I’d finally found the love of my life but little did I know the pain she was hiding

Exclusive | 5 min read | As told to Jade Beecroft | Trigger warning (suicide)

The first thing that struck me about Wilma Patton-Brolly was her beautiful smile - shy, dawning softly across her face until her eyes shone. A genuine smile full of warmth. It may sound corny but it’s true.

We met for the first time in 2015 in a car park - not the most romantic spot for a blind date. But after a stroll across the clifftops near my home in Portrush, Northern Ireland, I was hooked. She texted afterwards to let me know the feeling was mutual. 

I must like you if I trusted a strange man to take me out onto the cliffs!

Love came quickly for both of us.

We’d met a bit later in life; both divorcees and Wilma a mum-of-two. She had a disability in her left hand which made her self-conscious, but to me she was perfect just the way she was. She couldn’t function without coffee in the mornings, loved Cadbury’s Crème eggs, and wanted it to be Christmas all year round.

Fun times

My nickname for Wilma became Giggles because she was always laughing. We shared a daft sense of humour too. We got into ‘extreme ironing’ – driving to a scenic spot, pulling an ironing board out of the boot and posing for photos.

Once, we drove to The Dark Hedges, a stunning avenue of twisted beech trees and I posed with our ironing board in a full tux. I still have the photo Wilma took as she shook with giggles – what you can’t see is the busload of Japanese tourists pointing and laughing behind her.

Wilma had a nickname for me too – Bubbles. ‘Because,’ she’d say, ‘you’re like a bubble, always bouncing around. You never sit still.’ It was true.

In April 2016, I ran the London Marathon for children’s sight-loss charity VICTA, without a day of training. I hoped being on my feet 30 hours a week at my job in Sainsbury’s would be enough.

While other runners limbered up at the starting line, I casually cracked open a can of beer. Wilma thought I was mad, but she was there waiting, beaming, as I finished 5 hours and 44 minutes later. She’d asked two policemen to help clear a space so I could see her as I ran down the final straight.

I’ll never forget Wilma’s smile as I hobbled over. She leapt into my arms and there and then I made a secret vow: I’m coming back to do this again next year, and I’m going to ask Wilma to marry me right in this spot.

Tragically, I never got the chance…

Hidden pain

Wilma’s house was a 30-minute drive from mine. Every time she left, I sent her off with my cuddly toy, Gilard, to keep her safe. Wilma treasured him as much as I treasured her.

But on November 9th 2016, nothing could keep Wilma safe. That day, my beautiful girl took her own life, with Gilard at her side. She was just 47.

She left no explanation and that question has plagued me every hour of every day since. Why, Wilma? If only I could understand.

She’d suffered mild depression in the past but many people have at one point or another. While Wilma was alive, she never gave me any reason to worry about her mental health.

My Giggles was always joking, always laughing. It never even crossed my mind that there might be another side to her, one swimming in emotional pain. It breaks my heart every day that I didn’t know.

That’s the thing with mental health problems – a person can be smiling on the outside and crying on the inside.  

One day at a time

Suicide left behind a painful train-wreck. In the weeks and months following Wilma’s death I tortured myself with ‘what ifs’. What if she’d told me she was feeling unhappy? What if she’d asked for help? Spoken to a doctor? Would she still be here now?

Her death had been a bolt from the blue - a complete shock. I didn’t know how to pick up the pieces of my life without her. I visited Wilma’s grave regularly - pouring a cup of coffee over the plot and leaving behind her favourite Crème Egg. I bought boxes of them in the spring to last me all year.

It was only for 16 months, but I missed the little, fun world Wilma and I had shared so much. Somehow, I stumbled my way through Christmas. Then the 2017 London Marathon loomed.

It was intensely painful standing on the starting line knowing I should’ve been changing into my tux mid-way and getting down on one knee at the end to propose to Wilma.

But Giggles wouldn’t be there waiting for me. Instead, I looked into the faces of people around me and wondered, "Are you in pain too?" I wanted to grab everyone and shake them - beg them to get help if they were feeling low. 

I ran the marathon for the Samaritans as well as VICTA, but it didn’t seem enough. I wanted my message of suicide awareness to stand out, but how do you do that when you’re one face amongst thousands?

Becoming Ironman

By 2018 I had the answer. I’d run with an ironing board – taking extreme ironing to the next level in Wilma’s memory. I could picture her giggling away at the idea. It spurred me on.

I contacted Guinness to set a World Record. They were pretty specific. The board would have to be full size, I’d need to carry an iron andwouldn’t be able to tie them to my back or set them down for the full 26 miles.

I had a custom Minky ironing board cover made, featuring The Samaritans helpline and my new moniker – Portrush Ironman.

The 2018 London Marathon rolled around and I travelled there in an Ironman outfit. People stopped to chat, intrigued, and I told them about Wilma, our journey and my message about suicide awareness. It felt good to share.

Then it was time to actually run. There’s nothing easy about running with a full-sized ironing board and steam iron. The pain of the extra 8kg was indescribable; a burning across my shoulders and cramps that left my hands looking like claws.

But whenever it felt like it was getting too much, I reminded myself it was nothing compared to what Wilma had suffered in silence.

Since setting the record, I’ve become pretty well-known in my hometown – the 55-year-old bloke in the superhero costume, sprinting across the beach with an ironing board prepping for his next big run.

Most of the time, though, I just rock up at the starting line and enjoy my can of Budweiser, telling anyone who gives me funny looks that the sugar hit is brilliant at the eighteenth mile.

In 2018 I ran in Dublin, Belfast and Berlin, raising around £40,000 for charity. My goal now is to complete The Big Six – London, Chicago, Boston, New York, Berlin and Tokyo marathons.

I was due to run three of them this year but the pandemic put paid to that. On April 26th, the day of the London Marathon, I ran 26 miles up and down my cul-de-sac with my ironing board, broadcasting live on Facebook.

I did it because Wilma’s message is more important now than ever. Lockdown is tough and it’s having a huge knock-on effect on mental health.

I’ve also put up Christmas decorations because it was Wilma’s favourite time of year and I’m not taking them down until the pandemic is over. If I can bring a smile to even one person during lockdown it’ll be worth it.

That’s my life’s purpose now, making people smile. That’s what Wilma did for me and that should be her legacy.

My message is simple ­­– if you’re feeling low, please ask for help. The people in your life care. We all want you to stay.

*To support Andy visit http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/andyfarrer

*You can call the Samaritans for free, 24/7 on 116 123. If you’re feeling suicidal, you can also dial 999

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