‘Just wear those heels’... Emma’s defiant message after long battle
‘EAT chocolate, drink strong coffee, have a fabulous glass of wine and buy those clothes.’
MOURNERS at best-selling author Emma Hannigan’s funeral yesterday listened in awe – not to words of tribute from those she loved – but to her own heart-warming celebration of a life she loved.
While hundreds, including many celebrities, gathered to honour the celebrated writer, who fought a courageous 11-year battle with cancer, it was her family who had been foremost in her mind.
In an extraordinarily poignant letter, written shortly before she died and read out at the funeral Mass in Our Lady of Perpetual Succour Church, Foxrock, south Dublin, she wrote: ‘No matter how bad things got or how sick I was, it never deterred me from fighting. I had so much to gain by sticking around.
‘My toddlers turned to teenagers and our relationship took on a whole new role. We enjoyed days out, dinners out and lots of wonderful holidays together.’
The bubbly mother of two, who died on Saturday at the Blackrock Clinic and who authored 13 books, revealed last month that she was coming to the end of her long battle with the deadly disease, which began in 2007.
The chief mourners – her heartbroken husband Cian and children Sacha and Kim, as well as her parents Philip and Denise, brother Timmy and sister-in-law Hilary – heard how she understood her battled with cancer was ‘out of her control’, and so she reminded everyone life is short, so ‘wear those high heels’.
A pair of her sparkling high heel shoes, an angel and one of her books were placed on her wicker coffin, while some of her favourite songs echoed through the packed church, including Michael Jackson’s Smile and She’s Like The Wind by Patrick Swayze.
Businessman Harry Crosbie, author Claudia Carroll and model Alison Canavan were among the mourners.
In her letter, Emma wrote: ‘Breast cancer came thundering down the corridors of our lives... I did everything in my power to stop the beast but multiple surgeries proved to be too little, too late. In 2007, cancer hit for the first time. I decided not to fight it in silence, however.
‘Instead, I stood up and talked on The Late Late Show, Ireland AM, The Saturday Night Show, Midday and radio shows across the country and anywhere else that would listen to me.’
Speaking of her books, she said: ‘Each title brought fresh pride and allowed me to hold down a job, which was a good thing, because God knows we needed the money, after all, as a grade-A shopaholic with a firm belief that a girl can never have enough shoes or handbags.’
She added: ‘I always had my angels to mind me. I spoke to them and begged them to give me more time.’
Describing herself as ‘lazy as sin’, she said the only reason she went swimming was so she could enjoy ‘more chocolate’.
Her husband of 20 years Cian posted a tribute to his ‘soul mate’ on Facebook after she died, saying: ‘Today, my Emma found peace. She bravely fought a battle against a foe with no mercy.
‘Emma was the epitome of strength, love and generosity, beyond anything I have ever known. She loved her family, loved her friends, and she left a trail of glitter and joy throughout her life… with of course added tinsel at Christmas.’ Fr Gerry Byrne told mourners €126,000 had been raised for breast cancer research thanks to Emma.
Emma signed off her letter by saying: ‘The truth of the matter is this: I would never have wanted to go. There would never have been enough time, so I will try to be gracious about it. I know it is practically illegal to champion all things pink in this ball-busting world, where being girly can be mistaken for being stupid. But I would like to be remembered as somebody who believes that fairies live in the bottom of the garden, that unicorns exist and are simply shy, and that angels flutter on all of our shoulders.
‘There is enough grey in the world already; let the pink fluff and sparkles break through. There’s enough sadness, suffering and strife; let the laughter be heard. Farewell, look after each other, be kind, be happy, be grateful and, most of all, be yourself.
‘Life is short, it is so very, very precious, and it is not a dress rehearsal – so enjoy each chocolate, drink strong coffee, have a fabulous glass of wine and buy those clothes. Walk in those high heels and let the world know that you’re here, work hard but play even harder, thank you all for making my life so amazing. I’ll watch over you and please know I am never truly gone, that I live on in the sparkles in your heart.’
Emma then made her final journey to Shanganagh Cemetery in Shankill for burial.
‘Life is very, very precious’
UNDER a clear blue sky yesterday morning, they came to bury Emma, and to praise her. Family, friends, fellow writers, fans. The borrowed time that she referred to just four short weeks ago when she publicly wrote about facing her final days was cruelly and mercilessly snatched back from her last Saturday morning.
Emma Hannigan – wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, writer, beauty, animal lover, shopaholic, force of nature. How can she possibly be gone?
I wasn’t lucky enough to count myself as a friend of Emma’s. Oh, I knew her all right, and we had a lovely kind of email/ telephone relationship which started back in 2012, when I asked her to write one of the This Life pieces for this newspaper’s weekend You magazine.
