23/06/2015 06:47 BST | Updated 17/06/2016 06:59 BST

When a Broken Heart Can't Be Mended


It's been an interesting year so far.

I achieved one of my lifelong ambitions by entering, and completing, the London Marathon despite some serious knee issues. In doing this, I raised over £1,600 for BackCare charity. I've worked with more maths exam students on a one-to-one basis than ever before and played around 20 gigs as a guitarist.

I've also lost both of my parents in the past 10 weeks.

When my 95-year-old father died in hospital in early April, I had no time to mourn or to grieve his passing. My mother had also been admitted to the same ward a few days before and the staff had decided to put them in adjacent beds. A thoughtful idea but one that backfired when my father's heart arrested late one night. I can only imagine the psychological effect this must have had on her.

In the Jewish religion, a body has to be buried as soon as possible after death. My time was taken up with handling the funeral arrangements and trying to work out the logistics of where mum would go after leaving hospital. She had spent the last nine years as my father's carer, a man she had been with for 72 years.

Over the previous few years, my mother's fiercely protective nature had driven a wedge between us. She always knew what was best for my father. I disagreed on a variety of issues and wanted to improve his life. Despite his dementia, he always sided with his wife. I became distant from them - it was my way of coping with a situation I really couldn't handle.

After dad died, mum remained in hospital for a few weeks. One Monday evening I received a phone call to say she might not last the night. She was still at death's door next day so I sat with her and, in a quiet voice, I told her that I forgive her for everything that had happened between us, that I'll be fine and that if she wants to leave that's ok. At that moment, all my anger subsided. I'm not sure whether my words helped to bring her back from the brink but by the next day she had made an amazing recovery. I promised my father before he died that I would look after mum and was now given an opportunity to be as good as my word.

We found a really good care home for her and within 10 days she had moved in. She lived there for five weeks though never really settled. Her room had family photos and some of her favourite knick-knacks but they meant little without her husband. On a number of occasions I sat with her and held her hand, talking about dad. She even facetimed my son in America. But the death of her lifelong partner had removed her reason to live. Towards the end she was almost unrecognisable and started seeing my father in visions. Last Sunday she passed away. Her body was still warm when I kissed her goodbye.

The eulogy I read at my father's funeral was very factual; the one at my mum's was far more emotive. I struggled to complete it.

Yesterday I went to their home, the house I grew up in. I walked through the front door and called out "hi" as I always used to. I sat in the lounge, closed my eyes and could see my dad sitting in his chair. I turned round and saw my mum, and as I looked on I could see them speaking. Mum would frequently check that dad was ok; even though partially deaf, he would always reply. They had nicknames for each other. In my mind's eye, I could see and hear everything.

I have a number of arthritic conditions that cause me daily pain but this dulls into insignificance when compared to the physical pain and mental anguish I am going through now as I mourn both my parents. It is with a very heavy heart that I write this. I know that time will help but at this moment I can't see that far ahead.