Richard Stuttle

Tag: Chasing rainbows

Rushed to Hospital with suspected Bacterial Meningitis

2021 ended on a real positive note, there were still things with family and friends to cause concern, but I had completed a few projects with very positive results.
The latest work for our charity had the potential to create something new and exciting. My book for Caroline: Chasing Rainbows – The Stolen Future of Caroline Ann Stuttle was published in May and had some great reviews. We had filmed for “The Real Death in Paradise”, a Sky documentary, which was airing in February. The Virtual Reality project was developing better than expected. It was our 20^thanniversary in April, and I thought Caroline would be proud of what we have achieved.
I had finally been able to make time to paint and develop my art again. I’d completed a mentorship programme and was enjoying my healing course. These had brought a lot of different strands of my work together, my creativity through art and writing, philosophy, beliefs, and life experience.
I had survived Covid and although we had to cancel our holiday, we had managed to reschedule. It was only a few weeks away now! We were looking forward to getting away, like most people it had been a couple of years since we had left the country.
Not the start to 2022 I was expecting. I had not been feeling well or on top form for a while. I thought I was just run down, a cold, and now with the new Omicron variant, I thought that I had probably caught that. I had a headache, it got worse over a couple of days. On the 6th of January, my girlfriend came home from work to find me in bed, curled up in a ball, head under the covers groaning in pain. It was nothing like anything I had experienced before. The pain was unbearable. The paramedics arrived, I was given morphine, and was rushed by ambulance to hospital with a potential diagnosis of Bacterial Meningitis.
If my girlfriend hadn’t acted so quickly, it might have been a very different story. I am incredibly lucky to be alive. I was put in isolation on Lilac Ward in Scarborough Hospital. The next few days were a complete blur, I was hazy with intravenous morphine, steroids and other medication. I had a Lombard puncture, CT scan and an MRI. The nurses were all exceptional and looked after me with the greatest of care. One thing I will always remember from that blurry time was the compassion and kindness they all showed me.
One afternoon, I was not sure what day it was or how many days I had been in hospital. A doctor came into my room “You have bacterial meningitis and a 1.3cm abscess on the right side of your brain. We are speaking with the consultants over at Hull Hospital, and you might be taken there tomorrow for brain surgery.”
I was left in shock, still in pain and hazy I had a terrifying evening and night. Everything and nothing running through my mind. I would tell my loved ones in the morning. It was the first time I had really contemplated my own mortality. Even with everything that had happened with my sister Caroline. I knew the human body in many ways could be so fragile, there was still a part of me that was 19 and thought of myself as immortal.
I thought back over my life, we had experienced tragedy and it had not always been easy, but I have done many incredible things. I had travelled, lived and worked in many different countries. Spent summers on beaches and winters in the mountains. Followed many of my dreams and explored my passions. 44 years was over twice as much time as my sister was given in this world. If now was my time, I had experienced life, but no way was I ready to go anywhere. Even with everything I had done a felt like I hadn’t even started, I had so much more to do!
Even with a belief in the afterlife, I was terrified, I didn’t want to go yet. I knew I would see my sister again, be able to catch up with my grandparents and get a different understanding of what this world was all about. With all that said, I had become incredibly attached to my mortal body. I thought of my family, my loved ones. They couldn’t take another loss. My sister and me both in the afterlife would be too much for them to bare. There was so much left unsaid.
The following day I wasn’t taken to Hull. The neurologist thought it best to try to reduce the abscess through medication. It was a case of weighing up the risk, brain surgery could ultimately cause more damage and would only be a last resort.
I spent two weeks in hospital. The first week I drifted through various degrees of pain mainly in my head but throughout my body as it became weaker because all my energy was directed towards fighting the infection. I was in a drug induced haze and couldn’t differentiate from what was a dream and what was happening. I couldn’t take noise, light or to think about anything with an emotional connection. It seems to cause pain. I slept only to be woken every 4 hours for temperature and blood pressure checks, blood tests, medication, and doctors’ visits. Now I get flashes of that week, but nothing is clear, I have no idea what thoughts were my own or came from somewhere else. I hope with time I will be able to gain some clarity.
