Tag: malaysia romance

As I approached the curtains around Daniel’s bed I heard weeping, which confused me, as I knew I was the first of the family to return. Two of the intensive care nurses were saying goodbye to him. As I said, he’d been in ICU an unusually long time and they had come to care for him too much, despite the constant rotation of nurses to the ICU ward. Bless them. I stood looking at Daniel, all signs of machines and tubes and heaven knows what else removed. People came and went to say their goodbyes but I didn’t want to leave as leaving meant facing reality, facing the aftermath. However, whatever might be contra indicated in films, a dead body is just that. It has no spirit or soul, call it what you will and the being that you loved is truly gone. I knew that what remained was not Daniel. A passage from Watership Down came to me:

“You’ve been feeling tired,” said the stranger, “but I can do something about that….. If you’re ready, we might go along now.”……. It seemed to Hazel that he would not be needing his body any more, so he left it lying on the edge of the ditch….. He reached the top of the bank in a single, powerful leap. Hazel followed; and together they slipped away, running easily down through the wood, where the first primroses were beginning to bloom.”

I desperately hoped and prayed that Daniel could be free and happy now he no longer needed that battered body.

Having married what everyone used to joke was my “toy boy”, not for a moment, even in my wildest dreams, had it occurred to me that at the age of 40 I would become a widow. Never having wanted children the likelihood of me ending up a widow with a 9 month old daughter and 22 month old son was literally inconceivable. All I wanted to do was pack up those babies and head back to my childhood home in London to be with my mother. Because then everything would be alright, I’d be able to cope, somehow. I certainly didn’t want anything to do with that blasted resort on Pulau Sibu or anything else in Asia. I just wanted to go home.

There were several exceedingly large flies in the proverbial ointment with that plan. Firstly, my mother had sold our home in London, and secondly, Daniel had no life insurance and thirdly we (there is no more “we” Linda, you’re on your own now) were personally US$50’000 in debt, or thereabouts. OK, simply not going to think about it, default position, head in sand (the ostrich method of life never fails me!).

Back at Michelle’s (I couldn’t cope with staying at the Marco Polo Hotel with Mummy, I needed to be on the floor in the den still) I remember George saying he was going to St. Andrew’s Cathedral to arrange the funeral. I was slightly taken aback but he insisted. It was where he’d been married, it was where Daniel and his sister had been christened and that was where he wanted the funeral. Hearing the word “christened” it occurred to me there was absolutely no reason not to go ahead and christen the babies. If we did it at St. Andrew’s now it would almost be like Daniel was there. It was George’s turn to be taken aback when I said I’d like him to ask the vicar to christen the children the day after Daniel’s funeral. Now it was my turn to be adamant. I was sure the vicar wouldn’t dare turn down my request under the circumstances, although to be fair he might not have done anyway, unlike the vicar of St. George’s. I was right, the funeral would be on Tuesday 4^th October and the christening on Thursday 6^th October.

What happened over the next five days I couldn’t begin to tell you, I have very little memory of it. I do know I refused to have the children brought down from the island until the day after the funeral. Too much weeping and wailing on the one hand and stiff upper lip on the other, which was as it should be, but not something those little sponges needed to absorb. I also remember Michelle insisting that I shouldn’t go to the mortuary to identify the body, she would do it (ridiculous considering he’d been in hospital for so long but if a body is brought in as an accident it is apparently required). She took a sarong with her and asked them to dress him in it; “Make sure as a sarong, not a shroud”, I told her, since that’s what I felt he’d be most comfortable in. I also remember fielding calls from friends and family all over the world wanting to come to the funeral. I told them all the same thing, please don’t, simply think of him and keep his memory in your heart. In fact I didn’t want a funeral service at all but Mummy told me firmly to “sort myself out”, it had nothing to do with what I wanted, it was for others to pay their respects and celebrate his life. So I organised an order of service, hymns, eulogies and music and pretty much left everyone and everything else to Michelle and Mummy.

