Greg McCann paid loving tribute to his wife Kerryn at her funeral service yesterday, recounting the final minutes of her life
Struggling to put his feelings into words, Mr McCann said it was important he shared the experience, as his wife's passing was both emotional and surreal.
"Someone got a frangipani and put it behind her ear ... She looked gorgeous, absolutely beautiful," he said of her final moments.
Almost 1000 mourners attended Figtree's Church of Christ for the funeral that followed McCann's death from cancer on Sunday night at the age of 41.
Mr McCann entered the church with 15-month-old son Cooper in his arms. His children Benny, 11, and Josie, 5, followed with family members including McCann's parents John and Judy Hindmarsh, sister Jenny Gillard, mother Colleen McCann and siblings.
He placed McCann's favourite pair of joggers on her lilac-coloured coffin that was covered in pink and white roses.
Mr McCann described his wife of 17 years, a dual Commonwealth gold medallist, as "just so vibrant, so sweet".
He said she was coming to the end of her running career when they had Cooper.
"She would have run forever ... Coop came along and for a short time there, we had everything. We couldn't have wanted any more," he said.
He said when the cancer diagnosis was made, she was afraid for herself and her baby.
"I remember laying with her one night, early on in the piece, we were just shattered. I told her I loved her and her answer was simple; she said, 'I know'. It just made me feel so calm and so much stronger.
"It was always the simple things that she longed for. She'd rather be putting a prawn or fish on the barbecue at Lake Conjola, having a cup of tea and watching the kids than sightseeing in Europe. That wasn't her thing.
"Over time, a year-and-a-half, we said all the things we needed to say. There was nothing really left to be said. She knew how I felt. I always told her I loved her.
"We always held hands. I always grabbed her from behind and cuddled her and squeezed her and nibbled on her ear and grabbed her on the bum, and she'd say, 'Go away Greg, get lost, go and have a surf'. I'd go in and see her in the mornings, particularly of late. She was so tired and exhausted. I'd say 'How are you feeling?' and she'd say, 'Good'.
"She did this on Friday morning, she said 'Good' and I just started to cry. She just reached up and cupped my face in her hands and just pulled me together. She knew what was going to happen. On Sunday, December 7, just before 11.20 at night, she said goodbye. She was so exhausted. She fought so hard and she never gave in ... By Sunday afternoon she was so ill, she couldn't communicate, couldn't eat.
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