The second week I became more lucid, I started to be able to think again if only for short periods. My mind was different, it felt slower, clouded. I felt like I was outside myself and sat looking at nothing for long periods. Food became important, I was on steroids and just wanted to eat everything. It was only towards the end of the second week when I talked to the specialists and began to realise the severity of what I had gone though. I really was lucky to still be here, the doctors and nurses were really worried about me for the first few days, they said it was touch and go.
After speaking with the OPAT team, I had a midline fitted and was trained on how to administer my own drugs intravenously. I was discharged, it was so good to be home. Everything felt surreal, like it was a dream. I couldn’t feel anything properly, everything looked slightly different even though it was home and completely familiar. Nevertheless it was good to be home.
People were worried, I had spoken to family and my girlfriend while in hospital but only briefly. I knew they were there for me. I felt I should let my friends know what was happening. I put a post out on social media.
Posted to Facebook and Instagram on the 20^th January 2022
“Not the start to 2022 I was expecting. On the 6th of January I was rushed by ambulance to hospital with Bacterial Meningitis. I am incredibly lucky to be alive.
After a really worrying 2 weeks in hospital. The scare of brain surgery, countless tests, drugs and painkillers I am on the mend. I still have a 1.3cm abscess on my brain. Today, I’m back home. Continuing with intravenous antibiotics for the next 4 weeks with the hope that the abscess will dissipate. I am of course positive, the eternal optimist and have begun my healing journey to recovery.
I must offer my eternal thanks to Ruth who called the ambulance and saved my life. The paramedics who rushed me to hospital, all the staff on Lilac Ward at Scarborough Hospital, without everyone’s love and care I would not be here. Thank you to everyone who has sent me positive thoughts and healing. It has definitely made a difference and means a great deal. Thank you and love you all.”
21st January 2022 and I didn’t feel great, had some painkillers and my intravenous antibiotics. My girlfriend came home after work and I was not in a good place, it felt like the 6^th of January all over again. The pain got progressively worse. It became unbearable and an ambulance was called. In A&E I was given drugs and left in a darken room.
I was in pain. The painkillers were helping. I was scheduled for a Lombard Puncture, a doctor came and tried but it was unsuccessful. Another doctor was called. It was painful and I was terrified that I would become paralysed. Luckily the second attempt went well. Another CT scan and I was admitted. This time on the Ann Wright ward. The team were great and looked after me. The next morning, I felt better. CT scan results were positive, looked like the abscess had slightly reduced in size. My bloods showed an over production of white blood cells, my body was fighting hard. I felt completely battered and bruised in body, mind and soul but I was trying to stay positive.
Nothing happened over the weekend. I felt relaxed again and safe to be in the hospital. On the 24th of January I had my second MRI, the consultants were confident that we are heading the right direction. My bloods were showing that the infection was reducing, my body and vitals were strong.
26th January at two in the morning, the results came back from my last Covid test, I was positive. I was immediately moved down to Beech ward. I was now used to waking up and not feeling great but now I had Covid symptoms on top of it all.
I was not sleeping well and still getting woken for medication and observations periodically thought-out the day and night. Bloods taken daily and Covid tests I was sick of getting prodded and poked. I had been laid in bed now for a few weeks and could feel my body losing muscle. It was strange, I was getting stronger and healing but simultaneously my body was wasting away through not getting any regular exercise and fresh air.
With so many days in hospital I had plenty of time to think, my mind was clearing. I knew how incredibly lucky I was to still be here. I was re-evaluating everything, what I was doing, how I spent my time and what I still wanted to do in my life. With so much time to sit I considered my thoughts and what I spent my time thinking about. Was it all worth it? Is what I was I was thinking about worthy of my time? Was what I wanted to do in life really what I wanted to do?
