I didn't tell my husband he was dying

Determined not to worry the man she loved, Debbie Kiely, 59, made a brave decision

- ANNA MATHESON

Kissing my new husband as our horse-drawn carriage pulled away from the church, blissful happiness washed over me. It was June 1986 and Michael and I had just promised to love each other for the rest of our lives.

‘Even when I’m old and wrinkly?’ Michael, then 24, joked as we waved to our guests.

‘Of course,’ I beamed.

Michael was tall and handsome, we’d met on a night out in Birmingham six years earlier. After our wedding, we moved into our own little place and in May 1988, our son, Jason, came along. Michael was delighted to have a mini-me. ‘He’s my little champ,’ he’d laugh. Our daughter, Hannah, was born in 1990, followed by Stacey, in 1992, and Michael treated his girls like princesses.

Michael and I worked hard, him at a power plant and me as a hairstylist, to make sure the kids had everything they wanted. Life was stressful,but we were a team. Once the kids moved out, we were looking forward to retiring so we could do a bit of travelling. But in 2013, my mum was diagnosed with dementia and our plans were put on hold while we helped organise her care. Still, we had time to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary with a garden party in June 2016, and the following May our daughter, Hannah, then 27, got engaged. Michael was so proud and was looking forward to the big day, set for June 2019.

But as the months went by, Michael began to display strange behaviour. He became withdrawn and tired, often forgetting why he’d walked into a room. I put it down to his stressful job, but by the beginning of 2017, he began to distance himself from friends.

‘I just can’t be bothered totalk to them,’ he said when I questioned him.