The joy and the pain: how running the London Marathon helped us grieve for our Mum

Last summer I signed up my brothers Anthony and Hugo and myself to run the London Marathon in support of Breast Cancer Now. I had decided this quite determinedly in the days following our Mum’s unexpected death from breast cancer in May. It was an immediate response to the urge to do something, which arose in our shock at the injustice of her suffering. I knew that it would be a challenge (I am sporty, but running continuously for hours somehow didn’t appeal), but I did not know how central this challenge would become to our lives, and to our experience of grieving for our Mum.

Grief is isolating - desperately so. It is a feeling of floating in stasis; the world moving around you and moving you - but you are frozen in time. It is a feeling of constant detachment, it is the blurring in and out of conversations, it is the flashbacks that flood in searing and unbidden, and sometimes perhaps worst of all, it is the pain of a simple happy memory.

Just before Christmas I wrote a piece - mostly about why we had chosen to run but also about our family’s strange obsession with Christmas traditions. I wrote it in the bath on my phone at the end of a day when I felt particularly mad and particularly sad. I wrote it to try to explain how I was feeling and how it felt to face Christmas without someone – the main person – that you love. But also, I wrote it as a way to talk about grief. The response was overwhelming: we received £3,000 of donations in just three days.

But, perhaps most importantly for me at that time, following my article I received so many messages of support and love. They came from those closest to me, but also from people I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years and even from people that I had never met. It began something, a process of reconnection and re-engagement. It also really began our fundraising efforts as (rather unfairly for my brothers, who don’t seem to have much say in these things) I wrote in that article that our aim was to raise £60,000 for Breast Cancer Now, in memory of the fact that Mum would have turned 60 last year.

That process culminated on Sunday, when my brothers (who skipped) and I (who trudged) our way around the London Marathon. It was an emotional, at points overwhelming and at all times very hot day (never has an ice lolly down the shirt felt so good). But, what struck me most whilst running is the wholly good, wholly positive force of the marathon: every runner is running for a reason, every cause is important to somebody – a fact that was made remarkably clear from the vests of my fellow runners.

And ultimately, it is an incredibly unifying experience: it is hard to describe the rush when crowds of strangers shout your name, how touching it is that people spend their Sundays standing for hours to cheer on strangers, handing out jelly babies (and at mile 20, thank goodness for jelly babies), or the boost it gave us to see our family and friends in the crowds - willing us, fist-pumping us, screaming us on. The whole day is a great show of solidarity as everyone unites in the runners’ great joy (and also great pain).

In the months since she has been gone there have been many moments when joy and pain have been laced inextricably together. The joyful, life-changing and life-affirming moments of Hugo’s wedding to the wonderful Bex, the birth of Anthony and Maia’s beautiful baby Lila and of course the marathon day itself are complicated by the pain of missing our chief supporter, and this is a something that we will forever be grappling with.

But, through all this, running has given me the space I needed to grieve. Those hours training gave me the space and time to think about Mum, but also to not think about her: to tune out, to cry or to laugh (I am fairly certain that any Victoria Park goer who has encountered me will now turn and walk the other way on seeing me). Perhaps best of all, it has made me so tired that I am finally able to sleep again (if in doubt, just exhaust yourself).

Fundraising together has given us a purpose: it gave the three of us something to focus on and it brought us together. It gave us a way to communicate, to speak about Mum and to talk about our grief. It also brought us some amazing experiences: Ant declaring live on radio “I am not a squirrel,", Hugo prancing about the stage in a sparkly red cape at our Valentine’s Day event, whilst the world can never forget the amount of airtime the Rawlinson bottom received at that photo-shoot (or, at least New Balance’s social media followers won’t). It also introduced a new wonderful part of our lives: our link with Breast Cancer Now is something I hope that we will continue for a long time to come and it has been so touching knowing that their team has been rooting for us.

Marathon day captured the essence of so much of our experience over the last months. It showed us (although, by now we don’t need reminding) that we have the most wonderful friends and family who will show-up for us time and again. The support that we have received from those that loved her and love us (and also from the most unexpected places) has been so consoling and important to us in getting through the last few months. It also reminded us that even on the most emotional of days we will find ways to laugh (me accidentally flashing a squadron of policemen in a last-minute panic change will do the trick). And lastly, it showed us that fundraising for Breast Cancer Now has given us a way through the loneliness of grief and that people will join with you to make a difference for a cause that really counts.

So far we have raised over £40,000 for Breast Cancer Now. We really believe that this money will make a difference: it is Breast Cancer Now’s aim that by 2050 no woman should die of breast cancer. We are wholly committed to make that aim come true so that no one will suffer what Mum did, and no family will go through what we have.

Finally, but perhaps for us most importantly for us, we have loved, supported and carried each other through every moment of this and that is something I know Mum would have been so proud of

You can donate to Georgia's fundraising page for Breast Cancer Now here.