30^th January 2022
“Discharged. After 20 days in hospital, I am finally recovering at home. I feel incredibly lucky to still be here, as it was touch and go for a time. I would like to offer my eternal gratitude to the doctors and NHS staff who all looked after me to well.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has send me healing and wished me a speedy recovery. It is incredibly humbling to know how much I am loved and cared for. I certainly have a new perspective on life and what’s important.
I now continue my healing journey from home. The bacterial meningitis is responding well to intravenous antibiotics, the mass on my brain is showing signs of reduction and the symptoms of covid are minimal. I can feel myself getting a little stronger each day. Thank you all for your love, healing and support, it has given me hope each day and means the world. I truly believe that I would not be here otherwise, please accept my unconditional love now and always.”
The healing process starts at home. I was administering my own intravenous antibiotics and anti-seizure medication. For the first week back in my own bed, I just slept. I started to wake up and not feel completely drained and aching. My mind was still not fully clear. I had headaches, issues focusing, reading and trouble with memory and finding words. These would all come back with retraining and time.
Written by Richard Stuttle

January 11, 2025
Chasing Rainbows – the Stolen Future of Caroline Ann Stuttle – Chapter 22 – Competing with angels

The natural world played a large role in my life growing up. Like many people of my generation Sir David Attenborough was one of my heroes. He always spoke with such passion and sensitivity about the natural world and the animal kingdom. I was glued to the TV whenever any of his programmes were on. He taught me that life for everyone on this planet was a battle, survival of the fittest. Every living thing completes a life cycle; birth, growth, reproduction, death and feeds back into the food chain. It’s a balancing act that’s taken hundreds of thousands of years to perfect. Our world is dependent on every living thing to thrive, no matter how large or small. I understood that life on this planet is hard, so why should it be any different for us? We just have different struggles, thankfully most are not life-threatening but that doesn’t necessarily make them any easier.
As humans, we are blessed with consciousness. There is something very powerful within us and our conscious mind; belief and our understanding of death sets us apart from all other species. Some people are willing to sacrifice everything for what they believe. It can even override our instinct for survival and self-preservation.
After Caroline was gone, I didn’t know what to believe. Was she now an angel? How could my life live up to what hers could have been?
I wondered if her soul was still around in some form or another. When I was around eight years old, another of my heroes was my Grandad. We had so many amazing times which I will always remember fondly. After he died, I was upset, but eventually asked the question.
“Mum, Dad, what happens when we die?”
I can’t remember word for word. We talked about life. Dad told me that minutes after I was born, he held me in his arms, to him I was an amazing new life. He thought, who is this little person? We all talked about growing up, becoming a teenager, an adult, eventually a parent and grandparent just like Grandma and Grandad. They explained when you die you go to another place, but you are still around looking over your family and friends. The conversation must have planted a seed in my mind.
Since Caroline’s death our family have talked a lot about life after death. I have had many experiences that I feel are far more than just coincidence. Dad told me a story from when Caroline was little.
‘Dad,’ she said.
‘Yes Caroline?’ he replied.
‘When I go to bed a man comes to visit me at night,’ she said, very relaxed.
‘OK, what does he want?’ Dad replied, surprised but calm. He knew the house was secure and no one could have gotten in. She could have been dreaming.
‘He just wants to chat, but the thing is Dad, I can see straight through him.’
‘Right. No problem, next time he comes to see you tell him to come and see me,’ said Dad.
The next morning, ‘Dad, the man came again last night, and I told him to go and see you.’
‘OK, then what happened?’ Dad asked.
‘He came back and said you were asleep,’ Caroline replied.
‘Next time he comes to see you, ask him to go away so you can get some sleep,’ Dad said.
‘OK,’ Caroline said.
After that, she never mentioned the man again and slept well.
I became interested in life after death, what had happened to my sister? Where was she now? I believed that there was more than just our physical world, but didn’t know what. Over the years I have been able to study at The Arthur Findlay College. The college was left by Arthur Findlay following his death to further advance Spiritualism and the psychic sciences. It delves into the subject of life after death and the continuation of the human spirit.
I have always kept an open mind and over my life tried to listen very much to my intuition, the little voice inside me that knows what’s best for my well-being. I always tried to listen carefully and develop my sensitivity to the world around me.