Le Grande Bleu, the story of free divers Jacques Mayol and Enzo Molinari, was Daniel’s favourite film and the soundtrack was constantly playing at the resort. I rerecorded the evocative music of Éric Serra, leaving out all the parts that were too jolly for the occasion. As a result I walked into that beautiful cathedral with its high arched blue ceiling, windows open to the beautiful day, listening to the sound of whale song. It set the perfect tone for a beautiful service.

Two of our Malaysian staff were driving our guests that day and both really wanted to attend the service. However, they begged my pardon as they thought their religion wouldn’t allow them to enter the cathedral and all my assurances couldn’t convince them. Just before the service was to begin I was actually standing outside looking for the vicar when I saw police outriders arrive, followed by a car with the royal plates from Johor. It was TMJ. He said hello and walked into the cathedral, quietly sitting at the back. In a heartbeat our two staff followed, figuring that if their prince could enter, so could they! (As an aside they thought the Cathedral and the service was beautiful and loved the singing.)

The cathedral was absolutely packed, I couldn’t believe it. I knew I thought Daniel was the best thing since sliced bread but I hadn’t realised quite how much he had touched other people’s lives. By the time the service actually started there was standing room only. I later found out that Michelle had placed a very large sized announcement in the obituary column of both the Straits Times & the New Straits Times. She said afterwards that Daniel’s death was so unexpected she didn’t want people to find out later, when they couldn’t come and pay their respects to him and the Wills family. So Mummy had been right and I was glad I’d sorted myself out.  

I come from a large South London family on the British side, my grandparents having had many siblings, so I attended quite a few funerals growing up. Invariably someone had to be sent out to the Off Licence as the sherry at the “come back to the house for a drink” ran out and it was decided we should be partying in honour of and with respect to the deceased. There was no greater accolade than; “Remember so and so? Now that was a great send off!” Sad to say I couldn’t tell you whether Daniel had a great send off, I’m sure he did, but I can’t remember a single thing after leaving the Cathedral that day.

The next thing I do remember is my babies arriving at Michelle’s the following day. Pure joy to have them with me again but luckily, I realized from the minute I saw them that I had to be careful. The temptation to simply hang on to them and bawl my eyes out was irresistible but they hadn’t got the least idea what was happening or why their Mummy, and everyone else for that matter, was so sad. I did not want them to feel that sadness, that feeling of loss. It was all so overwhelming, what on earth had these darling children done to deserve losing their father before ever knowing him?

“What on earth am I going to wear?” I asked Michelle, I have nothing suitable for a christening. And for whatever reason I ended up borrowing what I can only describe as something large made out of some Laura Ashley curtains. I had already got outfits for Richard and Jade and everyone else looked terribly smart… and then there was me. You’ll see what I mean when I post the photos.

When I asked my oldest friend Margaret (or the friend I have know the longest, as she would tell me to say) to be Richard’s godmother I didn’t think it would matter that he had two older women as his ‘life guides’ because he had a young father. With Daniel gone I decided to ask Michelle’s youngest daughter Justine, then only 12, to be a second godmother. She was delighted as she’s been playing with him and looking after him on our trips to Singapore since he was six weeks old. I am sure Richard would agree it was an inspired decision as they have a lovely relationship. He asked her to marry him when he was about five years old as he loved hanging out with her so much. Justine laughed and said that could never happen, but Michelle and I were busy doing the math and said; “Well, like father, like son?” and burst out laughing.

I do remember the party after the christening. We arrived back from the ceremony en masse to find the garden was filled with balloons, streamers, delicious food and bucket loads of champagne. It couldn’t have been a happier, sunnier, lovelier occasion, with babies, children and dogs all joining in, and for a brief moment I remembered what it was like to feel happy. I will forever be grateful to Michelle and her family, not for going to all the trouble and expense of arranging such a wonderful party, but for allowing me to realise that it was going to be possible to feel good again. Despite being in the depths of despair, that afternoon, if only for a few hours, I was happy. It was something to hang onto.

