One Last Blast

●Terminal prognosis

●Smiling through the pain

●a very special Christmas

Tiptoeing downstairs, I peered into the lounge, and my heart melted.

It was 2am, and my fiance David had our 2-month old Kayne lying on his chest, and was gently stroking his feet.

‘I’m so lucky,’ I smiled, creeping back to bed.

Dave and I met at college in September 2005. He was quiet, kind, and had the sexiest bum!

I was working part-time on the deli counter at Asda, and he’d come in to chat.

We started dating, but it was six months before we slept together. And I fell pregnant the first time!

Taylor-James was born in January 2007. Dave and I were only 18, but happy.

And now we had Kayne, too, born in December 2010.

In August 2011, we got married, and the boys were christened at the same time.

The following June, our third son, Oscar, was born.

As Christmas drew near, I stashed away gifts for them.

‘Don’t they have enough?’ Dave sighed, rolling his eyes.

‘Nope!’ I grinned.

He thought I spoiled them.

So on Christmas Day, I gave Dave a personalised bauble.

Daddy the Grinch, he read, holding it up and laughing.

He spent the whole day putting train sets together, racing cars with the boys.

First signs

Life passed happily after that. Until 14 November last year...

Dave got up to go to his job as a forklift driver.

‘Flick the kettle on,’ I asked him.

His hand hovered over the switch.

‘Not woken up yet?’ I teased.

As he walked into the living room, I heard a car toot outside. It was his boss Les coming to pick him up.

But then Dave tumbled to the floor, hitting his head on the sideboard on the way down.

‘Dave!’ I screamed. He was foaming at the mouth, fitting uncontrollably.

The boys were hysterical.

I ran and got Les, who called an ambulance.