'CAN WE CALL DADDY IN HEAVEN?"

Grief-stricken Rosie Freeland, 34, thought of a way that her loss could help others

- RACHEL TOMPKINS

Looking across at my husband Hughie, 43, who was sitting next to me, I saw the fear in his eyes and knew he could see it in mine  too. We were at an oncology appointment. Hughie had been referred for tests after he’d suffered severe pain in his hip. Fit, healthy and a keen runner, for months we’d put it down to a pulled muscle, but now our worst fears were becoming a reality.

‘Hughie has high-grade giant cell-rich osteosarcoma (GCRO),’ the doctor said. Instinctively, I reached a hand out to hold Hughie’s and desperately tried to keep it together. I’d not long found out I was pregnant with our second child, which made the diagnosis all the more devastating.

I had so many questions and I knew Hughie would be thinking the same things. Would he be able to fight this cancer? Would he get through it? Would he see our second child be born, and see them and our son Rory, then three, grow up?

I knew I had to remain positive but being thrown into the unknown is terrifying. We both remained strong until we got home, but then we broke down, holding each other as we sobbed. In August 2020, two months after his diagnosis, Hughie started six rounds of chemo, which finished that December. It caused low immunity, which meant he couldn’t come with me to the baby scans. He tried to keep busy, reading books and listening to podcasts, and in January 2021, he was with me when our son Rafferty was born. ‘He’s our silver lining, our ray of light,’ Hughie smiled, holding him in his arms. ‘I’m so proud.’