After that we all moved up to Pulau Sibu, taking Daniel’s ashes with us. I had decided to scatter them on his favourite dive site, a kelong wreck off Pulau Tinggi. Daniel had a very great friend and mentor, someone he thought of as a second father, called Herwarth Voigtmann, a famous underwater photographer. When Daniel had his accident, Herwarth called and asked if he should come as he was due to go to the Chagos Islands but he could postpone his trip. We said no because at that time we thought Daniel was getting better, so off he went saying he’d call as soon as he got back to a phone (remember, there was no easy communication from such out of the way places in 1994). When we realised that Daniel was in fact getting worse we desperately tried to contact Herwarth but to no avail. It was heartbreaking to have to tell him Daniel had died when he finally managed to call. Not only that but he’d missed the funeral as well. He was determined he’d join the dive to put Daniel’s ashes down on the kelong wreck and asked me if I could wait. I assured him we would.

The problem was that George wanted to leave. He’d had enough of it all, he wanted to go. Luckily his lovely lady at that time, Helen, managed to calm him down but he wanted to know what the hold up was. It didn’t seem politic at that time to say “because we’re waiting for Herwarth”. George was an old school expat, a retired plantation director used to telling an enormous work force what to do on a daily basis and accustomed to getting his own way. I can literally hear him now; “Why, what’s it got to do with that bloody man? Just get on with it!” What to do, lah? It came to me while I was changing Jadie’s nappy and I used the last wet wipe in the box. There’s a handy container, nice and air tight (see, we Sea Gypsies have always thought about recycling). I decided, sea and weather permitting, we’d do the dive tomorrow and asked the boys to arrange it all. I then went and got some old newspaper and a pair of chopsticks and tipped Daniel’s ashes out of the urn onto the paper and started sorting with the chopsticks. Big piece for the urn, big piece for the wet wipe box, etc., finally, carefully, tipping half the finer powder into each receptacle from the paper. I put the wet wipe box on the shelf next to my bed and took the urn downstairs.

The next day we all set off on a bum boat, those of us actually diving jumped in at the kelong wreck, George emptied the ashes (I had given him strict instruction to bring the urn back using the excuse that I didn’t want any divers finding it), got back on the boat, opened a bottle of fizz and said a few words before heading back. George left the next day. I washed and sun baked the urn, emptied the contents of the wet wipe box into the it and put the lid back on. I then threatened everyone on pain of death that no one was allowed to tell Herwarth we’d already been down once. He arrived within the next couple of days, and so once again we all got on the bum boat, those diving jumped in at the kelong wreck, Herwarth emptied the ashes, got back on the boat, opened a bottle of fizz and said a few words before heading back. Except this time none of the rest of us were terribly upset by the whole thing, having done it all once already, whereas poor Herwarth was blubbing his eyes out. He’d brought an enormous wreath with him and after he got out of the water he threw the wreath in. There was a strong current running and it shot off like a bat out of hell. Having started the fizz whilst waiting for Herwarth to come up from the dive, I’m ashamed to say we had a hard job controlling our hysterics (or possibly hysteria, as it was all so ridiculous). He must have found us a very insensitive bunch but I couldn’t and wouldn’t tell him. I’m only telling this story now because I know that neither of them are here to read it!

All my friends and family, even Mummy, eventually left Pulau Sibu and it was only then that my business partner Russell informed me we were closing the resort for the monsoon at the end of the month (October). Not only that, but he’d also told all the staff that they could go on leave. He and his partner would be going on holiday, incidentally to Hawaii, to stay with my friends who had been invited for the christening (nothing like adding insult to injury!). I was absolutely stunned, yes, we had to close for monsoon but we still had a business to run and organise. I was told it was too late to change anything as he’s made all his travel arrangements. I asked if the accounts had been kept up to date, whether finances had been sorted for the monsoon maintenance, whether we had a financial plan for reopening. I simply got handed a cardboard box full of paperwork that hadn’t been ledgered (remember, all administration was done by hand in those days). I asked if he’d done anything about advertising or marketing for next season. Again he said no, nothing, as I always did all of that, basically it wasn’t his department. He knew I planned to go to Mummy’s for Christmas and try and sort out what on earth I was going to do, he suggested I get on with it so I could leave as soon as possible.  Oh, and not to worry, he’d be back to open for Chinese New Year. I could then go on leave until the end of February 1995, he’d see to the opening up. I asked again if we could discuss this, but again was told no, it was all arranged and that was that.

