the picture that means so much
Sarah Marchbank knew she had to fulfil her sister’s dream
‘our grief brought us closer’
tanding at mount Everest’s base camp, dressed in three fleecy layers and thick thermals to cope with the freezing climate, I looked across at the beautiful landscape. It was so perfect that, in that moment, I forgot how tired I was. Instead, I smiled, so hard my cheeks hurt.
It had taken nine days, but here I was at the heart of the Nepalese mountain. ‘We made it,’ I smiled to my fellow climbers, who had joined me on this epic journey, trekking 60km, 5,360 metres from sea level.
But really, it shouldn’t have been me standing there on that mountain, it should have been my sister Emma. This was her dream, not mine. I could only hope I’d done her proud.
A happy childhood
Just two years younger than me, Emma and I had always been close. Growing up, we spent all of our time together, playing on the swing in the garden or with dolls in our shared bedroom.
When Emma was three she was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. She needed daily insulin injections, but Emma never even flinched. Even then I remember thinking how brave she was.
We had such a happy childhood, but when I was 14 and Emma was 12, our dad died after suffering for a long time with tuberculosis. We were distraught, but lying awake at night talking about our feelings, our grief brought us even closer.
Emma had always dreamt of travelling the world and, in her 20s, she did just that. From Europe to Asia, she trekked through deserts, visited sacred temples, tried obscure foods in buzzing cities and even spent a year in Australia.
She’d phone me and Mum every couple of weeks to fill us in on all the fun she was having. ‘I’ve just got back from trekking Machu Picchu, it was amazing!’ she’d tell us excitedly. I was in awe of her independence, but I had other ambitions. In June 1997, I married my partner Rick. And a year later our son Sam was born, followed by Hannah in August 2001.
When Emma wasn’t backpacking she worked as a nurse, then she joined Newcastle University as a researcher. But still she jetted off to far-flung destinations when she could. It was only when our mum was diagnosed with bowel cancer, that Emma gave up her travels to help me care for her.
We were both devastated when, just months later, in July 2013, Mum died aged 78. Emma and I arranged the funeral together and, just like before, our shared grief bonded us.
It was a couple of months later that Emma started planning her next trip. This time, she hoped to go to Barcelona. I think it was her way of dealing with the pain of losing Mum. But travelling wasn’t always easy for Emma. Her diabetes continued to affect her life – she suffered problems with her eyes and blood pressure. But she tried her best to not let it stop her from doing what she loved.
There were still so many places she hoped to visit. ‘I want to climb to Mount Everest base camp,’ she’d say, something she’d dreamt about since she was a ➺
teenager. She started looking into the logistics of it, but on 5 August 2014, I was on holiday in Corfu with Rick and the children for Hannah’s 12th birthday, when I received a phone call from a family friend. Emma hadn’t turned up for work, so a colleague had checked on her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Emma’s gone. They’d found in her bedroom, she’s dead.’
I don’t remember any more of that conversation. In a daze, I hung up the phone and called out for Rick. I could barely get my words out as I tried to tell him what had happened. Why Emma? She was only 46.
I cried for hours. Just when I thought there were no more tears left, fresh ones would fall. I was so distraught, I couldn’t bear to tell the children, so we waited until the next morning. Like us, they were in shock. A post-mortem revealed Emma didn’t have enough insulin in her body. Nobody knew why and I just couldn’t understand it – Emma had been meticulous when it came to managing her sugar levels.
As I arranged her funeral, I knew that she wouldn’t want anything too sombre. She’d want it to be a celebration of her life – and that’s exactly what it was. But the truth was life without my sister felt bleak. It felt so unfair, she had so much more she wanted to do and it had all just been taken away.
Making a mark
Still, I knew she wouldn’t want me to sit around moping. She’d want me to channel my grief in a positive way, so I spent the next two years fundraising for Diabetes UK. It wasn’t enough though and I wanted to do something even more significant in Emma’s name. ‘I’m going to climb to Mount Everest’s base camp in her memory,’ I told Rick in summer 2015.
Emma had never got the chance to live her dream so I wanted to do it for her. He agreed it was a great – albeit adventurous – idea. I researched a company online who took groups out on the trek and booked myself a place. Then I started training. I assumed, because I’d been going to the gym, I was fairly fit, but it was gruelling. I walked miles every weekend and worked out with a personal trainer. In June 2017, I even completed the Three Peaks Challenge.
Finally, on 15 November 2017, I met a group of 25 others at Heathrow Airport. We were all different ages, but we had one goal in mind. That day, we flew to Nepal to start the climb. I told everyone about Emma and her love of travel and her dream to climb the Himalayas. They were stunned when I told them she’d died so young.
After arriving, we headed to the mountain. The climb was physically and mentally draining, and took every bit of willpower I could muster. Temperatures dropped to lows of -25°C and we stayed in tiny, wooden huts where we’d wake up to find the windows frozen inside. ‘I’m doing this for you, Sis,’ I’d repeat in my head.
There was no hot water or proper toilets and despite wearing gloves, hats, thermals and fleeces, we were never warm. The altitude sickness was awful and it was too much for two members of our team, who were airlifted off the mountain.
After nine days, I arrived at the base camp. As I stood there, I wished more than anything that Emma was by my side. She would have loved it. As we started our descent, I threw a photo of Emma off a suspension bridge, to make sure part of her always remained in Nepal.
Exhausted but happy
Four days later, I was back home, tired, but happy. The children and Rick met me at home and pulled me in for a hug, though I had to ask them not to squeeze so tight. ‘My muscles are still sore!’ I laughed.
I raised £1,700 on the trek and, since Emma’s death, I’ve made more than £6,000 for Diabetes UK, which I know she’d be so proud of. I’ve even been nominated for a fundraising award by the charity.
I still miss my sister every day. Emma experienced more than most people ever do, and when I look at the photo of me standing at base camp, I don’t doubt that on that day, on that mountain, she was right there with me. ✱ To donate, visit justgiving.com/ fundraising/sarah-marchbank1
‘she’d want ME to stay positive’