London Marathon 2015: 'I'm running in memory of my partner who died at 36 last Marathon day'

This Sunday, along with 30,000 others, I will run 26.2 miles from Greenwich to Buckingham Palace. The majority of my fellow runners will be raising funds for different charities. For me, and, no doubt for many of them, the reasons are special. My partner, Satori Hama, died in hospital on the day of the London Marathon last year. She was 36 and had bowel cancer.

I met Satori in November 2012, and I thought she was beautiful, smart, funny and modest. On one of our first dates, she made me aware that she had cancer, but it did not matter to me.

I remember going to a dance class with Satori in March 2013, and she told me that she had a pain under her ribs. We found out later that the cancer had spread to her liver. It was all new to me, but I was in her corner. She started chemotherapy again after a gap of a year and had fortnightly sessions at Charing Cross Hospital, London. She was diligent about her treatment and was careful about what she ate. But she also looked after others. After she had chemo on Wednesdays, the next day she would volunteer at a local school, teaching children to play the ukulele.

We had three weeks away together that summer, going to a couple of weddings, which meant that she missed a chemo session. When we got back, the doctors told her that the cancer had got progressively worse. This was a shock to us, and showed how aggressive her illness was. We did not anticipate such a dramatic change.

But it didn't stop us from moving in together, in Highgate, north London, in October 2013. Cancer was part of our lives, but it didn't rule them. Going to hospital became something of a ritual – Satori would get me to hand out sweets to patients and staff. She had her own blanket, which had dinosaurs on it. She was a big foodie, and when her treatment finished, we'd go to a restaurant of her choosing. It was important to do things to take her mind off the treatment.

We had a great Christmas in 2013. I think Satori was given a taste of all the things that she needed for a perfect life. We were so good together, so happy. On 25 February last year, we held her 36th birthday party. Her father gave her a vintage bottle of wine from her birth year. That was the last time alcohol touched her lips.

Soon afterwards, she started saying that she felt bloated. Then two weeks later she started getting high temperatures. One evening, her temperature was so high that we went to our local A&E, where they admitted her. She ended up staying there for two weeks, but doctors couldn't find the source of the infection, and she was sent home with antibiotics. Three days later, we called her consultant in Charing Cross, who asked us to come in again.

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While she was there, Satori made some good friends on the ward. She enjoyed their company, being the youngest patient there. We were both looking forward to her mum coming over from Japan. We still thought she could turn it around.

We didn't realise that these were the last few days we had. I was there with Satori and her father when the doctors took her into a room and said, "We can't give you any more treatment, we need to focus on end of life care." For a split second, she was very upset. I had the feeling, one that I can only imagine, of watching your child being hurt: they have so much hurt you want to take it away, but you can't. After a moment, she composed herself and then she asked me if I was OK. We came out of that room and Satori danced for the other ladies on the ward. I realise now that she was being very brave for them. She remains the most courageous person I have ever met.

Her mother arrived from Japan. We focused on making Satori as comfortable as possible at her father's flat. Her mother gave her food and Satori opened some presents, including a sock monkey, which has since travelled round the world with me. I went home to sleep at our flat in Highgate, as I thought everything was OK. But I didn't get a text, which was really unusual.

She was on a constant flow of morphine, which helped with her pain relief but affected her in other ways. She was heavily sedated and I was told she had hours to live. I could not believe what was happening. She did at least recognise my mother when she came to visit and I arranged for her to have music and talk with her closest friends on Skype.

The next day, I asked her to marry me. I was planning to ask my mother for a family heirloom. I had to propose twice, as the first time I tried, she passed out on me. We had the most wonderful evening, the night I proposed to her. She gave her assent and we agreed we would meet in another lifetime, and we listened to all the music she liked… Chopin, Etta James, Michael Jackson, The Ronettes. The following day, 13 April 2014, the morning of the London Marathon, Satori passed away at Charing Cross Hospital. The only relief is that she didn't suffer longer. No one deserves that.

I'm very lucky to have met Satori, but the world is a sadder place without her. After her passing, her many friends celebrated her life and memorials were held in San Francisco, London and Tokyo. She was much loved. After her funeral, I left the business that I had helped create and went travelling for three months. I'd promised to take her to India, where my family originated, so I took her ashes there, which felt very special. Her older sister from Japan came with me.

Nearly a year on, we organised a memorial celebration at her father's SO restaurant off Regent Street, and installed a bench in Highgate Wood, marked by giving 36 sunflowers to strangers to celebrate her life. Despite how painful losing her has been, if I had the chance to experience what I have had with Satori again, I would do it a thousand times over.

I'll be running to raise money for Bowel Cancer UK, one of the charities that supported Satori during tough times. Cancer is a dreadful disease, but she – and I – met the most incredible people on the journey.

virginmoneygiving.com/team/satori