Resignedly, I asked the staff if they would stay on but apart from Mai (a house keeper from the kampung) and her fiancé Black (who she’d met when he came as a builder but didn’t actually work for us) everyone had already made other arrangements. Paivi, the Finish nanny, also said she’d stay and her boyfriend was now there, agreed to stay as well. None of them could cook so apart from sorting out accounts, finances for opening, marketing and who would maintain the resort over the monsoon, I had to do all the cooking! Welcome back to the real world Linda!

Apparently this is now a bi monthly blog. Procrastination is defined as “the action of delaying or postponing something” and I am an Olympic gold medalist procrastinator. What begins as a task needing to be done becomes a bête noire living in the corner of my office, growing daily, until it becomes feared and avoided. Finally the day comes it has to be faced and the ridiculous thing is the task is very often either easily done or extremely interesting once I get into it and furthermore enjoyable, so why do I do it? I have no idea and I wish I were different but it was ever thus and I doubt at 67 I’m about to change, more’s the pity.

I am aware that we left poor Daniel about to be rushed into Singapore from Johor Bahru, if only it were that easy. Firstly, despite the team from SOS arriving poste haste they took one look at Daniel and refused to move him as they didn’t believe he’d survive the journey. After much pleading, phoning, faxing and the signing of indemnity forms it was agreed to try. Secondly, having made the decision the hospital refused to allow us to depart until I had paid the bill, no problem, here’s a credit card.

 “I’m sorry the bill isn’t ready.”

“Would you mind awfully speeding it up, we’re in a bit of a hurry, it’s quite an emergency.” Sometimes my Britishness annoys even me!

I must have gone back to that counter every two minutes but the clock ticked on and no amount of pleading the obvious could speed up the system. Could we simply make a run for it? Apparently not. It took them over an hour and I have occasionally wondered what their reaction would have been if Daniel had died during the wait? What the SOS team had to say about it is unrepeatable.

While I was waiting for the ambulance the management and some of the workers from the Marina turned up and I finally discovered what had happened. Daniel had been preparing for the Marina opening celebrations by putting in markers for jet ski slalom races and decided to test them out. Another employee that had never been on a jet ski before was also in the water, took a turn too fast and lost control, shooting off sideways. The poor chap was literally on his knees in front of me begging my forgiveness, I felt so sorry for him, I have never blamed him, accidents happen. I believe he must have hit Daniel in the back, which probably ruptured the kidney, knocking him forward and slamming him into the handle bars, which caused the liver injury, and finally he went over the handlebars, causing the superficial facial lacerations. Unfortunately being a Sunday there were no other management staff on duty and it was the facial lacerations that the local staff focused on, not being trained in any kind of first aid. I found out much later that a Singaporean cook was first aid trained, having done his national service, and told them Daniel looked grey, which indicated internal damage. He suggested putting him on the Changi ferry as the fastest way to get him to a good hospital. Such a shame no one listened to him, the outcome would probably have been very different.

Secondly, having finally hit the road, siren blazing, doctor looking frazzled at the delay, we came to the Causeway. This was the old crossing at Woodlands, maybe things have changed in an emergency nowadays, both ends having been rebuilt, but in those days you queued. Yes, I kid you not, literally a case of life and death and we queued! Once through we could put the siren on to “race” across the causeway but how to race with a siren when all lanes are blocked? Immigration and customs weren’t much better the Singapore side, the SOS staff could have outdone a platoon of squaddies for colourful language, and only when we hit the open road did the siren have the desired effect again.