Sparkling
She jumped at it, delivering a witty and engaging piece in jig time. That was just one of the remarkable things about Emma – unlike most writers (and journalists), she never left it until it was down to the wire with her deadline. If anything, she delivered early. So much so that she became my go-to girl if someone dropped out of the This Life slot at the last minute.
‘Emma,’ I’d say to her, ‘any chance you could write one of your sparkling stories for me? For tomorrow?’
And she’d laugh and throw an idea at me there and then and off she’d go; and the next morning, there it would be in my email inbox. What a professional, I used to think.
Then, gradually, over the last six years, I came to think more than that. Much more. What a pro, certainly, but what a woman, what an amazing, talented, warm-hearted, kind and thoughtful human being.
And while it’s one thing to be an amazing, talented, warm-hearted, kind and thoughtful human being when your life is going swimmingly, it’s something else entirely to display those qualities when it isn’t – and then to actually add to that list, throwing extraordinary courage and dignity into the mix in the face of the toughest of challenges.
We all know Emma’s tragic story by now – the surgeries she endured back in 2006, pre-emptive mastectomies that she hoped would save her life so that she could spend all those precious years ahead with her beloved husband Cian and their two children, Sacha and Kim.
We know all that. And we know too how that curse called cancer came visiting anyway, but how Emma never let it get its feet too securely under her table, and how, instead, through tortuous treatment after treatment and from all-clears to reappearances, she just kept batting it away as if it were no more annoying than a buzzing mosquito on a hot summer’s day.
Emma wrote many other pieces at my request over the past six years, pieces that were so full of joy and love of family, so self-deprecating and funny that, had you not known the grim reality of her health, you would never have guessed that here was a young woman battling cancer on a daily basis while trying to live the very best life she could.
And she did live the very best life she could. She never gave up. To those of us who didn’t know the full, horrific picture, she seemed utterly invincible.
Until that heartbreaking post on her blog on Friday, February 16, when she told us with her signature honesty that she was dying. And soon.
Beauty
My last communication with her was by text, exactly two weeks ago. I just wanted to let her know that I was thinking about her, and to thank her for her selfless thoughtfulness towards me in recent times. And I told her how much I admired her. I’m glad I did that.
I also told her, of course, that I wasn’t expecting her to reply to me. But guess what? Well, you know what. She replied.
Earlier this week I trawled through her emails to me over the past six years. And they present a picture that is so representative of the Emma Hannigan that I knew. There’s no dissembling. Nor is there ever any self-congratulation. Despite all that talent and beauty, she was utterly devoid of ego.
What jumped out at me as I read those messages this week was once again her extraordinary kindness. Back in 2014 when my husband Gerry was about to have the lung biopsy that would confirm cancer, Emma dropped me an email. She knew Gerry because he had photographed her on a number of occasions. He thought the world of her and they got on like a house on fire.
That April when she emailed me, she’d seen him the day before and was worried about him. ‘I know it’s scary for you both,’ she wrote. ‘He’s such a gentleman and deserves to get better. I’ll be thinking of you both. Take care. Emma x.’
Hugs
Then, that July, after I had answered an email from her asking me how Gerry was doing with his treatment, and I had responded, explaining that he was remarkable and, despite the chemo, was still managing to meet his friends at his local for a few restorative G&Ts, she wrote again.
‘G&T with friends is probably the best cure of all!’ she wrote. ‘That’s the key – find the little things in life that make the day worthwhile… I hope Gerry will do well and that he has a long road of better times ahead… Please drop me a line any time if you need to reach out… Take care of yourself, Ros. It’s not easy being the one watching the horror show… Big virtual hugs. Emma x.’
The email that really got me, however, was more recent. Dated November 14, 2016, almost a year-and-a-half after Gerry’s death, it arrived completely out of the blue.
She wrote: ‘Hi Ros. Gerry just came into my mind as I was walking through a spot in the garden where he once took my picture. He commented on the colour of the Japanese maple. It’s that same fiery red today… I wanted you to know that you are on my mind. I hope you’re doing okay… Emma x.’
Imagine that. In the midst of her own horror show, Emma Hannigan was selfless enough to send me that message.
It would be presumptuous of me to say that Emma was my friend. She wasn’t. She was a dazzling, talented, courageous and compassionate woman, a glittering girl with the heart of a lion, and I was lucky to know her just a little.
But now, with Emma laid to rest, and as all her fans and admirers, fellow writers and friends return to their own lives, it’s time indeed for us all to withdraw.
And as the children she adored face their first ever Mother’s Day this weekend without her, it’s time to hand Emma Hannigan back to those who loved her most – her family.
May they find strength. And may their glittering girl now, finally, rest in peace.