Alex, my husband, was football daft. He was a Rangers fan, but you’d see him more often at McDiarmid Park because he was a first aider.
We’d been together for 25 years, but only married for five. I don’t know what made us decide then to get married, it just felt like the absolute right moment. We’d talked about it several times, but we’d never got round to it. It didn’t seem important, but then suddenly it was. We had a wonderful day with friends and family, the perfect day. And I’m glad we made those memories because just a year later he was diagnosed with dementia and he went downhill very fast.
We met when Alex came to fix a lock on a new house I’d moved into. I thought he was a bit cheeky, but he was a lovely kind man and we went from friends to being a couple.
He never retired. He never wanted to. He was a joiner by trade and he hated sitting about, he was so busy. On a Sunday we’d go down to Errol and he’d find all different sorts of bits and pieces that he claimed were treasure, would be worth a fortune. I don’t think they ever were, but he loved it. The dementia robbed him of all that, of everything he was and loved.
But he never forgot who I was, he’d always greet me with a kiss, would want to hold my hand. Right up to the last minute, he knew me, would be excited to see me. I miss that. I miss him.
As told by Pamela Brymer