We made it to the National University Hospital but barely and Daniel was rushed into intensive care. I am not going to bore you with six weeks of medical details, in short he stabilized, he was out of intensive care, he deteriorated, he was back in intensive care. His kidneys packed up so needed dialysis, he had a tracheostomy, he was jaundiced, he had nine operations in total, he finally succumbed to septicemia. I can only praise the doctors and staff at the NUH, they were absolutely brilliant. I also praise their attitude to alternative medicine, they didn’t mind us trying whatever we wanted including a faith healer. So that’s enough of the medical stuff, now for the interesting and the weird.

I should mention that during the six weeks Daniel spent in hospital he was nearly always conscious. So hospital phobic was he that he was literally tied to the bed most of the time or he’d have used every ounce of strength he had to escape. For one late evening operation (due to having to wait for fresh platelets) I was called back to the hospital as he’d suddenly refused to go through with it, convinced he would die. By that stage they had to be careful with pre meds so Daniel would be awake going into the operating room. Having assured him he would be fine I had to be gowned up so that I could hold his hand while he was rolled into the theatre, to keep him calm I talked him through one of our favourite dives in the Maldives (Banana Reef for any of our diving buddies from the Male chapter of Dan’s Nasty Frogmen).

Speaking of platelets I’d like to take this opportunity to thank blood donors from the bottom on my heart. In Johor we were actually charged for the blood. This was to encourage us to send blood donors to replace it and we were refunded for every pint we replaced. In Singapore we weren’t charged but we were given a daily update of how many pints we’d used in the hope we’d encourage people to replace it. One of the things I did to occupy my time was launch a blood drive, eventually putting an appeal in the funeral order of service. I remember one morning the British Consul asked all employees to go and give blood, giving them time off to do so. To this day I still bump into people that remember Daniel because of the blood drive and going to give blood. We also needed people on standby to give platelets, which form clots and prevent bleeding, at any given time day or night. Blood is taken out of one arm, the platelets are removed and the blood is put back into the other arm.

As soon as I knew we were on our way into Singapore I had called my friend Michelle, who lived in Singapore, and from that moment on I never had to worry about anything except Daniel. In the Maldives when you get told you’re pregnant that’s pretty much it.  I’m not sure what happens in other countries, I’ve never actually asked anyone, but I imagine the doctor or somebody then offers you a sack load of information and services, including pre natal classes or whatever they’re called.  In the Maldives you wait nine months and then give birth.  It’s a perfectly normal occurrence and women have been doing it for a couple thousand years, so what’s the big deal.  Never having had any pregnant friends, never having lived near any pregnant relatives I was pretty much completely ignorant about all aspects of the situation.  My supremely happy husband was wonderful in the total support and love department, a little better informed in the anatomy department (not having flunked out of all science classes like the mother to be) but basically just as ignorant.  So we bought a book.  I cannot for the life of me remember where and it’s really annoying me, since it certainly didn’t come for any shop in Male’ and I don’t remember taking any trips at that time. Sorry, I digress. This book by Dr. Miriam Stoppard became our bible.  I remembered being fascinated by Dr. Stoppard when she did a TV program about a newborn baby’s survival instincts.  How you could hang a newborn baby on a washing line by its hands because it’s vice like grip was designed specifically to ensure survival and it would not let go.  Or you could throw a baby into water and it would automatically surface, roll onto it’s back and float quite comfortably.  The baby will even kick out towards its mother if in another part of the water, following the scent of mother’s milk.  Fascinating stuff.  Of course I’d watched the program in my teens and had by now probably got all the information wrong or mixed up but Dr. Stoppard seemed like my kind of person.

