Real Life the picture that means so much
Alison Beauchamp’s sister was taken from her too soon. But she’s keeping her memory alive
crop top on and lipstick glistening, it was a typical Saturday night out with my sister Kate. my garish turquoise trousers were as loud as the music that night, and I can still hear Kate’s peals of laughter when I told her I was going to have my car sprayed the same colour. as she wrapped her arm around me, a camera flashed, capturing the moment. Kate was my best friend, and now I cherish that picture and the hangovers we shared.
Though Kate was 14 years my senior, we were extremely close. Really, we were polar opposites. I was the loud, confident and outgoing one who lavished boys with attention. Kate was warm, quiet and had been married to her husband Nigel since she was 18. Her son Jason was like a brother to me, he was only four years younger, and her daughter Amy was born when I turned 14.
always bright and warm
Kate was my babysitter, teacher and best friend all in one. Our mum Margaret loved how close we all were, and relished having the whole family round for dinner at the weekends and Christmas. She was 36 when she had me. Already a mum-oftwo, she got broody again and persuaded my dad Rodney, then 41, to have me.
Along with our brother David, who was two years younger than Kate, we were a tight-knit team and often took over our local Somerset pub on a Saturday night.
Kate and I played darts on a Wednesday too, with her best friend Sarah Narelle. One night, when I was 23, all three of us were in the toilets together. Re-applying my lippy in the mirror, I caught Kate’s eye, and I noticed she looked nervous. ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said. Sarah wrapped her arm around Kate, squeezing her tight. ‘I’ve found a lump in my breast, I’m going to get it checked out,’ Kate said.
‘It’s nothing to worry about though!’ Sarah added, smiling. Kate smiled too. She was only 37, and made me feel at ease that she would be OK. I joined in the hug, thought no more about it.
But while the GP said it was nothing to worry about too, Nigel wasn’t convinced and pushed for private tests.
Just weeks later, the whole family gathered round Mum and Dad’s living room. ‘I’ve got breast cancer,’ Kate said, clutching Nigel’s hand. Like me, she was strong and didn’t show her emotion. We took after our dad, and all had a tough skin. Except, Mum broke down.
Somehow, I held back the tears, determined not to get upset in front of my best friend, knowing I had to be strong for her. But deep down I was devastated, my throat tightening as I thought of life without her – before quickly scorning myself for thinking the worst.
Kate explained that doctors found cancerous cells in her right breast after a biopsy. ‘I’m going to beat it,’ she said, smiling. Typical Kate, in the darkest times, she was always determined to be bright and warm.
That same week, Kate started chemotherapy and radiotherapy. It ravaged her body, stole her gorgeous blonde hair. ‘You still look better than me,’ I winked to her in hospital, making her giggle.
Truthfully, she was always smiling when I visited. She had reasons to smile, Nigel was by her side around the clock, and her strong, intelligent kids worked hard at school and at home doing chores.
Even when we went wig shopping together we were roaring with
‘somehow, i held back the tears’
‘memories of kate came flooding in’
laughter, imagining Kate with crazy colours. In the end she went for a lovely blonde bob, very similar to her usual style.
Double blow
After a few months of treatment, Kate went into remission. As I hugged my sister tight, all the dark thoughts I’d had of life without her vanished, and we celebrated in the local playing darts with a large glass of wine each.
For the next two years, Kate was regularly monitored, but all the tests kept coming back clear.
Then, when Kate turned 42, shadows appeared in one of her routine scans. And, tragically, in the midst of more treatment, devastation hit when David was killed in a car crash, aged 40. I had to be strong for my parents, but the pain of reality was so hard to swallow.
After a year of chemotherapy and radiotherapy, Kate’s body got weaker and weaker. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do,’ doctors said, arranging respite care for Kate.
In February 2007, there was a horrific turn for the worse. Kate was given days to live as the cancer had spread. I’d just come back from a weekend away in Bristol when she called me to come and see her. ‘I’m exhausted, I’ll come tomorrow,’ I said. ‘No, it needs to be today,’ she said firmly.
Just four days later, on 1 March, Kate passed away peacefully, surrounded by her family. We were all devastated. She was 43, happily married for 25 years with two beautiful children, aged 12 and 25. How could it have happened to her?
The grief was overwhelming. I took indefinite leave from work as a PA and had to get counselling. Charities Breast Cancer Care and Macmillan were angels to me and my family, helping us get out of bed in the mornings, distracting us from grief and helping us get back into our routines.
I was the only one left, the baby was now the only child. At first, my parents were overbearing, constantly trying to protect me. Our relationship took a hit, but I can’t imagine what it feels like to lose two children in your lifetime.
I wrote Kate’s obituary for her funeral, attended by more than 100 people, and spent many hours laughing and reminiscing with friends in the local pub afterwards. Kate made such a mark on so many people’s lives, and it was touching to see so many of them drinking in her honour.
Embrace the future
Life without her was a blur for many years. I had to become Kate – the babysitter, the teacher, the wise words for Nigel, their children and my parents. In May 2016, I walked 10 miles in Kate’s honour as part of the Pink Ribbon Walk, held by Breast Cancer Care. Memories of Kate came flooding back as I heard people share their stories of losing loved ones to cancer. I shed a tear but smiled too, remembering the good times. Crossing the finish line was absolutely overwhelming, I thought of how proud Kate would have been of me and of my determination to keep strong. This year, I turned 40 – it’s terrifying as I’m the age my older brother was when he died. I’ll be Kate’s age too, in three years’ time. But instead of dreading the future, I’ve got to embrace it and live my life as she would’ve wanted, with the gusto of that girl in the crop top and crazy turquoise trousers. alison is walking in memory of her sister at the Breast Cancer Care Pink Ribbon walk. Sign up to walk 10 or 20 miles at breastcancercare.org.uk/ribbonwalk