Carolyn was a free spirit. From the moment she sat next to me in a bar in Colorado in 1987, I knew she was special. We married in 1989, and I looked forward to spending my life with this funny, confident woman.

Then four years later, I noticed Carolyn walking strangely. A few weeks after that, she couldn’t see that the traffic lights had turned green.

She was referred to a neurologist and diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. We loved each other deeply, but life was hard. By 2009, my world had shrunk to work and caring for Carolyn. Her condition was getting more serious, and I refused to think ahead to when she would be gone. It was just too painful.

So, when one day in 2011 Carolyn said, “Mil, I’m going to find you someone,” I went into denial. “That’s fine,” I quipped, “but you don’t have to worry about it for a really long time.” She said it a few times again over the years, but I would change the subject.

Then in early 2019 we were in her doctor’s office. Carolyn wanted to stop treatment and I sat numbly listening to her explain her decision. “While we’re talking about this,” she said, “I want Mil to find someone to be with when I’m gone.” She paused. “And I’m going to be the one to pick her.”

I tried to delay, saying that I’d find someone later. But Carolyn was firm. She was going to lead this search and it was going to happen right away. The doctor hadn’t given her long to live – there was no time to lose.

That was how I found myself creating an online dating profile, typing in a description of myself as kind and caring – words Carolyn dictated from her bed. “I love her, and this is what she wants,” I thought as I uploaded a picture of myself that Carolyn had chosen. Carolyn didn’t think I should mention our situation in the profile. “You can explain when you speak,” she said.

I started talking to people, but whenever I explained my situation, I never heard from them again. I felt relief but, to my surprise, also disappointment. I realised it would be nice to have another person in my life, but I didn’t want to feel that way – it was upsetting and confusing.

Then, in late 2019, I started messaging Jan. She shared my love of adventure and the outdoors, and had a great sense of humour. I was nervous on our first call, sure that she’d run once she heard what was going on. “I have something to explain,” I said. “I’m married, and my wife has MS. She has stopped treatment and wants me to find someone. It’s what I want, too.”

Suddenly, Carolyn asked me for the phone, and the next thing I knew they were chatting. The next week, I was heading to the first date I’d had in decades. Jan was kind and funny. We just clicked.

At home, I tried to answer Carolyn’s questions honestly. It was hard to tell her Jan and I had kissed, but Carolyn seemed thrilled. “So,” she said, “when can I meet her?”

Waiting at home for Jan to arrive two weeks later, I was a bundle of nerves. Then Jan and Carolyn met, and I was amazed to see an instant connection. At dinner, there was laughter and lightness. It felt like family.

Despite my worries, it wasn’t strange at all, and three months later Jan moved in. While I was falling in love with her, she and Carolyn were becoming best friends. But as my love grew for Jan, so did my guilt. It felt like infidelity, even though I knew it was what Carolyn wanted. If she had any jealousy, she kept it from me. Still, I struggled.

Knowing she didn’t have long to live, Carolyn wanted a celebration of life. In September 2020, family and friends came for a barbecue. Two weeks later, I was by Carolyn’s side when she died. In my grief, I was so thankful to her. In her courage and selflessness, she’d ensured I didn’t go through this alone.

Jan and I married in August 2022, and Carolyn was a huge part of our day. We’d turned her wedding dress into outfits for our flower girls. My nephew was the celebrant, and talked about Carolyn in the ceremony. “She knew you wouldn’t be able to find a woman,” he joked, “so, she had to pick one for you!” I have a wonderful wife and it’s all thanks to Carolyn. She showed me what true love is.

• As told to Kate Graham

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