One of the important things our baby bible told us was that a woman in her late thirties is advised to have an amniocentesis to see if the fetus is ok.  Since the test wasn’t available in the Maldives a trip to Singapore was in order.  At the end of the previous year I had received a phone call from an acquaintance of Daniel’s from Singapore.  A young stunningly pretty girl called Francesca.  She and a boyfriend had just arrived in the Maldives for an extended holiday and were wondering which island to stay on.  We met up, organised things, had a super time together during their stay and became friends.  Before departing Francesca said that if we were ever in Singapore we were to come and stay.  It wasn’t so much that I was looking for a place to stay, I actually love the strange anonymity and fantasy limbo existence that staying in nice hotels seems to evoke.  I was looking for a doctor, clinic, whatever to perform the amniocentesis.  Francesca was younger than Daniel and I doubted that she would know.  However she still lived at home with her parents when in Singapore and I thought her mother, who is anyway closer to my age and has given birth to three children in Singapore, would be able to recommend a gynecologist.  I phoned Francesca.  I can now say in hindsight that this phone call turned out to be one of the single most important acts of my life.  Not because it sorted out where I would have the amneo, or produce an invitation to stay at their home that couldn’t be refused but because it would introduce me to Francesca’s mother, Michelle. 

Francesca had suddenly left for Canada so it was Michelle that picked me up from Changi Airport in Singapore.  When I asked how we would know each other she said: “I’ll be the dark haired Amazonian outside the Customs Hall”.  She is indeed tall and she does appear to be larger than life in a land of Asians (the curse of many a Western female expatriate!).  She had bobbed shiny dark hair, beautiful eyes and it is obvious that she turned from a very pretty girl into a beautiful woman.  South African in origin, married to an Australian, over twenty years living in Singapore, with much travel and many experiences under her belt her accent has ended up sort of British but mostly just educated.  I soon found we shared a common love of words and word games but Michelle also seems to have an encyclopedic mind.  She devours information of every kind and is interested in just about everything.  Another thing we have in common is that we are both extremely loud and very opinionated.  We talk over anyone, slap them down with our opinion and expect a lively debate not realising that many people are intimidated by our loudness so aren’t quick to respond.  We live in blissful ignorance of trampling over other people’s valid points of view because they are either too overwhelmed to respond, are made to believe their opinion is irrelevant or simply consider our enjoyment of lively debate a form of dispute and don’t like, or can’t be bothered with, what feels like confrontation.   Personally I can’t ever see either of us changing.  I don’t think any real friends would want us to, at least neither of us are boring (well, not often anyway).  Finally we share the same irreverent sense of humour, which was to stand us in good stead over the coming years.  By the time we had reached their incredibly beautiful home, an indication that these people were not short of a bob or two, I was already in love with Michelle and felt I had found a really good friend.  Coincidentally, and I only found this out some years later, Michelle knew Dr. Miriam Stoppard!

Michelle’s whole family was so loving and supportive but she was my rock, I can’t begin to imagine how I would have survived that ordeal without her. Through choice I strangely took up residence in their den, choosing to sleep on a mattress on the floor in front of their massive TV, which I left on constantly for company and to avoid thinking. Luckily the drive from their home to NUH was only 15 minutes.

In 1991 Daniel had popped to Singapore for his medical check up with a hyperbaric doctor. On his return I was laying in bed reading while he was taking a shower, when he walked into the bedroom and dropped his towel. I screamed: “What is that on your bottom?”

“Do you like it?” he grinned at me.

“Were you drunk?” I assumed he must have been.

“No, I asked for it.” He was inordinately pleased with himself.

Tattooed on his left buttock was a pair of bright read lips as though someone had kissed his bottom wearing deep red lipstick.

“Those lips might look alluring now but what they’ll look like at sixty on old wrinkly skin is another question.”

Obviously we were never to find that out but the tattoo did become a source of great amusement to us both. Daniel spent a total of six weeks in the ICU. Nurses rotated from bed to bed daily, in order not to become too attached to any patient as in so many cases death is the outcome. Each day we would enjoy the squealing as new nurses found the “kiss” on Daniel’s bottom during bed bath time.

As the days dragged on, turning into weeks, I started thinking about the impending christening. Obviously I had informed everyone of the accident and they were all in touch but I think we collectively refused to believe the worst. OK, to be honest that was coming from me, I refused to believe the worst, right to the very end. In hindsight I feel so sorry for Daniel’s doctor, Dr. Isaacs, a wonderful man. The number of times he’d explain everything to me and finish with things like “we have to be realistic” or “we have to be prepared for the worst”. I’d listen intently nod in all the right places and invariably answered with “yes, I understand but on the other hand….” and believe he could do miracles. Daniel also believed me as I informed him constantly that he would get better, it would simply take longer than we thought.

