Today's all been a bit surreal. I can't make jokes about having a rest day yesterday, or about the garmin not working on my five mile run today. Fact of the matter is, I've got to hold my audience (such as it is) without any frivolity at all. I wrote in the blurb about this blog that I made the decision to do the half-marathon to support my friend Heather in her effort to raise money for Macmillan and/or Sue Ryder, because her mum had been diagnosed with lung cancer. At the initial prognosis, I think she was given about 18 months, and I remember when I said to Heather that I'd do the Great Eastern Run, thinking that she'd be able to watch it. We learned a fortnight ago that this was unlikely to be the case, and she wasn't expected to see the autumn. But Iris was admitted to hospital on Friday evening and passed away at 5 am this morning.
I knew things had gone bad on Friday because I was fortunately online late at night, and was able to be there when Heather wanted someone to IM. So I wasn't surprised to receive a message on Saturday asking me to cancel an outing we'd planned with friends on Sunday. But I was bowled over to wake up on Sunday to the message that she'd passed away hours earlier. Here was a lady I've been dedicating a race to, with all that entails, and it suddenly hit me that I've never really met her (I'm pretty sure I saw her at Broadway theatre once). For the last month or two, I've assumed that one of these days, I'd look in with Heather, and we'd have a cup of tea together.
And now I won't have that chance.
But in a funny kind of way, I feel like I did know her. Heather has a marvelous way of bringing people to life in her stories, and of course, her mum has been in her conversation a fair bit of late. So I feel a great deal of respect for this little, feisty Irish lady, who was blunt, and let people know just what's on her mind, occasionally argumentative and able to obstinately hold her ground (a genetic trait that hasn't been lost), with a wicked sense of humour, ready to share the craic (ditto); she's got a wide circle of those that like and respect her, especially back home where staff and pupils from her school, and the WI still miss her; and she knows how to manage her children, because after all, she's been doing it long enough; and she knows how to knit, even if she's not going to make Masterchef.
Momentarily, as the thoughts tumbled around, it seemed a bit pointless to carry on training. It didn't feel as if anything was going to help. Of course, that's irrational, because me running a race was never going to stop the cancer anyway. Just because Macmillan nurses can't do anything more for Iris, doesn't mean that Heather and her family won't feel grateful for what they were able to do for her, for the rest of their lives, and therefore supporting them now, in memory, is just as valid. So I did go out for my training today, a warm, sultry afternoon under a brooding sky. And, perhaps because my heart was heavy, I didn't plan a route. I was supposed to be going five miles, and I just couldn't decide which way to go, and so in the end I followed my feet. That was how I came to be running up Eastfield Road, and saw the cemetery. I've never been in before but it seemed wrong to pass it by, so I did a circuit, gazing at the headstones and thinking of the irony around how Iris had refused (in a moment of obstinacy) to have "that conversation" about when the right time would be to move into a care home.
When I found out that Iris wasn't expected to live through to autumn, I made a comment to Heather about her missing the race, and Heather didn't hesitate in her reply: "Oh, she'll be watching. Wherever she is".
Rest in Peace, Iris. Especially on 9th October.
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