For Freddie – Rachael Bland’s letter to her son
BBC journalist Rachael Bland captured the nation’s attention and hearts when she opened up about her breast cancer journey on the podcast You, Me And The Big C. Despite taking part in a clinical trial, in the spring of 2018, aged 40, she was told she only had weeks to live. In her final precious days, she raced to pen a heartbreaking memoir dedicated to her treasured three-year-old son, Freddie. Here, with an introduction by Rachael, is the final letter she wrote to him...
‘I’m sorry, Rachael, it’s back and it’s incurable.’ From the moment you’re diagnosed with cancer, they’re the words you really don’t want to hear. That’s why you and your oncologists spend all your time working as hard as possible to stop the cancer spreading. But, sometimes, it’s just too aggressive, and nothing can stop its growth. My D-Day call – I jokingly refer to it as ‘Death Day’ – came in April 2018, while I was out playing with my three-year-old son, Freddie. Hearing those words ripped the air out of my lungs. Holding in the huge sobs I knew were coming, I just needed to get home and call my surgeon in peace with my husband at my side. On the short journey back, I wept and kept saying to Freddie, ‘I’m so sorry.’ I’ve written my memoir,
For Freddie, which is a collection of all those stories your parents tell you over the years from their point of view, mixed in with all the advice they give you. I’d only known Steve for such a short period of time before we married – I feel there’s so much Freddie needs to know from my point of view. I think I best get my personality down on paper. I hope the book will leave an imprint of my love behind for the rest of his life.
For Freddie
My beautiful son, I so wish that I didn’t have to leave you now. But believe me, I tried everything I could to stay around for you for every moment I could eke out of this life. I’m sure some will say I ‘ lost my battle with cancer’. I didn’t lose anything. From the outset it was not a fair fight with this cancer. My cancer was too big and aggressive, and we didn’t begin on a level playing field. You were 14 months old and, at the very start, I was so full of fierce intention that we could get past this. I would lay you in your cot each night and communicate from my mind to yours, ‘I will do this, Freddie. I will take whatever they have to throw at me, and I will take it gladly if it means we can still stay together.’
Then as you grew and began to talk and interact more, that unspoken mantra became a more vocal one. I would hug you and squeeze you every night, promising you out loud for the universe to hear that I would do this for us. And I never stopped trying, not for a moment.
Over the past few years, a real vapid culture of superficiality has arisen, particularly aimed at young people. Look around you for the true beauty in the natural world. I’ve already told you
about gazing up to the stars that Mummy loves, and looking for me there.
Give back to the people who give to you, look for those who may need your help – give without expecting anything back. Life can be short or long. Every second is precious, so make it count.
Freddie, part of the reason for writing this book was so you could know me almost as well as if I was still there with you. I hope you don’t mind me sharing all of this – it was done with every good intention. I also hope Daddy has filled you in on plenty more stories from our wonderful time together. It might have been short, but I promise you, my darling boy, that it was filled with fun and adventure. Just as with the cancer treatment, we left no stone unturned. We loved, we laughed, we cried and we did it all together. As a family.
And I also trust that Daddy has passed on to you some of my more treasured possessions, like my beautiful engagement ring, which brought me so much joy, and my wedding ring, placed on my finger by Daddy on the most special of days. Hopefully, I have left enough behind for you to feel me with you everywhere you go.
Be kind. Be good. Be strong. Be true, my Freddie. I know you have the most wonderful life ahead of you. And know through it all that your mummy loves you with every last piece of her heart. You’re not even three yet, but people say you are the spitting image of me. I know that will always give Daddy comfort. I so desperately wanted to see you grow up – as I’ve already said, I get terrible FOMO (fear of missing out). As I write this, that is perhaps the most painful thing because I know we would have had such fun together.
You will always be the most special of boys – we remain the three best friends wherever I am in the ether. All my love to you always.
Mummy x