Nearly everyone invited to the christening was of the same opinion, they would come since tickets were already booked. Even if the christening didn’t go ahead they’d be able to visit Daniel, as he’d obviously be in recuperation by then, and still have a holiday.

I missed my babies terribly but was firmly of the opinion that they should not be brought to the ICU or even to Singapore. I have always believed babies and toddlers are cognitive sponges and will absorb emotion from those around them. They did not deserve to be absorbing the fear, apprehension and the pure panic that was emanating from me. Michelle came up with a plan as she was firmly of the opinion I needed a break and I needed to cuddle my children. She’d drive me to Tanjong Leman, we’d pick up the babies, I could check into the Pan Pacific hotel in JB with them for a couple of days and try to relax a little. I’d be well away from everything to try and enjoy them but close enough for her to come and get me at the drop of a hat should it be necessary. Meanwhile Daniel’s father had arrived and he would be by his side daily. That in itself would be interesting as their relationship was complicated to say the least. I have no intention of opening that can of worms here. However, when I wonder why Daniel was made to suffer those six weeks in hospital, instead of dying outright in the collision, it pleases me to think it might have been so that Daniel could hear his father tell him he loved him and was proud of him, something that had never been said before.

Richard’s godfather James arrived, without the family, and was desperate to see Daniel but had a slight problem, he was even more hospital phobic than Daniel. James regaled us with stories of his hospital disasters as he tried to be present for his children’s births and other occasions, we were in hysterics. Bless him he finally made it into the ICU but I hadn’t warned him he’d have to climb over tubes attached to various parts of Daniel’s anatomy to get to the top end of the bed. Think he actually made it all the way on the third attempt, his antics made Daniel laugh so much the tube popped off the tracheostomy and my shoving it back on again almost did for James completely!

Jade’s godfather Peter arrived with his wife Karen and the instant they stood next to the bed Daniel indicated congratulations were in order (I had got very good at interpreting his hands tied sign language and grunting by then). They asked what for and he indicated that they were expecting a child. Both of them burst out laughing and said absolutely no way as Karen didn’t want children. Daniel shrugged but assured me later that he was correct. Turns out they were expecting, she was about two weeks pregnant at the time with Lachlan. Can departing souls see arriving souls, I wonder?

The island staff sent us photos of the children (well, actually they sent rolls of film which we got developed, remember those days?) which Daniel and I spent ages looking at. About the middle of September Daniel asked if he could see the children. I was horrified. Things were not looking better, in fact they were getting worse.  Richard & Jade did not need the sight of their father in that ICU bed hooked up to heaven knows how many tubes, including the one coming out of his throat allowing him to breath but not talk, seared into their brains. I said I didn’t think it would be a good idea, that ICU probably wasn’t a nice place for the babies to be. He thought about it and then indicated he wanted a mirror. I realised he hadn’t seen himself since the accident and suddenly had the idea he must look terrible. I laughed and assured him he looked lovely, fetching him a mirror, and in fact he did. The jaundice gave him the look of a tan (if you didn’t notice the yellow eyes) and although wasting away his girth was still swollen so one didn’t realise how thin he’s become, his face was as beautiful as ever. His finger nails and toe nails were immaculate! A life long nail biter, this was the first time his nails had ever grown, thanks to being tied down. His constant running around bare foot meant he usually had half his toe nails broken or hanging off and they had grown as well. Sitting in an ICU watching someone sleeping most of the time can be awfully boring and giving my darling man mani-pedis helped pass the time. I know a lot of people thought I was awful not allowing him to see his children but to this day I believe I did the right thing because whenever I think of him I always see him first and foremost in that blasted bed.

