Don’t worry, Daddy, it’s going to be OK ...you’ve got me
A year on from BBC presenter Rachael Bland’s death from cancer, how her widower and their son have forged a life-affirming bond from the depths of grief
AFEW days after BBC presenter Rachael Bland died from cancer this time last year, two large parcels arrived at the home she had shared with husband Steve and their beloved son Freddie, then three.
The boxes — from clothes stores Boden and Joules — contained coats, sweaters, warm trousers, hats, gloves and scarves, everything a little boy might need to see him through the autumn and winter months.
Rachael, the much-loved Radio 5 Live presenter whose cancer journey was well documented, had rallied on her deathbed just long enough to handpick and place the order for this seasonal wardrobe, a final act of devotion to a son she was utterly heartbroken to be leaving.
Steve, 39, a former broadcast journalist, now a full-time dad, says: ‘Rachael had mentioned something about ordering Freddie new clothes. Despite all her suffering at the end, she must have thought: “Autumn is coming, I’ve got to sort Freddie’s wardrobe out.”
‘Although typical of Rachael, it was such an amazing thing for her to think about and do. Seeing those boxes with her name on them, knowing the love that had gone into selecting the things inside, was bittersweet, to say the least.’
Last Saturday would have been the Blands’ sixth wedding anniversary. It was an occasion that followed painfully close to the first anniversary of Rachael’s death, aged 40, from primary triple-negative breast cancer, which — despite a mastectomy, chemotherapy, radiotherapy and immunotherapy — finally killed her after spreading to her skin, liver and spine.
every high and low of her journey was recounted candidly to her tens of thousands of followers through the award-winning blog, Big C, Little Me, and podcast You, Me And The Big C, which she presented with fellow cancer patients Deborah James and Lauren Mahon.
Acutely aware, right until the end, of the huge numbers of cancer sufferers and their loved ones who sought solace in hearing about her journey, Rachael’s final social media post came just two days before she died. ‘In the words of the legendary Frank S — I’m afraid the time has come my friends,’ she announced, sending ripples of grief and sadness across the Twittersphere.
For the Bland family, who celebrated Freddie’s fourth birthday on Monday (his third fell 11 days after he lost his mother), September is filled with peaks and troughs.
Freddie had been due to begin preschool the day Rachael died and, thanks to the forethought of Steve’s sister Claire, who rushed out to buy him a school jumper, Rachael got to see her son in his uniform shortly before drifting into long periods of unconsciousness.
Steve, Claire, his parents and Rachael’s mother were all with her when the end finally came at 3.15am on September 5. Freddie was fast asleep in bed at their home in Knutsford, Cheshire, and it was down to Steve to break the news when he woke that his mummy had gone.
‘I’d taken advice from a bereavement charity and knew not to give him any false hope that she might come back, by saying she’d gone to live in the stars, or whatever,’ he says. ‘So, though I’d hoped never to have to say those words, I told him unequivocally that his mummy had died and we wouldn’t see her again. Freddie burst into tears, which probably only lasted 20 or 30 seconds, then went to play with his toys.’
Steve showed Freddie the empty bed where she had lain ever since her consultant at Macclesfield Hospital broke the news that, as the cancer had spread to her kidneys, she had ‘just days to live’.
In the 12 months since, Steve, who recognises how lucky he and his son are to live within walking distance of his loving parents, as well as Claire and her family, has done a sterling job of keeping his promise to Rachael to ‘take good care of Freddie and give him a great life’.
Without Freddie, he’s in no doubt he would have ‘spent the first weeks curled up in a ball, crying’. But the demands of an energetic toddler give him a reason to make the most of every day, just as he knows Rachael would have wanted.
There have been many firsts to get through without her — Freddie starting pre-school, followed by his birthday, Christmas, Rachael’s birthday, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Steve’s birthday, holidays and, finally, the anniversary of her death this month.
‘Before each of these occasions, people would tell me how hard they were going to be but we miss Rachael all the time, so it’s impossible to miss her any more on these milestone dates,’ says Steve. ‘I refused to dread them and did my best to enjoy each one, taking the opportunity to get the photos and videos out and really think about her.
‘Freddie’s first day at pre-school was tough because I knew how much his mum wanted to be the one taking him in but we made sure he had a lovely birthday. So many thoughtful people sent presents, while a friend made the Peter Rabbit cake Rachael had planned to bake.
‘We also had a wonderful Christmas with our family, including Claire’s three children who are all under ten and like siblings to Freddie.
BuT the anniversary was a lot harder because there was nothing to celebrate or focus on, like a child opening presents, just a reminder of something awful. It focused my mind on the night she died, taking me back there, and I felt flat and empty. I was glad when the day was over.’
