Happy Birthday, Dearest Bec

Dearest Bec

I can’t believe it’s your birthday and you are not here.  Every year, I rush into town, straight after Christmas, to hit the sales and buy you something you don’t really need – not your fault you were born straight after Christmas and, after all, every girl always needs more earrings, notepads, belts, recipe books.  I can’t even remember what I bought you last year, as it was such an ‘ordinary’ thing – It didn’t feel momentous or unusual, just a sister, giving her little sister her annual birthday gift. How would I have ever guessed it would be the last one I would buy for you?

I’m not sure how to cope this week as, instead of eating cake together, we scatter your ashes.  I’m not sure how you continue with normal life, go to work, talk with friends, in a week like this.  I am trying to distract myself with memories filled with you, to remind myself that I will always have these, even if I no longer have you.  So here are my favourite pictures, sifted from the many folders of photographs I have, that represent my favourite and most recent memories of you.  I hope they make you smile, somewhere, too.

This is the oldest one, January 2011.  You visited us in Oxford to meet your new nephew, long awaited.  You cuddled him proudly and pushed him in the buggy, as we walked through the park.  Little did we guess the secret you were hiding.  While we had been on our hard journey of pregnancy and loss, you had been on yours too – not of loss but of the painful desire to have a baby of your own, frustratingly slow in coming.  But here, as you cuddled your new-born nephew, a secret grew inside you.  How delighted I was when I finally guessed a cousin was on the way for my beautiful boys.  But for now, you smiled and kept your news to yourself, allowing me to delight in mine.

Jumping forward a few years to August 2014, this one makes me smile.  By now you had had Round 1 with skin cancer, leaving you tired and weak, but you were rebuilding your life, enjoying your girl, who was almost two here.  We went on a trip to a local shopping and garden centre.  We wandered round the gardens, had a picnic, tried to entice the children into some shops and they admired some owls, on display in the precinct.  Shopping with three children is not easy, so you all waited outside, sitting on a bench, while I popped into a shop.  As I came out, you looked alarmed.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed, with panic, Ben, then six, unwinding the lever on a giant parasol, the end of which was about to make contact with the left nostril of an oblivious man, reading his book at the next table!  You shrugged and laughed “I tried to stop him…” as I leapt, red-faced, to halt the parasol in its tracks!  We laughed a lot and reminisced on other visits in future years.

Easter 2015, and a photo that has made friends and cousins chuckle at its memory.  This time, Nan and Gramps’ sixtieth wedding anniversary celebrations and the oddest starter anyone could hope never to eat! Prawns in what can only be described as solid wax – we could only surmise that it was some sort of butter and the chef had missed the ‘melt the butter’ stage on the recipe!  We were on a different table to the ‘olds’ and, not wanting to make a fuss or cause a stir, we had another huge giggle about it on the quiet, taking a funny picture for posterity.  You always made a brilliant face when something didn’t meet your approval and this is a picture we will all remember forever!  Very funny.  I’m not sure we ever actually told them (sorry Nan and Gramps, who will probably read this now Gramps has a smart phone, at 85!).

Summer 2015 and an ordinary afternoon on an ordinary Thursday, in Mum and Dad’s garden, after we had both been at work.  We did this every Thursday, as it was ‘Mum and Dad’s day’ for childcare. These afternoons felt like they would go on forever, not remarkable, easy to take for granted.  They’re the times I now miss you the most.  This particular day was camera-worthy, because the children had discovered our old dolls, and we realised with glee that my old doll was called Rosie and yours, Sammy, in a strange and close twist on the names we chose for our actual children, in reverse.  It made us laugh and we put pictures on Facebook.  Next time they come up as my ‘on this day’ memory, there will be tears behind my smile, as I remember from a different perspective.

July 2015, our first ‘Race for Life’ and the famous ‘beetroot picture’.  It was a source of great amusement to you, just how deep a shade of red I could turn, after running or sitting in a jacuzzi.  It didn’t just elicit a chuckle from you, more of a serious guffaw, not just when it happened, but for months after, whenever you remembered!  In the run-up to this one, we had met on Thursdays and ‘trained’ together.  You were already a good runner by now – I was still edging through my Couch to 5K app.  Every time we went I would joke about your dainty running style, while I ‘dragged my carcass’ around the village, another phrase that made you laugh.  I did it for you, and I know you were pleased and proud, when I managed to run the whole 5K.  We raised £200 and I ran, with an arrow on my sign, pointing to you, that said I was running this race for my amazing survivor sister.  It was emotional, but I was glad I did it, with you next to me, showing what you had overcome, to be here.

