We will miss you Helane

My very good friend Helane passed away yesterday. She fought the insidious disease that is cancer for 7 months, won a major battle last October when all the tumours vanished, only to reappear within a few weeks and spread with incredible speed (I have already posted about her here).

I understand that last weekend Helane made a list of all the things she wanted to do “to put her affairs in order” before she went. She got time for only one of them, the most important: despite being wheelchair bound for the last few weeks, last Monday she travelled straight from the hospital in Waterford to the Four Courts in Dublin to hear the appeal against the lenient sentencing of the young man who was driving the vehicle when her daughter Catherine was killed in 2006. She wanted justice to be done, and Catherine’s life to be valued at more than 240 hours of community service. On Monday, Catherine’s life was considered by the Court of Criminal Appeal to be worth 15 months custodial sentence, starting that very day. As Helane and her family travelled back down to the hospital in Waterford on Monday evening, the young man headed for jail. Justice had been served, at last.

The last conversation I had with Helane was on the phone on Sunday evening. I remarked to her that I though she was a very strong woman, to have the courage to travel and face the next day in her condition. With her usual good humour, she burst laughing and said: “No, I am not a brave woman, I am a very determined woman!”

It is as if this determination carried her through the last few months. As if, once she felt justice had been shown to be done for Catherine, she could let go and allow the cancer to take hold of her. And it did, and won within 3 days.

Although I have not stopped crying since last Tuesday night when I heard she was in her last moments – and I am not the only one of her friends to do so! – the Helane I want to remember is the person I heard laughing on Sunday: she was talking to me while puffing on her cigarette, after telling me yet again, as a joke: “Well, the doc’s have said it won’t make a difference at this stage, so I might as well enjoy the poison while I can”.

The Helane I want to remember is the person who always showed concern for and interest in others, no matter how difficult life was for her. I particularly noticed this since her cancer diagnostic last May, as every time we talked, after quickly answering my questions about her health, she would always ask me about Cathal, and insisted on all the details of his progress, health and otherwise. Even last Sunday at least half of our conversation was about him! She followed this blog and Cathal’s Mammy’s one (indeed she followed my footsteps into blogland just a year ago and I know she made great friends through it) and often rung me or texted me after seeing some of his photos. When he was very sick after his open heart surgery, she kept telling me not to worry, that “her Catherine” was looking after him, making sure we would enjoy him for a very long time. So sweet of her, when her own daughter was no longer there to be “enjoyed”!

The Helane I want to remember is the person who gave me one of the biggest, longest hug I ever received, last time we met only a few weeks ago. The person whom I dreaded seeing weak and sick, and who passed on to me some much of her strength and peace that I left her with an incredible feeling of reassurance, acceptance and serenity.

And I am so glad that on that occasion I got to thank her for her friendship over the years...

But most of all, the Helane I want to remember is this woman who went through what I can safely say was a very tough life, from the very moment she was born, and yet always looked on the positive, and kept going with grace and humour, despite it all. I want to remember our long walks together along Tramore beach before I moved up to Dublin, when we talked about anything and everything, and where one Saturday afternoon she told me her full life story. I was humbled by her trust in me, but also amazed by her attitude to life despite all the adversity. Catherine’s death the following year only reinforced my admiration for her.

Determined woman, indeed!

Helane, I hope you have found peace. And wherever you are now, I also hope you have found Catherine again. But we will miss you.

PS: My thoughts are also with her two other children, barely adults themselves, who have not only buried their younger sister three years ago, but face another funeral in the same church, the same cemetery this weekend, only a few days before Christmas. A reminder that the “Festive Season” is not always festive for everyone...!

A Little Bit Weepy

It never ceases to amaze me how little things can trigger emotions and reactions. There you are, going along nicely, not thinking much about much, dealing with everyday life. Then a conversation, or a few words read, or seeing a photo, and Wallop! You are thrown back to a place that is not so warm and cosy.

This has happened to me this week. It all started on Monday with a conversation regarding Cathal’s next heart surgery – a.k.a. The Big One – and the latest news from the cardiologist. Old forgotten fears rose through me during this little chat, and when I say “old” fears, I mean those experienced only 5 or 6 months ago. They were accompanied by an inner nervousness that I had not felt since Cathal came home after his first surgery. This was a sharp reminder of what is to come. I know this is going to be part of our family’s life for the next few years, but logic does not come into play when your feelings decide to wake up and engage each other in an inner rugby match.


Then I got confirmation that I was accepted as a member of the DS Ireland Forum. So went in, said hello, and then started to browse through the posts and comments. The “Brags” section is the one that ambushed me. Don’t misunderstand me here, I am the first one to talk about Cathal’s prowesses. You know the way, when you have friends who just had a new baby, and ALL their conversations are about their new child? Nothing else matters anymore. Then you have your own child and, though you swore NEVER to turn into one of those “baby-junkies”, hey presto, you ARE one! All communications consumed with baby-talk! Well, let me tell you something: in the last 6 months, I have gone through this transformation for the third time in my entire life. Ask any of my friends, or work colleagues, people I meet on a regular basis. I talk about almost nothing else but “Cathal-related-topics”. It’s just Nuts!

So looking at the “Brags” section on the DSI forum was a natural thing for me to do. I brag about Cathal and I have discovered that I love hearing (or reading) others bragging about the child in their life. But I became very sad while reading these, even a little weepy.

My rational (I can even call it Cartesian – after all, this is what was instilled into me at birth) thinking took over in the form of “… What the hell?”

“What” is happening is simply called grieving. For a long time, I thought that grieving was simply for people we had lost along life’s path. At some stage, I discovered that grieving also exists in relation to the loss of relationships. Then I learned that it can also be in relation to the loss what we never had – a life we hoped for, a life we “thought” we had (I painfully learned that this last aspect if very potent).

After Cathal’s birth and diagnostic, I went through this grieving process. The sadness at time was almost unbearable: sadness for him, and what he was going to miss out on. Sadness for his parents, and the fact they were being deprived of a “normal” child, with all the “normal” pleasures of bringing him up. I know this is just over simplistic, but I make no apologies for it. This is the way I felt in those early days.

The night following Cathal’s birth, I was talking to my sister in France, explaining about him having DS, and his heart condition (as we knew it at the time, very sketchy in those first hours). I was crying my eyes out, and all I could say in the end was: “We are going to have to love him even more, to love him so much”. As if this could make up for anything!

I know that grieving is a normal process, even necessary. It helps the transition between what we had (or thought we had) and what we now have. And then it passes, and we get on with things, in the here and now. But every so often it comes back, when you don’t expect it, and tugs at you. As if to say: “Hey! Don’t forget your hopes and dreams. Put things into context.”

This little ambush reoccurs almost every time I see or hear about the exploit of a child with DS. These kids just pull at my heart. I get all weepy.

But most importantly I find myself feeling so much love, not only for Cathal, but for all the children I read or hear about (my contacts have been restricted to children so far… it’s a fast learning curve, give me a chance, I’ll get to the teenagers and adults soon, I am sure). It’s as if something in me has been liberated… strange!

I also find myself feeling a lot of gratitude. For having been pointed in this direction that I had barely heard about only 6 months ago. For having been invited to a place of such beauty and pride.

This is what I have felt in the last week. A little bit weepy.

And how was Your week?