“I promised I’d be there until the end. I kept that promise.”

Sam and I were yin and yang – he was quite deep and quiet, I'm an extrovert. That's why we worked so well. He used to live one road away from me and I'd never met him before. It was fate that brought us together.

We'd split up five years ago, but we were soulmates. We still had Sunday dinner together, we went on holiday together. I made him a promise that I would be there until the end. And I kept that promise.

Sam was diagnosed with melanoma in November 2015. He was in remission for a couple of years, so we travelled a lot. We went to Bali and one day I looked at Sam's back and I saw a raised black mole. I knew that it was back. It had spread to his adrenal glands, kidney and his spleen. They cleaned it all out, but it came back again with a vengeance.

In 2022, Sam's specialist said to me, "It would be nice for you both to go on holiday." That's when I knew Sam didn't have long left.

On 31 July 2023, Sam went into a nursing home. Every day, he'd tell me I was taking too long to give him a kiss. I'd ask if he wanted a little kiss or a big kiss, and I'd say put one finger up for a little kiss, two for a big kiss. Sam always put three fingers up, so I'd give him a massive kiss.

I was working from 5.15 to 9.15am, then getting showered and arriving at the nursing home at 10am. I'd accompany Sam to all of his appointments, have lunch with him, then get him ready for his afternoon nap, get home and then I'd work until 4.30pm.

I was exhausted. I'd stopped eating. I realised it was all too much for me. I stopped working and went onto compassionate leave. I'd stopped doing the things I love. I put my life on hold. I have no regrets whatsoever about that, but I'm tired. I lost myself while putting Sam first.

I called the Support Line initially looking for support for Sam. They asked me, "And what about you?"

I hadn't really thought about what I needed up until that point. I spoke to them for a while, and they offered me a Companion over the phone. My Companion, Laura, called me once a week. It was a lifeline for me. I used to look forward to the calls, I was free to tell her how I was really coping with everything.

I'm a Black woman from the Caribbean and in our culture we don't talk about our business with anybody. I didn't talk when my mother died 21 years ago, and nobody talked to me about her.

Since Sam's death, people that I've grown up with, even family members, have avoided going to events that I'm going to because they don't know what to say to me. People cross the street to avoid talking to me. It hurts so much that it makes me cry. Bereaved people don't have a contagious disease, we've lost someone that we love – that's all it is.

With Sam, I'm breaking the cycle. I won't stop talking about him because keeping things to myself only makes things worse.

##“How is anyone supposed to know what to do if you're not told?“

There are so many things you have to do when a person dies, it's impossible to go through it all alone. I wish there was a person that could have called me up and explained all the things I needed to do after Sam died.

I started trying to do it all in one day but it just broke me, I had to put everything down. I do it a little bit at a time now; it's too upsetting to try to do it all in one go. For example, I had no idea that you have to tell Royal Mail when someone dies. How is anyone supposed to know that if you're not told?

For everything I've gone through, I'm at peace within myself. I looked after my husband, bathed him, cleaned him, changed his incontinence pads. I did everything, and I have no regrets, no guilt.

Part of my journey now is helping others, to let them know that they're not alone. That's why I wanted to share mine and Sam's story. I don't want other people to go through what I went through and think they have to do it alone.

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