Father and son have cherished memories of a summer which began with a camping trip, near ullswater in the Lake District — where Freddie learnt to kayak — close to where Steve’s parents have a second home, somewhere he knew they could seek refuge if camping with a toddler became too much of a challenge.
Next stop was a visit to Steve’s best mate, in Poole, Dorset, followed by a trip to stay with friends in Tuscany, marking the first time Freddie had been on a plane. It was something Rachael had longed to do with him but her illness and treatment meant those plans were scuppered.
Freddie’s maternal grandma, who also lost her husband to cancer in 2014, visits often from her home in Cardiff and she and Freddie love each other dearly.
‘It’s been very hard for her and he’s a bit of Rachael that she can still hold on to,’ says Steve.
There have been lots of tears, mostly when Steve and Freddie are home alone, where family photographs adorn the walls, when Rachael’s absence is felt most acutely.
WHILe Freddie recovers quickly, distracted by his Lego bricks and Playmobil, the little boy shows compassion way beyond his years when Steve breaks down.
‘He’ll hug me and say, “Don’t worry, daddy, it’s going to be OK. You’ve got me,” ’ says Steve, eyes brimming with tears. ‘I don’t like to imagine how much harder this would be if I didn’t have Freddie. Infinitely harder.
‘He’s a distraction, a positive focus and a constant reminder of Rachael. He looks so much like her; whenever I look at Freddie I can see a little bit of Rachael looking back.
‘It would have been very easy to stay in bed all day, weeping, but he would jump on my bed wanting me to go and play in the garden, or watch TV, and Rachael and I were both determined that Freddie wouldn’t suffer any more than he had to, which meant giving him the attention every child, especially a grieving one, needs.’
Steve, a tall, imposing and highly emotionally intelligent man, is acutely aware that he could not shield his son from the pain of losing his mum but is determined to prevent it casting too great a shadow over the rest of his young life.
He answers, without discomfort, the occasional questions Freddie has about how and why his mother died and is determined to fulfil Rachael’s wish for her son to know all those things he should have discovered growing up alongside her.
Rachael spent her final months writing a memoir, which has been turned into a book filled with photographs of her, taken at different ages. Freddie loves looking at the pictures and will eventually, no doubt, take a keen interest in the words.
She had also intended to wrap a
present to be given to Freddie on his birthday each year until he turned 21, including a bottle of her favourite perfume, a brush containing some of her hair and a notebook so he could recognise her handwriting. However, her time to do these things ran out quicker than she had anticipated.
But one thing Rachael was very determined to ensure was that the husband she adored ‘with all her heart’ and the son she loved so much her ‘heart could burst’ were well provided for financially. Just days before she died, Rachael was adding her signature to forms to make certain that any pensions and other money in her name would be rightfully theirs.
This, and the foresight to take out insurance policies attached to their mortgage, enabled Steve to give up his job working for a small PR firm in December last year.
Steve says: ‘Rachael didn’t want us having to worry about money, after everything, and I would tell her not to stress about it, but it was really important to her that we were going to be all right, in every respect, something I really appreciate now.’
The one thing Rachael struggled to contemplate was Steve finding love and remarrying, something he cannot yet imagine but certainly does not rule out.
‘That’s quite a difficult thing for someone who’s dying to have to think about,’ he says. ‘Rachael and I had only been together for seven years, married for five, and one of her worries was that, if I went on to meet someone else and was married to them for 30 years, she might become just a footnote in the story. Of course, that could never happen but she had this internal battle between those fears and the desire to see Freddie and me happy, which was always her priority.’
Steve is keen for the topic of finding love after being widowed to be tackled on the podcast, which Rachael was adamant should continue after her death.
Last November he took over his late wife’s role presenting it, alongside cancer patients Deborah and Lauren, who he describes as ‘heroes’, bringing the partner’s perspective to the dialogue.
The trio will begin recording a new series next week. ‘I love it,’ says Steve. ‘I had three or four counselling sessions last year and wouldn’t rule out having more if I need them but the podcast is the best therapy for me. I can see why Rachael loved it. People who only knew her public persona thought she was a confident, outgoing woman — but she wasn’t.
‘A lot of the time she doubted herself, which makes what she achieved in encouraging such open and frank conversation about cancer even more remarkable.’
But what of the Rachael only her nearest and dearest can lay claim to having known? ‘She could be stubborn. Really stubborn. She liked being right,’ says Steve, laughing affectionately. ‘She was perfect to us, beautiful, as everyone could see, and much stronger than I think she realised. She surprised herself with what she achieved.
‘But, most importantly, she was an amazing mum. Before having Freddie she wasn’t the most naturally maternal person, though she took to it like a duck to water.’
There’s a beautiful selection of clothes hanging in Freddie’s wardrobe — ordered with enough growing room to last — that is testament to this.