Shine On, My Boy

And so the inevitable has come.

At around 10 o’clock last night my gorgeous boyfriend of 3 years slipped away and lost his battle with cancer. He was heavily sedated and the nurses assured us he would’ve felt and known nothing. 

But we felt and saw everything. And it was scary. And painful.

As he got closer to the end his body warmed up, his hands became clammy, his pulse started racing in a last bid attempt to fight. His breathing became shallow and laboured, there was fluid in his chest that bubbled through each inhalation. He struggled to breathe for a few minutes and then he was gone.

They say then when someone dies there is a sense of peace, maybe relief, an overwhelming knowing that the person is no longer there. This is true, from the first sharp intake of breath before the struggle, there was no pulse. I was holding his hand and there was nothing. It’s like it flashed across his face, although he continued to struggle for oxygen I knew he had already left. I knew my baby boy was at peace.

And it hurts.
Oh God, does it hurt.

I was the first person to turn to his family and say ‘he’s gone’. Before his last breathe. I felt him leave.
I knew.
I stayed beside him clasping his hand with his sister and parents. I stayed right up until the nurse came in and confirmed he had gone

Then it hit me and I tried to stand up, I kissed him on the head and just kept saying ‘well done, well done baby, well done’. I don’t know why. And then I walked out the room on legs made of jelly, walked out the hospice door to the gardens, and everything went. I fell to the floor and I cried my heart out.

I now understand what it means to be grief stricken. In that moment I couldn’t have done a thing even if I’d tried. I had to be supported by two nurses to get me back inside.

I went back in and climbed into bed next to him, his face was going pale and his lips were blue, his body was cold. I hugged him for the last time, inconsolable. I kissed him all over and then I walked away because I knew if I didn’t make myself leave I would never go.

His parents gave me his bear that he clutched right up til the end. He’d had him since birth. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to hugging my wonderful boy again.

Each minute brings a new pain, a new realisation and another part of my guard comes crashing down in a spectacular expression of anger and pain.

I know that I’ll get through this, that I’ll live, because I owe Jonny that much.

But right now I genuinely don’t know what I’m going to do.

I’m empty. I’m alone. I’m lost.

I miss you already, Jonny. ❤



  1. hospicephysician · October 24, 2014

    Reblogged this on Hospice Physician's Blog and commented:
    Very poetic and real entry about the passing of Jonny. I appreciate the author sharing such an intimate part of her and Jonny’s journey with the world. I’m sorry that I have just now discovered this blog. To Jonny’s girlfriend; please know that you and Jonny have helped and will help others who come across your blog to know they are not alone along their journey. To Jonny; Rest in Peace.


    • Team Jonny · October 31, 2014

      Thank you for this comment, I have only just seen that you reblogged my post (I’m still a bit new to wordpress!). This is a lovely post; that is my only aim: to get through this, somehow and to try and make sure no one else is ever as alone as I felt and feel.


  2. Emma · October 25, 2014

    Thank you for sharing this. When you’re feeling alone, I hope that it helps to know there are other people out there, feeling lost too, who you have helped with your words. X


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