My thoughts would go back to hearing the organ playing in the weeks after Caroline’s death and the significance we had placed in rainbows. I have been lucky enough to be around many world-class mediums and the information they have given has been incredibly accurate. It always made me wonder where the information came from?
Our belief in another existence has given us as a family a common bond to hold close. We like to think Caroline and our other loved ones are looking down on us, watching and guiding us in this world.
I believe as humans we are blessed with a soul. Our lifeforce is so strong, complex and well developed that I find it hard to believe that it only popped into existence when we were born and on death it just ends. It’s the essence of what makes us individual. I know there is something which allows us to connect with people on multiple levels, this is evident with all the people I have met throughout the years. We are able to connect through mind, body and soul.
I found comfort in the thought that Caroline is continuing her work in the next world and her energy still exists in some shape or form.
The way I understand our different worlds is through levels of vibration. Everything is vibrating at a different frequency from trees in the forest to the table we place our coffee cup on. I imagine an infinite number of guitar strings all tuned to a different note; to listen it’s a case of simply plucking the string and attuning to harmonise with that vibration. After death, our energy or soul departs our physical body returning to another frequency.
I believe Caroline’s soul has returned to become part of the vibrational energy of the universe (as we all are). I can attune into her frequency, feel her energy and know that she is still around.
Attending courses at the Arthur Findlay College, I have learnt about energy, healing, spirit art and mediumship. It opened up a whole new level of potential, looking deeper into ourselves as well as beyond our physical and materialistic worlds.
When I was working in the Alps, I had time and the opportunity to paint as well as complete various spiritual courses. Painting put me in an altered state and allowed me to look further into myself and areas of life that interested me. Expanding my mind was important, it’s a way I could explore and feel out of control that didn’t rely on anyone else.
One occasion shortly after Caroline’s death, I found myself in a situation with a group of people I had not met before and they didn’t know our story. They asked if I had any siblings, and for ease, I said ‘No’. Immediately I felt a pain inside and pull on my heart, it was as if she was shouting, I’m still here! I had just denied Caroline’s entire existence. I still think back now and cringe, I felt absolutely terrible. I have never done it again. I tried to understand why I said that; a part of me wanted to save them experiencing the pain of our story, another part didn’t want them to feel sorry for me. I have never wanted sympathy but that was no excuse in denying my sister’s life.
Seeing Caroline in the chapel of rest made me aware that it was Caroline’s essence or soul which made her who she was. That was the spark of life and it was no longer in her body.
I feel it’s important for us to consider our own evolution in order to understand our own spark of life. Appreciating the simple pleasures. Watching a beautiful sunset, taking an evening stroll along the beach or catching up with friends for dinner. These experiences can evoke feelings and emotions within us, I have always been curious why people like certain things more than others, why people fall in love.
A quote by one of Spiritualism’s great pioneers, Gordon Higginson, resonated strongly, ‘Before you can touch the Spirit, you must find it within yourself. For all truth, for all knowledge and all love, must be found first within oneself.’
Through better understanding our feelings and emotions we can enhance our awareness. We can experience more from the sunset or the stroll on the beach, we are able to forge deeper connections with the people around us.
I can liken this development to painting, for portraits and life drawing there are techniques to learn, ways to look at a subject that make the work more accurate and captures the feeling and essence of the person. Firstly, it’s about the physical form, facial features, tone and shadow. Next is to look under the skin, understanding bone structure, weight distribution and muscle definition. Once an artist has gained this knowledge, they can produce an accurate resemblance of the sitter, but there is more to it. An artist then needs to look not with their eyes but with their feelings and emotions, they need to capture the essence of the person. This is far more difficult and not a skill to master; it’s a knowing that needs to be understood in every brushstroke. Some painters just have the touch, they have that ability to capture the sitter’s true self on canvas. Looking at the works of the greatest portrait painters, they have captured far more than just the resemblance. Their paintings can evoke the same feelings as if you were actually interacting with the person they painted.
