HORROR ON OUR DOORSTEP

Marian Gomoh, 59, was already grieving for her husband when her son lay dying in her arms

- CANDICE FERNANDEZ, FRANCESCA WOODSTOCK

Bringing a child into the world is a privilege. I've spent 18 years working as a midwife, delivering thousands of babies, each life as precious as the last. And I was blessed to have two beautiful children of my own.

Our home had always been filled with laughter and love, and while we didn't have a lot of money, we had each other. My husband David, who I'd been with since I was 23, our daughter Lizzie, and our son, also David.

'Love you, Mummy,' my son David said every night before bed. Even as he got older, he still called me Mummy, and we stayed close as he grew into a remarkable young man.

He graduated from uni in September 2018, aged 22, and while he wanted to launch his own clothing line one day, he knew he needed to save. He threw himself into a job with the NHS, sourcing hospital equipment, but he always made time for his family, too. I loved watching Lizzie and David chat about their busy lives over dinner.

When the pandemic hit in March 2020, David's role was pivotal in securing life-saving PPE, and I was so proud of my boy. We both worked at the same hospital and, as the country went into lockdown, we continued putting ourselves on the front line, me delivering babies and David delivering PPE.

My husband David developed health issues and suffered from diabetes and high blood pressure. He was shielding at home, but on 3 April 2020, he fell ill. He struggled to get out of bed, so, the next day, I called an ambulance. I'll be fine,' he insisted as he was taken to hospital, with restrictions meaning he had to go alone.

I called for news and was told he was stable. But three days later, my beloved husband died, aged 62. 'We think it was COVID-19,' the doctor told me on the phone. David and Lizzie held me as I sobbed. We thought we'd enjoy retirement together, see David and Lizzie start families of their own now he was gone.