call it, again. I hid it away and there it would remain until the dreaded day when I would have to get it out and read it again.

  • • •

  Shaun came out of LOROS on 12 October 2012. It’s a date that sticks in my mind because it was the second anniversary of Gina’s death and he was feeling really guilty, because he hadn’t been discharged in time to visit her grave. I told him not to worry, I had bought flowers and taken them to the cemetery with the boys. He didn’t have to tell me he was grateful, I knew he was. I also knew that he would still beat himself up because he hadn’t managed to get to the cemetery himself.

  The boys would often accompany me or Shaun to the cemetery, Ashton more often than Lewis who, being older, would sometimes go off on his bike to visit the grave and preferred to be on his own. Ashton, on the other hand, was almost excited, running off to the grave as soon as he got out of the car.

  On this day I explained it was a special day as Mummy had now been an angel for two years. I encouraged Ashton to talk to Mummy and he did, telling her what he had been doing at school and what I had cooked him for his tea. I unwrapped the pink flowers that I had brought and he enjoyed helping to place them in the vases.

  ‘Mummy will be well happy with them, they are her favourite colour,’ he remarked.

  I nodded, smiling. ‘They sure are, buddy, they smell nice too.’

  Ashton bent down and sniffed one of the flowers. ‘Mmm, they do smell nice,’ he agreed. ‘Just like my mummy did.’

  I had to turn away and take a deep breath; what he was saying was so sweet and innocent. I didn’t want him to see that I was struggling with the day and could barely hold the tears back. I wanted him to feel comfortable at the cemetery, not just today but on future visits as well.

  As we stood to leave, Ashton said, ‘Bye bye, Mummy.’

  I kissed my fingers then touched her name on the headstone, as I always did when I visited her grave. I started walking away but, realising Ashton wasn’t on my heels, I turned to look for him. I caught him copying what I had just done, kissing his own fingers and brushing them across the gravestone. Since that day he has done that every time we visit the cemetery. A special way to say goodbye.

  • • •

  Later that evening Shaun said, ‘You always manage to think of everything.’

  ‘Yeah I know,’ I gloated. ‘That’s because I’m a woman and I can multitask.’

  He grinned. ‘You are great. You know that, don’t you?’

  He was being serious, but I just said lightly, ‘I couldn’t agree more, Mr Hibberd.’ In truth, I couldn’t say what I wanted to, that he was the great one, a true inspiration. Shaun and the boys were so happy to be reunited at home that I didn’t want to spoil the moment by getting emotional.

  Within a few days, Shaun
was back at the hospital for the dose of radiotherapy that they hoped would ease his pain. They had warned him that he could feel very sick and tired, but for once he didn’t seem to get the side effects. He was no more tired than usual and didn’t feel sick at all. In fact, he seemed better than he had been for a good few months. I kept crossing my fingers, scared that it was too good to be true.

  Soon after the treatment, he even managed to get out on his new motocross bike. He had bought himself the latest model, a brand-new KTM, and had got personal decals – the stickers that decorate the plastics of a motocross bike – with his mate Phil’s company logo on. He also bought himself new kit: matching motocross shirt and trousers, even managing to get gloves and goggles to match so that he was all coordinated. He was as proud as he could be and it was great to see him out on track. He didn’t ride particularly well as the effort was too much for him, but boy, did he enjoy it and it was uplifting to see him laughing and joking with his motocross buddies.

  With his love of the sport reignited he asked if I would accompany him to the International Dirt Bike Show on Thursday 1 November and I eagerly agreed. I now loved the sport too, though I was torn between motocross and road racing, having taken part in both. The kids couldn’t come because they were at school but we had a really fun day. Shaun treated himself to a couple of new accessories, and enjoyed stopping and chatting to people that we bumped into throughout the day. He was worn out by the time we got home but the next day he decided he wanted a trip to Ikea, so who was I to argue? A daytrip out shopping with the added bonus of meatballs for lunch. Perfect!