I have been asked many times, do I consider myself a religious man? My belief played a role in dealing with what we had been through. I have been interested different aspects of Spiritualism and other religions for many years and feel that the belief in more than just myself has given me a greater sense of peace. Socrates heard a voice in his head, a divine or guiding spirit who advised him throughout his life. Had he achieved some deeper understanding of life, or had he tapped into his intuition? Was it another part of himself in the spirit world communicating with him or was it God? We will never know the answer, but I believe that you have to be true to yourself, listen to the voice inside yourself which understands your divine path.
I am sure my ideas and beliefs will continue to change over time as they have done up until this point. I think that any person who holds the same philosophy all their lives is either a born genius or unable to consider new ideas and evolve. It’s incredibly important to try to incorporate what we learn into our daily lives, be willing to change our way of thinking as we meet different people and have new experiences.
Life is a pendulum, as much as it swings in one direction it swings just as far in the other. I now try not to view what happens as good and bad or black and white, everything is just part of life’s experience. I feel safer in the knowledge that nothing will ever be as bad as the devastation we have already been through. If it turns out I am wrong and something far worse happens, I feel safe in the knowledge that I have already gotten through experiences in life that I never thought I would be able to.
Sadly, we will never know what Caroline’s life could have been in this world. I believe we have our own lives to live, we both have a great deal to do and will be working together for many years to come, just from different worlds.
Written by Richard Stuttle
Chapter taken from his book “Chasing Rainbows – The Stolen Future of Caroline Ann Stuttle”. Published by Pegasus Publishing in May 2021
Buy a copy of chasing rainbows

January 11, 2025
Chasing Rainbow – The Stolen Future of Caroline Ann Stuttle – The first chapter

The call that changed our world
It was the end of another amazing winter season in Meribel, my third in
The Three Valleys. I’d first visited in 1999; it was now April 2002. I’d been
working as a chef, alongside a host, and ski guide, running a chalet for
eighteen guests. It was hard work and it felt like it had been a long season.
The snow had turned, making it very wet and slushy; the lower runs were
muddy and, in many places, unpassable. I had packed up my knives and we shut down the chalet. Our boss was happy, and we had all finally finished work.
I loved Meribel. It ticked all the boxes: stunning surroundings, wonderful snowboarding, like-minded people and cooking for a living. It was a completely different lifestyle to anything I had done before. My picturesque five-month escape from everything that was really happening in the world. The beauty of the French Alps was completely inspiring, and I enjoyed the instant connection between seasonaires (people working during the ski season). We all worked the winters out of choice, everyone had a deep-rooted passion for the mountains and a love for extreme winter sports.
This season was no exception. Some of my best days were spent riding around the mountain with friends and hitting the snowboard parks. Once we had our fix for the day, we would jump on the final lift of the day up to the top of the Saulire, which was one of the main summits in Meribel. We would ride down the short distance to a place we called The Hut; the views were breath-taking. We could see for miles in every direction, straight down the valley to Moutier or over towards Saint Martin and Les Menuires. To our left was Mont Vallon, with the peaks of Val Thorens far beyond. The Hut was a happy place for many seasonaires. We used to chat about the day and watch the last few people making their way down the piste, like ants following each other trying to find their way home. We’d enjoy the changing colours of the mountains as the sun slowly made its way towards the jagged horizon. It felt like paradise. When we saw the ski patrol riding down, it was our cue to move. I always enjoyed the final run, before either heading back to get ready for work or calling in to the Rond Point, a bar just off the piste, for après-ski.
Though the season was over, I was in no rush to return to reality. I was looking forward to a few quiet days relaxing before driving down to the south of France, where landscape painting and time on the beach awaited. Painting was in my genes thanks to my father who is an artist. My watercolours and oil paints were ready and I was looking forward to painting the wonderful colours and landscapes of the Côte d’Azur. I was craving the sea, especially after five months in the mountains, and I yearned for sand between my toes and the smell of fresh salty air. This love stems back to my childhood, family days out at the seaside and holidays abroad. My sister Caroline and I would spend many hours building sandcastles on the beach and splashing around in the sea. It was always a magical place for us. Every time I sank my feet into warm soft sand and closed my eyes something was triggered inside; it took me back to those special memories and put a smile on my face.