May 2016 and this time, at Mum and Dad’s 40^th Wedding Anniversary Celebrations.  Although it was only a barbecue, we had such fun planning it, in whispers in their conservatory (Thursdays, after work, again), while they chased after the grandchildren.  I wrote a poem, in sections, texting you each section I wrote.  You joked that it would be too long to read if I kept going at that pace.  I read it and it made them laugh and made them cry and they loved it.  I love this picture because you look relaxed and amused, just enjoying being with us all.  We ate cake and took photos we never knew would be almost the last of the four of us, all together.

July 2016, the start of the school holidays.  You were hiding another secret, little did I know, until a few weeks later.  Another ‘ordinary’ day, which I long to have more of with you.  We sat in my garden, with Mum, and the children played in the paddling pool.  We ate McDonalds for lunch and whiled away some hours, chatting and drinking coffee.  This was the beginning of your surprise pregnancy, the one that gave us your beautiful son.  I cried when I found out.  I never thought I’d get to be an Auntie again.  It felt like you had defied the odds and finally achieved your dream.  And you had.  Nothing will take that away from us all.  You became a Mum again.  And when he is old enough, we will show him this picture and tell him he was the reason for your smiles.

Christmas last year.  You were seven months pregnant and blooming in a spotted dress.  We all joked about how different next Christmas would be.  It was, this year, but not for the reasons we had hoped.  Your excited girl bounced around you, the centre of your world.  She too, will never be allowed to forget how much you loved her.

May 2017, the final months, though we refused to believe it.  This was two months into the new diagnosis.  I love your face in this one.  You were tired of fighting and, understandably up and down, but this, for me, captures the cheeky, determined Bec that I loved.  Mum and Dad had gone away and were convinced we wouldn’t cope on our own.  We put them off the scent, when your temperature spiked and you had to go into hospital.  I stepped in, looking after Arthur for the day, while you got different medicines and they ran more tests.  Later, we posed, with the children and the medication, sending it to Mum on What’s App, after the event, to prove to them that they could relax and enjoy their holiday.  I was glad I could help, be the big sister you needed that week.

June, and you were doing really well.  You struggled with the feeling that you were a burden (you weren’t) and that you were rarely left on your own.  On this day, you were coping well and it felt like a normal coffee date at yours.  The children were eating fruit and biscuits in the lounge and we sneaked into the kitchen to eat cake.  I was always trying to get pictures of us, at this point, without you working out why (I’m sure you did, but you humoured me).  I didn’t want to imagine there might not be many more pictures (I was hoping and believing there would) but I couldn’t ignore it lurking, at the back of my mind.  I’m so glad I did now, as these make me smile and cry and I will always remember how it felt to be with you, doing ordinary things.

July and you were having a bad week.  You were struggling to keep hoping and believing for the best.  We saw you at swimming lessons and invited you for a barbecue.  The children played happily and we fed you all and bathed Arthur at ours, so you could relax when you got home.  You sent me a text that said “Today has been a good day thanks to you and your 3 lovely boys. Thankyou  xxxx”  I kept it, because it meant the world to me that we had been able to do that, for you, in the midst of the darkness.

 The end of July.  The final ‘Race for Life.’  We did it as a Team, with your friends, and raised £4000.  You told me I was allowed to cry at the start but then I’d have to pull myself together – typically you!  I didn’t need to cry, in the end, as it was such a happy time.  I love this photo, natural and unposed, as you delight in photographing your husband and baby, like any other woman there.  You walked 5K then caught a train to London for Arthur’s operation, because that was how strong you were, how amazing you were.  We will do it again this year – in your memory, which still doesn’t seem like it can be a real thing.  I will need all the courage I can muster.

And 21^st August, the school summer holidays and the last photograph I ever took of you.  I stopped at different dinosaurs (it was at the local Dinosaur Adventure park) and made us take selfies, laughing as the angles made it look like dinosaurs were looming behind us.  Your feet hurt, after walking and chasing the children, but none of us would have ever guessed at the rapid, downhill spiral that would begin, just ten days later.

Today, your birthday, I would have joked that you’re nearly as old as me at last, but you’ll keep your youth and beauty now, as I grow grey and old.  As a friend once said, in tribute to her own lost loved one, “We didn’t realise we were making memories, we were just having fun.”  We miss you so badly.  You’re loved so much.  Happy Birthday baby sis.  Make sure you celebrate in style xxxxx