I have a category around here named “The Doom.”
I’m a dark person. My outlook is dark, my humor is dark, I’m obsessed with death and the macabre; I’ve always been built this way. One co-worker back in the 90’s referred to me as “the least sunny person I’ve ever known.”
I’m the real dark deal, man. I realize it’s alarming and not that boastworthy, but it is what it is. A little levity might change me around but I’m way too old to learn happy tricks, and besides, I’m not light-hearted. There is no “levity” about my nature. I smile but I’m morose. Don’t get me started. Some of us are enlivened by solitude; a good portion of this niche is also enlivened by night, by the downside of flippant humanity. I blossom when the Earth burns.
There you have it.
Which is a fitting category for this fuckery.
A devastated bride has paid tribute to her future husband after he died at the altar minutes before they were about to get married.
Dude. I’m devastated by just reading that pleasant intro. My attention is rapt and I’m leaning forward in my chair.
It’s not everyday…
Dad-of-11 Paul Wynn passed away moments before he was set to tie the knot as his family desperately tried to save his life.
The terminally-ill 57-year-old was due to wed his partner of 21 years, Alison Wynn, last Friday at Saltcoats town hall but tragedy struck just as his wife-to-be was being walked down the aisle by their son.
Described as a “fantastic dad” by his 38-year-old fiancée, Paul was told by doctors he had cancer eight days before he died.
Medics broke the news to Paul that the disease was in his pancreas and that it had spread to his liver and lungs. He was given anywhere between six weeks and two months left to live.
The Stevenston couple, who have five children together, brought forward their nuptials in a bid to get hitched in the short time they had left together but, tragically, their final wish wasn’t fulfilled.
Oh my, terminal illness porn! Nothing brings a smile to my day like a recounting of cancer’s voracious and unchecked spread through the body’s organs. Have you noticed that today’s Netflix-level entertainment landscape is dotted with characters in varying stages of terminal illness? What is up with that. Back in the 70’s there were lots of “someone’s dying” movies and I wonder if anyone has conducted a survey of the occurrence of this plotline through the decades. If I were to base it upon casual observation, I would have to guess that we’ve seen an upswing in the theme in the last several years. Owing to the traumatic effect of COVID-19 on the collective consciousness, I suspect we’ll see even more of this disease-laced entertainment in the years to come.
Alison said: “By the time I had gotten my flowers and went up the stairs. Everything seemed to be okay although Paul seemed to be a bit uncomfortable by this point and his kilt had been loosened a wee bit to help him feel more comfortable.
“He had actually been wheeled up in an office chair into the lift and taken up the stairs as he had no energy to get up to the room. He was out of breath and struggling from what I was told.”
The couple’s eldest child, Sandy, 20, walked Alison down the aisle once the 20 guests were seated shortly before 2pm.
But as Alison made her way into the room, she quickly realised something wasn’t right as Paul was slumped in the chair that had brought him to the ceremony.
If we were watching this on screen, this might be the part where the captions would explain something like “ominous music.”
Alison left her home on the afternoon of Friday, June 25 feeling overwhelmed after organising a wedding at such short notice.
However, the blushing bride realised she’d forgotten her flowers and waited around 10 minutes outside Saltcoats town hall for a friend to bring them to the venue.
Ten minutes. The most insignificant rupture in time can subject us to the most intense of regrets.
Damnit, this is a downer, even for me.
“By the time I got to him I called his name a couple of times,” Alison said.
“He didn’t turn round, he didn’t look at me and I realised there was something wrong and I started breaking down and I started shouting his name and we knew something wasn’t right.”
Danielle Sood, a good friend of the couple, was Paul’s best woman at the wedding and she and her sister got Paul off the chair and on to the ground.
First-aiders dashed to help Paul by administering CPR and using a defibrillator but he couldn’t be revived.
Well shit. Party’s over, folks.
This went from mild amusement upon seeing the headline. That point when you’re not attached to the story and its doomed cast of characters, when you still fancy that detachment from a nameless person who died at the altar. Amusement predominates. Then it turned ugly, rather quickly and surely.
Photos amplify the sadness and immediacy.
Can this nightmare get any worse?
“Paul and I lost a child in 2004 after I had a miscarriage so it give me a bit of comfort that he’s up there with our child. His mother passed away in 2020 so at least he’s with her now too.”
That was a rhetorical question but life always gotta escalate misery, doesn’t it?
I’m always rattled to hear about people who die just days after learning they have terminal cancer. None of that “6 months to live” routine. These people learn they have cancer and they are literally dead in a month. How can that happen? This is horribly worrisome to me for along with my doom outlook, I’m a horrible hypochondriac. Fixated on death and the appearance of death, my existence is under constant barrage. I suspect a lot of people know they are sick but live with it because they don’t want the trouble of being “officially sick” and all that it connotes of treatment and arrangements and suspension of normal routine. They plod on, dying a little each day, feeling like utter hell, game face on, bleeding from weird places…
Paul first contacted his GP about symptoms in May this year after constantly bleeding from his navel and was alarmed at how much weight he was losing without actively trying to slim down.
Eventually, Paul was struggling to eat and keep food down and was only able to consume liquids.
An endoscopy showed that he had three hernias and a CT scan the following day provided the devastating news that he had cancer.
Undoubtedly, once you learn to co-exist with three hernias, a little cancer blends into the grueling background that is your constant state of unhealth.
Sometimes the bleakness begs such sympathy that it gets lost in the darkness before you can summon it.