Rachel’s birthday

Today – the 2nd August 2012 – is Rachel’s birthday. My dear friend Rachel Cheetham Moro who died on 6 February 2012. 

Today’s piece has been written by Rachel’s mother – Mandy Cheetham. I met Mandy in New Jersey in February this year after Rachel died. Mandy lives in Perth, Australia, and had travelled far to be there so was in the US for a few days after Rachel’s service, as I was. So we got to spend time together, which I enjoyed very much. One memorable day we made a trip over to New York and spent the morning at the zoo. And we’ve stayed in touch and continue the conversation that began with Rachel’s death. Here Mandy remembers Rachel on her birthday.

‘But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day is bonny and blithe and good and gay.’ Today is Rachel’s birthday; she was born on a Sunday and the attributes in the well known nursery rhyme describe so well how she was during her lifetime. Most times, whenever I think about Rachel, I am reminded of this rhyme. She would have been 42 had the cancer, she bravely endured over the past eight years, not tragically taken her away nearly six months ago.

This time last year I was staying with her in New Jersey and we celebrated her birthday together. After she opened her presents, a mandatory visit to the chemo lounge was first on the list for the day. Rachel observed that this was not a fun thing to do on one’s birthday. But after the chemo there was quite a lot of fun. First of all we had a delicious lunch with MIL and AIL and then the shopping began. I found some excellent little things to take home, she was enchanted by several summer skirts and dresses then we discovered several cute sun hats. She was persuaded to be given one and I also added one to take back – alas it has disappeared – left somewhere I think. Later, we looked at a fine array of handbags. What a treat! We shared a passion for handbags and purses and of course she insisted on buying the one I coveted for my coming birthday. Afterwards we stopped for ice creams at a splendid roadside stall and then went for a quiet stroll by the river. Only the memory of sitting next to her attached to an IV stand in the hospital chemo lounge mars the quiet delights of the day.

The months since that awful day in February seem to have passed in a kaleidoscope of memories many of them triggered by things around the house.

The walking (for Rachel)

When someone close to us dies we grieve. And that grieving can take many forms. We cry, of course. We cross the earth to attend their funeral. We put together collections of photos of the departed one. Maybe of their writings. Sometimes we run. And maybe we’ll walk, ‘in remembrance of’ them. And in my experience there is an urgent need to do some or all of these things in the first year after the person has died. By year, I mean, the actual 12 months. I know from my father’s death that the first year was ‘special’ and the grief did not end at the one year point, but the marking of that year was important. You go through a cycle of grief because you pass ‘this time last year’ moments so often. Anniversaries arrive and catch you unawares, a birthday, the last time you were together; these moments have significance, especially so in the first year.

Of course the person I am thinking about this year is Rachel – it’s her birthday soon. And I’ve been thinking about doing a walk that would be like a pilgrimage – for Rach. For me. Yes I want to walk with Rachel, my beloved friend who died in February. And I have a feeling of ‘If I don’t do it now I may never do it’. It’s the grief, I know. A deeply personal need to in some way still be ‘with’ the one who has died. And I was wondering if you might like to walk with me?

So… this summer I’ve been entertaining fantasies of walking El Camino de Santiago de Compostela (also known in English as The Way of St James) in Northern Spain, maybe in October when the weather is cooler. It’s 485 miles (780km) in total from the start in France to the cathedral in Santiago in Spain, although you can walk part of it, or walk it in sections. So, nearly 500 miles? On foot. Why? Well, it started after I’d watched the film ‘The Way‘ starring Martin Sheen (Jed Bartlet from the TV series West Wing). He plays a father who doesn’t understand why his grown son has given up everything and gone to Europe to ‘find himself’, and they part angrily. Several months later the father ends up following his son to retrieve his ashes…. he’s died on the Camino in a storm. And so, of course, with it being Hollywood, Martin Sheen has a revelation and well, of course proceeds to walk the Camino himself and experiences enlightenment along the way, plus meets other ‘pilgrims’ and they talk about why they are walking and deeper questions about life. It’s well-filmed and has a great sense of place, but is also done without sentimentality. One of those films that makes you say, as the credits roll, ‘Mmm, I fancy going there.’

I’ve since mentioned it to a few people, some of whom have heard of the Camino, who have desires to walk it themselves. But it’s a big commitment, at least to walk it all. If you walk it in one go, it’ll take you about 40 days. On foot. Carrying all your possessions, well that is all your two pairs of socks and a change of underwear. Staying along the way in primitive ‘refugios‘ in dormitories. So to a lipstick-wearing, self-confessed co-ordinated dresser (ie me) does that still sound attractive?

Well, sort of.

Losing Rachel

Rachel and her dog Newman

My friend Rachel died on 6 February this year. From metastatic breast cancer. She was 41. She will be greatly missed by her beloved husband Anthony, her family, her friends, her dog and the thousands of people who read her sharp, angry and witty words on her blog where she challenged mainstream breast cancer culture: The Cancer Culture Chronicles. She was my friend. In fact, she was one of my closest friends, found in the blogosphere and we became close despite the 3,500 miles that separated us. Her death came too soon, I was not ready for this and the grief has been profound.

In the grief of Rach I’ve been remembering other things. Sort of introspectively remembering my life since my breast cancer diagnosis, things that happened.