How we moved out from grief

A month before Deborah's diagnosis we had a huge bash to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary, with our four children and a sea of friends and relations. Life could not have tasted sweeter. I was busy directing commercials as Debs wrote on health, psychology, colonies anything that fascinated her. As health editor of Vogue for most of her career and author of books on how to look after oneself, she had a firm grasp of how to make the best of lite. She had smoked for seven years, from her late teens, unconcerned in those days, as was society. But we never could have anticipated what was to come.

In June of 2004 Debs had suffered an unusual spontaneous fracture in a rib. Her regular running was becoming more of an effort, and in November headaches led her to a neurologist. X-rays revealed a snowstorm of white shadows clouding her chest. It took four days to confirm the dreaded news that Deborah had stage IV cancer. There is no stage V.

I felt desperate for Debs. How could we possibly tell our children? But she quietly and simply announced there was only one way to deal with this, 'to face it with grace and dignity'. And so she did. Her strength was ours as a family.

Meanwhile neighbours helped out wherever and whenever: visits to the chemotherapy clinic, distractions for the children, regular deliveries from the 'Collander Girls' - 20 local busy mums who took it in turns to make us meals three times a week. The help and support raised our spirits. We often reflected on how lucky we were, having so often seen the despair written on the faces of those unaccompanied in the oncology waiting room. In fact, it was what inspired Debs to write her book, What Can I do to Help?, in those last months.

Debs never shrank from the truth, however unpalatable. She became increasingly thin, bringing the idea of her dying very close at times, while at others we clung to the tentative promise of some new unproven drug.

It became apparent that Debs needed us as someone, seeing things from her point of view so she was not alone on her journey. We, too, had to acknowledge that death could be just around the corner. This may have seemed a tough way to deal with it, especially for our children who had from the start been told more or less everything: most significantly that we were only ever buying time.

Looking after Deborah, being at her side through interrupted nights of restless discomfort, led to conversations that left no stone unturned. We discussed the children's future, how they'd remember her, how she didn't want to die in hospital, how she wanted me to find happiness with someone else... but not too soon. We were acknowledging the truth of what lay ahead and yet their intensity drew us even closer. We talked of the mystery, that 'black door' and, though I am still left without answers, she did all she could to find them.

Throughout our happy lives together, we had both been lucky enough to feel independent, eminently strong, even a little competitive. But at the end we had both dropped out guard to show each other our true fears.

She died just after the launch of her book. We all felt its valedictory nature. Three days later I woke to find her at peace by my side. The light of my life had gone out.

Acknowledging the depth of my sadness has been a very important part of this strange feeling that has come home to roost. I have found that honesty is vital in grief. I now realise that children will accept the truth of any situation, however dire, and adapt.

Now, more than a year later, the odd wave of sadness still catches me out. I think of Debs often in the day and we talk of her every day at home, referring to mum's this or mum's that. The children and I have set up The Deborah Hutton Campaign to promote anti-smoking, in particular amongst young girls, led by my daughters Romilly and Clemmie.

At home, I think we have all felt the grief has not been as unbearable as at first we thought it would be. Laughter has not left us by any means as a family. There is a loss of innocence in being a close witness to death. Though I have no beliefs in which to find comfort or enlightened understanding, it has made death less of an irrational rear for me.

I would give anything to see her walk through our lives again, but that's how it is, and it is alright. Debs showed us how to live with cancer and the proximity of death, and in some ways has shown me how to live without her. Luckily, for us as a family, most of life's daily rhythms remain the same. It just feels very different.

Parent partner

One of the advantages of being a parent is that you know what it's like to be a child. You have your own checklist of things your parents got wrong which you are never going to repeat with your own children. So when your 12-year-old asks for a TV in her bedroom or wants to stay out late for a party, you know what the right answer is and you assume your partner will agree. After all, you both want the best for your child, don't you?

But suppose his idea of what's 'best' is different from yours? You're opposed to children watching TV alone in their room, but your partner feels equally strongly that you have to trust your child. Suddenly your united front is in pieces, you're having a row that you never saw coming, and now it's your child and your partner who are united against you. Whatever the outcome, someone will end up angry and aggrieved.

According to Susanna Abse, director of the Tavistock Centre for Couple Relationships, in such a situation everyone loses out. It's disconcerting for children if you argue about them in front of them — even if they are the victors. They feel triumphant, but also carry a burden of guilt because they realise they've caused a rift between you - and that can be a worry for them1 she says.

Remember that your partner is trying to do his best,' says Abse. 'Discuss with him what he is thinking and why he is doing the things he does.'

If, however, you do feel your partner is being abusive and discussing it hasn't helped, then you may need outside help.

In different situations, you need to square off in your own mind the fact that your partner has as much say over your child's upbringing as you have. 'Ask "why do I feel like this?'" says Abse. Try to become more self-reflective and less reactive.' Often these feelings are driven by your own earlier experiences; perhaps you were bullied yourself, and you are transferring these feelings from the past. 'You have to try to unpick what belongs in this situation and what belongs elsewhere.' In an ideal situation, parents present a united front. Yet this doesn't have to mean agreeing with your partner unquestioningly. It's more important that you're able to discuss freely what you think. Whether you can then present a united front despite your differences is really about your philosophy of parenting, says Janet Reibstein, professor of psychology at The University of Exeter. 'If you have chosen a partner with similar values then there will be fewer disputes between you.' But if you do have disputes, acknowledging that you have a relationship separate from the child can help. 'Spend time together listening to each other and thinking things through. Couples who do best are those who give time to each other, despite having children.'

By avoiding any show of disunity in front of the child, you also avoid giving him or her a chance to exploit the situation.

Disagreements can be healthy for a child to see, but not if the argument concerns the child. If this happens, Penny Mansfield, director of One Plus One Marriage and Partnership Research, advises extricating yourself as soon as possible. 'Say to the child, "Dad has just come in from work — give us five minutes." Then take your partner to one side and say, "shall we just deal with this?" Try to resolve things so the child sees you can have your differences, debate them and come to a conclusion.'

If you can manage this, then holding different views from your partner can even be beneficial, says Mansfield. 'It isn't that couples who manage their differences well don't have differences, but they talk about them and know how to deal with the disagreement. Showing that we can express our views and accept someone else's without being intimidated - that's one of the best lessons parents can give their children.' Perhaps it's also one of the best gifts we can share with our partners.

Adapted from the article 'PARENT PARTNER' 'Psychologies, January 2007'