On 27^th September my mother finally arrived and immediately asked me what she could do. Without a seconds thought I said she could allow me to shout at her. I know people are being kind but “how are you?” is about the dumbest question anyone can possibly ask at a time like that. You want to scream “how the **** do you think I am?!” but instead you grind your back teeth and count to ten and answer politely. I never ask anyone how they are in a bad situation, unless I add that they can tell me the truth whilst screaming if they like. I proceeded to scream at and be cuddled by my mother for some time and she took it all lovingly. Mind you, she’d had plenty of practice at stoicism. Her first husband was called up on their honeymoon and died very early on in WWII. She then got engaged to a pilot towards the end of the war and he died in a crash landing at Croydon Aerodrome. My father, a Norwegian naval man, always said he was the last man standing!

We checked mummy in at the Marco Polo hotel (I still miss it, loved the Brasserie) and went to the hospital. I remember standing either side of Daniel’s bed and having been a life long agnostic she said: “That’s it, if Daniel dies I’ll know there is no God.”

“If Daniel dies I have to believe in God or I’ll never see him again.” It was the only reply I could possibly give her.

Two significant things happened that afternoon which at the time I didn’t really understand. The first was that I was informed they felt that Daniel’s pain killer needed to be increased. The second was that as I was sitting next to Daniel he opened his eyes from dozing and for the first time in ages they seemed clear, apart from being yellow of course. They usually looked fevered from his high temperature and foggy from drugs but they were so bright I literally said: “Hello you, how are you?” He looked confused, as though he wondered why I would be asking him. He obviously wanted to be kissed and kissed soundly! I asked if he’d like to see some new photos of the babies and he looked at them happily, lovingly, smiling all the while. Then he looked tired so I kissed him again and told him to go back to sleep and watched those bright eyes closing, little realising they’d never open again.

I almost skipped out of the ICU thinking I’d been right all along, he was going to get better. I was staying at the Marco Polo with Mummy and drove over there in high spirits. Our friend Tina had arrived that day and was staying there as well. Before starting live aboard diving in the Maldives Tina had been a theatre nurse in Holland. She was literally a female version of Daniel and they absolutely loved each other. I didn’t understand why she wasn’t in the same state of happiness as me when I told her my news but she said nice positive things to me. At 1.30 am on 28^th September I sat bolt upright in bed and knew without a shadow of doubt I needed to be at the hospital with Daniel. Mummy said they wouldn’t let me in at night but I insisted I had to go. I assume she must have called Tina because I do remember she came with me. Entering the ICU is like entering a secure unit, the first door has to be opened and then closed behind you then the internal door is opened. This is all done by the nurse on the ICU reception and normally there is no way it would have been opened in the middle of the night. My worst fears were confirmed as the doors magically opened for me and the nurse said hello as though my being there was the most natural thing in the world. Somewhere in my fitful sleep I must have realised that Daniel had woken up to say goodbye to me yesterday afternoon and that his pain medication was being increased simply because there was nothing else that could be done for him other than ease his pain.

At daylight I contacted his father, who had gone to Pulau Sibu to see his grandchildren, and told him he had to come back immediately. As I hung up I saw Michelle walking towards me and asked her if she had ever organised a funeral in Singapore, she said yes and from that moment on took on the burden of informing all our guests that they would be attending a funeral rather than a christening. I went back to the ward and told the staff that I no longer wanted them to do anything that might prolong Daniel’s life, he’d fought a brave fight but had lost. As I sat with him I told him it was OK to go, I understood and we’d be fine, but he needed to wait until his father could say goodbye. George arrived at midday and said his goodbyes, obviously horrendously upset, no parent should ever have to see their child die before them. He made a speedy exit as his generation were taught it was unmanly to show emotion. I started to follow him out to comfort him but at that precise moment the monitor started screeching, I turned and watched as Daniel took his last breath, having waited to say goodbye to his father. At 12.18 pm on 28^th September 1994 Daniel Allan Colquhoun Wills died aged 29 years old.

If you have been, thanks for reading. x

P.S. For obvious reasons there will be no photos for this episode.