Widow and bereaved mum, 50, opens up about dating after tragic loss of her husband and daughter

STANDING at the bus stop, my heart pounded. Dressed in skinny jeans and a pretty top, I felt like a foolish teenager.

Every part of me wanted to run home, but I’d spent too many evenings sitting alone on the sofa while my kids were out with their friends. I was 50, widowed, and something needed to change.

I met Andy, the man who would become my husband and the father of our four children, in a pub with friends. I was 20, and he was six years older with a cheeky sense of humour.

I soon discovered we shared a passion for gigs, and before long we were dating. We married in September 1992, and our first child Theo was born in 1997, followed two years later by daughter Xanthe and then in 2002 a second son, Jules.

Then, in 2004, our fourth child Daisy was born with a very rare genetic disease called Costello syndrome. We were floored when the doctors told us they weren’t sure she’d reach her first birthday, let alone adulthood.

I gave up my job in marketing to become Daisy’s full-time carer, determined to make precious memories no matter how short our baby’s life was going to be.

Andy and I were a strong team, supporting each other emotionally through the stress. Fortunately, Daisy defied the odds and not only reached her first birthday, but also went to school.

She was still very poorly, receiving all her food through a special catheter as her intestinal system didn’t work. Her condition affected many of her physical abilities and meant that life could be quite confusing for her, but she was in her element when surrounded by the people she loved.

But then, in November 2014, our family was hit by another bombshell. After suddenly losing a lot of weight, Andy went to his doctor, who sent him for urgent tests.

Within two weeks he was told he had stage four incurable bowel cancer. Not only was I facing the death of my daughter, but I was going to lose my husband, too.

How could this have happened to us? Andy was pragmatic, saying we all have an end date, and his was just sooner rather than later. But I felt like my world had come crashing down.

He embarked on gruelling chemotherapy and radiotherapy, which bought us a precious year together. We tried to fit in as much family time together as possible, appreciating the little things, sitting on the sofa watching films and being together for our last Christmas. One day, Andy turned to me and simply said: “We’ve had a brilliant marriage, haven’t we?

Just over a year after his diagnosis, Andy passed away peacefully at home in December 2015. We were all heartbroken, but I had to focus on my distraught children and put my own grief on hold.

What made things even worse was that Daisy’s health was deteriorating. She’d lost the ability to walk and was in tremendous pain. She missed her daddy so much.

In just 14 months our family of six had become four, and I had never felt more alone.

Stephanie Nimmo

In January 2017 she became very ill with sepsis and was rushed to hospital. Not long afterwards she was transferred to intensive care, and on January 31 I made the decision to switch off Daisy’s life support and let her go.

It’s the worst thing I have ever had to do. In just 14 months our family of six had become four, and I had never felt more alone.

I knew I had to be strong for my other three children, but I missed Andy so much. I had no one to cuddle on the sofa after the kids had gone to bed, to make decisions with or share funny stories.

But I couldn’t even imagine having a life with anyone other than Andy. That was until last spring, when I found myself sitting at home alone yet again while the kids were out.

With my 50th birthday looming in June, I realised I couldn’t carry on like this. Andy and I had never discussed what my life would be like without him, but I knew he wouldn’t want me to be lonely.

I spoke to friends about dating again and they quickly reassured me it wasn’t about replacing Andy, it was about making the most of life. But I didn’t have a clue where to start – especially as a nearly 50-year-old widow and bereaved mother.

I asked some single friends and they told me to sign up to a dating app, suggesting Bumble, a site where women make the first move. Even so, it felt so different to the world I had left behind when I met Andy.

For my profile, I chose a picture that my friend had taken of me at a gig where I looked happy and relaxed, and I was upfront about being widowed. I didn’t mention Daisy, though – it was too much to share before I got to know someone.

While Theo and Xanthe, then 21 and 18, were shocked but accepting, Jules, 15, wasn’t keen on the idea of me bringing a potential new stepdad to the house. I carefully explained that it was never about replacing their father – it was about doing something for me.

I began tentatively swiping through a few of the profiles of different men on the site, and before long some matches came through. I got chatting to one man who seemed interesting, and although physically not really my type, we were into similar music.

After a few weeks he messaged asking if I would like to meet for a drink. I hesitated, but thought: ‘It’s now or never.’

Going on that first date after being in a relationship for 27 years was a huge leap of faith. Although I felt unbelievably nervous, I also felt empowered.

I found dating apps addictive, especially when I felt low

Stephanie Nimmo

Spotting my date in the bar, I was so relieved – firstly that I hadn’t been stood up, secondly that he looked like his profile picture, as I’d heard a few horror stories.

As the evening went by, it felt so nice to have a man buy me a drink and have a chat. By the end of the night, we agreed there was no spark, but it would be nice to stay in touch as friends. Looking back, I was lucky it was such a pleasant introduction to dating.

Initially it was overwhelming looking at endless profiles, and all the things I had heard about online dating were definitely true – I’ve been ghosted, lied to and even had my share of unsolicited pictures and propositions.

Sometimes I’ve had to take a break from the app. Other times I’ve found it almost addictive, especially when I’ve felt low and vulnerable.

One meet up last summer ended after my sleazy date started making very overt sexual references. We clearly had very different expectations, so I pretended to go to the loo but walked straight out of the bar.

Another man revealed that he hadn’t been honest about his single status and was still married! But there have been positive experiences, too, and I’ve met some really nice men.

Initially, I was in a hurry to find someone and felt upset when it didn’t happen. But after a few months I realised I just wanted to have fun and enjoy meeting interesting people.

My kids have accepted my dating life now and I think they’re secretly proud.

Xanthe commented the other day that she loved how it had made me revamp my style and that I no longer looked like other mums, which she assured me was a compliment.

While I’ve yet to meet someone I want to get serious or intimate with, I can’t see myself getting married again.

At this stage I can’t even imagine living with another man. But if there’s one thing dating has taught me, it’s never say never.