We had done a huge circuit of the town and were just about to turn into our road when we met our only fellow traveller that night. A beautiful deep red fox poked its head out of a hedge not more than ten feet in front of us. Neither of us spoke, worried we’d spook it, we just followed it in silence up the road as it darted from one side to the other looking for something – food I suppose, but it felt very like a scene from Alice In Wonderland or one of the Narnia books. It could have been looking for treasure or a magic key, its curiosity and considered nature making it look quizzical, very human. It headed in and out of people’s gardens and finally, just a few feet away from our house, it turned, looked at us and lifted its head, sniffing the air. It then lolloped away across the park next to our house, disappearing into the night. Still without talking, we made our way to bed and made love until the dawn light crept in through the window and we slept.
14 February
So. We were going to be in New York now. Valentine’s Weekend with the coolest reservations in the coolest restaurants, tickets for the Late Show, Woody Allen’s jazz club, backstage tours of Broadway musicals … it really couldn’t have been more exciting. And instead a morning at Heathrow hearing about striking pilots of American Airlines. We were offered a flight that left ‘at least’ eight hours later and no guarantee of getting home on time. Squandered half of our re-converted dollars on a really marvellous meal at the Criterion – foie gras and Dom Perignon. Then wandered around miserably for hours before returning home, flatter than the proverbial pancake.
I really can’t believe our luck I mean, what the hell am I doing wrong?
This was a big blow. I am notoriously frightened of flying and travel, ever since our honeymoon, and it took all my strength to face this trip. It was one of the things that Weeze really wanted to do, one of the things she wanted to tick off before dying, and because of a stupid airline fuck-up it was screwed up. I think it was the disappointment and the anti-climax which led to my minor meltdown that night. As we walked round London at night the enormity of what we were facing slowly dawned on me. We walked down through Whitehall and down to the river, just chatting about it all, about how strange life was and how sad it was, and then I was crying, crying and crying, and Weeze was cradling me in her arms, the smell of her soothing me. She stroked my hair and kept telling me it would be all right.
‘Who knows, maybe I won’t die. Although I’ve got to be honest, it doesn’t look that great, does it?’
I wanted her to promise me she wouldn’t die. Stupid, I know, but I felt like if she would just say it, just swear to me that she wouldn’t die, then she wouldn’t. But, ever the grown-up, she looked at me and said, ‘I can’t promise that, my sweet, I just can’t, but I promise you, you’ll be OK whatever happens. You won’t collapse, you won’t have another breakdown, you’ll be fine. You have to be for Caitlin. It’ll be OK’
That was enough to calm me, as it always was, whatever happened to us, however I felt. Weeze would just tell me it was OK and I’d believe her. Talk about a mug. But it’s these words that are keeping me going now, after she’s gone. I can hear her telling me I’ll be OK. I pray she’s telling the truth.
21 February
Yesterday was my little sister’s birthday. She won’t speak to me unless I apologize to her husband for asking her if he hit her. Bearing in mind the fact that she had bruises on her face and her husband refuses to meet any of our family, I figured it was a legitimate question and can’t quite bring myself to apologize. I have asked her to make peace with me because I am ill and she said my illness wasn’t relevant and she wasn’t interested. I worry that if I die she’ll feel bad for the next sixty years because she wouldn’t speak to me, but I don’t really miss her in my life. It’s strange because when we were young we were really close.
25 February
I read something that helped me to feel all right about my sister. It was in an interview with Oprah Winfrey, of all people. She said that for years she had thought forgiving people meant ‘embracing them and inviting them to dinner’, which she just couldn’t bring herself to do. Then she was told it meant to let go of any hope that the past could be different. I think that’s the key with my sister. Forgiving her just means letting go of the hope that she will change.
I have recently read something else – this time something that made me really, really angry. Someone sent me a book called Mind Over Cancer by Colin Ryder Richardson. The person who sent it to me is very nice and wanted to help, and hadn’t actually read it, but anyway, here are two choice quotes:
‘Young children with cancer are only young persons with stresses similar to adults. Here one should look towards the parents for the cause of the cancer. Has the child been rejected or fought over by the parents? Is the home or school environment bad? Is the child bullied or torn emotionally in some other way? A husband or wife may be locked in an endless war at each other’s throats. They are the cause but the child suffers by being unable to live a healthy life in such an acidly cancerous place even though it is called home.’
‘Perhaps you are young and have breast cancer – so why have you got this illness? Have you been on the pill? Have you had affairs of the heart too often? If you are a mother, have you naturally breastfed children? Has your past life been totally blameless? Haven’t you somehow abused yourself sexually? Most cancers are preventable and are found mainly in persons guilty of self-abuse.’
Can you believe it? Can you imagine having a child with leukaemia and being told it’s your fault? Or being told you’ve got cancer because you didn’t/couldn’t breastfeed your children? Amongst my friends I know that those who have problems breastfeeding feel guilty enough as it is, without this kind of judgemental crap being bandied about. It is true that the author tells people not to feel guilty for past mistakes, but then writes things which seem specifically designed to inspire guilt.
A word of advice here for anyone who knows anyone with cancer or any other illness – really think about the stuff you give them. Read any books or leaflets you give them. Take time to think about how they will receive them. It is far better to just not give them anything than feel like you have to help and give them the wrong thing. I know from time to time Weeze did look at her life and tried to see if there was something in there that could have given her cancer, something she’d done, or hadn’t done, even though she was a totally rational good human being. I hate all those who put this crap out for just this reason – I wouldn’t have had her feel bad about herself for one second.
To be fair to Mr Ryder Richardson, I understand that all his writings come from the fact that he believes he cured himself of cancer and that he believes he has a responsibility to pass on the valuable insights he’s gained. And that’s fine and so here I feel it is important for me to tell the world the insights I’ve gained. All these people who produce such nonsense are either liars, fraudsters or severely delusional. That’s what I honestly believe and I think it’s empowering for people with an illness to face up to this possibility. If you can’t and you need the support that you can get from these people, then that’s great. You must do whatever you can do to feel good about yourself and feel as positive for as long as you can. But whatever you do, don’t beat yourself up, don’t examine your life looking to apportion blame. No good can come from that. The past is the past – if you’ve only got a limited time, then live it, and that goes for everyone.
26 February
My mother was talking to me about God the other day, saying that if I believed in God it would make me less afraid of dying. But