HOW do you cope when your partner dies in a freak accident? Chris Lloyd talks to Paul Place, whose wife died rollerblading in Darlington

PAUL Place collected his wife’s belongings from the hospital in a bag and went for a walk at their favourite place – Saltburn beach. “It was very windy, very sunny, absolutely gorgeous,” he remembers of that early April afternoon six years ago.

He had been drawn to the beach a few days earlier as the extent of the injuries Caroline had sustained in a rollerblading accident in a Darlington park had become clear, and he was trying to come to terms with her imminent loss and with becoming, at the age of 42, the sole parent of their five-year-old son. From the tideline, he had picked up a stone – round, red and smooth – and taken it to her bed, placing it beside her pillow. It had been there when the machines had been switched off and she had faded away. Now it was in the bag of her last precious possessions.

“I had it in my pocket, in my hand, and I remember thinking it was the most comfortable, the most comforting, thing I had, and how I was never going to let it go,” says Paul. He suddenly sits upright in the chair of his Gainford him as he relives the moment. “Then I tossed into the sea.

“The reality was that she was gone – I had just been to see the body and there had been no sense of her presence – and although my mind was saying it wouldn’t let the stone go, I had to let it go. Clinging on would only create suffering. I had to let her go.

“So I threw it away.”

He relaxes back into his chair, the symbolic memory passing. It is only now, after five years of studying his reaction to this catastrophic event, that he understands how he coped. Next week he begins tutoring others in the mindfulness techniques that have helped him through.

The accident happened out of the blue. “It was a beautiful spring morning, quite mild, borderline warm,” he says. “The October before, for her birthday, I had bought her a set of rollerblades – she was a very adventurous person. She waited all winter, but on this day, the forecast was good and she'd arranged to go with her friend Jayni to South Park.”

Indicating to the computer in his conservatory, he continues: “I was in here, running my photography business, and I remember hearing Jayni knock at the door, I remember shouting “enjoy it”, and Caroline replying “I will”. She was full of life, full of energy, it was a beautiful day.”

An hour or so later, his phone rang. It was the headteacher of the village school which their son, Daniel, attended. The message was confused: accident, rollerblading, don't worry, banged head, hospital. He dashed to the Memorial, only to find he was in the wrong place; by the time he reached the James Cook in Middlesbrough, Caroline was in theatre.

“A few hours later, the brain injuries consultant took me into his office and said ‘I’m going to be honest with you – your wife’s still alive but she’s not coming back as you know her. The injuries are too massive. It is hard to imagine she did this falling over rollerblading – she looks like someone who has fallen from several storeys’.

“I remember that moment was one of absolute clarity for me. I was paying complete attention to him and to what he was saying, but equally I was realising that if I allow myself to get lost in the drama of this, I will end up destroying my life and my son’s life – I have to look after him now.

“Thoughts were crowding in: I can’t cope with this, I can’t live without Caroline, how can I be a single dad.

"But thoughts are thoughts. They are not realities."

Paul points to the big armchair in the living room in which he and Daniel confronted the reality and cried. “I knew I couldn’t shield him from it,” he says. “I could help him, give him hugs and talk to him, but I wanted him to be part of what was happening, and he was incredible.

“Over those 10 days, as it was becoming clear she wasn’t going to survive, the conversation was difficult – do you want to go and say goodbye? – and we sat in the armchair crying, but he did go, he did say goodbye to his mum – ‘goodbye, I love you’, and he stroked her head.”

Over time, Paul, who had been manager of the park where the accident occurred, investigated his mindful response to the catastrophe and began giving classes. Now, having studied for a Masters degree in Mindfulness through the University of Bangor, he is beginning courses to equip others with the techniques and practices to cope with the vicissitudes of life.

“Mindfulness is the act of paying attention on purpose and in a particular way in the present moment,” he says. “Life throws everything at us and it’s about finding insight and wisdom to accept it and not run away from it. We can take control, we can make a choice. We can choose to respond rather than react.”

His classes begin on Tuesday at a new wellbeing centre in Darlington’s Grange Road.

“When you lose somebody who’s that close to you, I don’t think you ever stop grieving,” he says. “You learn to live with it, and it becomes part of your life and I see the grieving as part of the process of remembering and loving a person. It was a painful and traumatic period of my life, but there was also something very rich about it and there wasn’t anything to fear.”

It was his mindful choice to begin the process of grieving and coping, and to throw the stone away.

Paul is giving introductory mindfulness sessions every Tuesday from 10.30am to 12 until March 21 at Pilates and Beyond, 85, Grange Road, Darlington. Sessions are £8, but the first is free if you mention this article. To book, call 07795-561955 or email info@yellowbrickmindfulness.com or visit facebook.com/yellowbrickmindfulness