A lot of friends had already started to leave the resort, some going home, others onwards for their next adventure. It was exciting but at the same time sad to say goodbye, although I knew many of them would be back next year. Life was good and chefs were always in demand. It was one of the reasons why I got into hospitality, restaurants and hotels were always looking for decent chefs, I could get a job anywhere.
The end of the season was a time of contemplation, I was thinking a lot about what the rest of my twenties was going to bring: travel, different experiences and finding out what I actually wanted to do with my life.
It was 4:30 a.m. when my mobile rang. I was in bed, but answered. No one I recognised, their voice hesitant.
“Mr Stuttle?”
“Yes?” I replied, snapping out of my sleepy haze.
“I am from the police and I am afraid I have some bad news.”
A thousand thoughts flooded through my mind in that split second, but even if I had another 614,962,476 seconds to guess what he was about to tell me, I would never have got it. At the time, my naive mind knew bad things happened in this world, but never to us or to people we knew.
“It’s about your sister, Caroline.” His voice was now solid and very serious.
Caroline was on a gap year in Australia with one of her best friends. What had the kid got herself into now? Probably arrested for something stupid or ran out of money.
The officer continued, “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Caroline has been involved in an incident and she is dead.”
I sat bolt upright. Surely, I wasn’t understanding this correctly. “Are you joking? What the hell are you talking about?”
“There has been a serious situation in Australia, and I am so sorry to have to tell you. She has lost her life. I am here with your mother, Marjorie.”
I could hear uncontrollable sobbing in the background, which sounded like my mother, but I had never heard anything like it before. In those few moments my whole world shattered, and our lives were changed forever.
“We are here at your home. Please don’t worry, we will make sure we do everything we can for your mother. One of my colleagues is with your father in Scarborough.”
“I don’t understand. What’s happened to Caroline in Australia?” I asked.
“I am afraid I don’t have many details at the moment. All I know is that there has been an incident on a bridge, Caroline has gone over the railings and unfortunately lost her life. Her friend Sarah is safe and with the police in Bundaberg.”
“OK, I will be home as soon as I can.”
Hanging up the phone, I just stared at it. I had no idea what to do with myself, no idea what to think. I was stuck in a French ski resort and it was still the middle of the night. Absolutely nothing I could do until morning. I felt completely powerless.
After a few moments my mind caught up, still trying to process the conversation. There was no way this could be true. What the hell had just happened? I slumped down on the edge of the bed, numb and in complete disbelief. I couldn’t feel anything. Looking down at my fingers, they had no sense of touch, nothing felt real. I couldn’t comprehend what I had just heard. I felt lightheaded and burst into tears. Just a few hours ago, before I went to bed, the last five months had been some of the best times of my life, but now they meant absolutely nothing.
A feeling of shock took over my body, I took some deep breaths and tried to steady myself. Standing up, I paced the room and kept repeating, “What the… has just happened? What was she doing on a bridge, how the hell has she gone over the railings? I can’t believe this. Caroline is dead? She can’t be dead.”
Hands shaking, I rolled a cigarette and smoked it until it burnt my fingers. It sent my head spinning and my thoughts were immediately with Mum and Dad. What the hell were they going through? Surely none of this can be true. I had no idea what was going on, no details, no way of finding out any more information and no way of being with my family.
In those life-changing few moments, a piece of my heart had been ripped out and I knew could never be replaced. If you break a china pot, it’s possible to piece it back together but you will always know it’s been broken even if you can’t see the joins.
At that time, I was relatively innocent to grief and loss, seeing but not truly understanding the cruelty and pain death can bring. Up until that point, 1985 had been the worst year of my life with both my grandfathers and my uncle dying. I was eight years old and took it very badly. I remember crying and being comforted by Mum as she tried to explain, they were old and had enjoyed a full life. Over time, I was able to come to terms with it, although I still felt that childhood sadness sometimes. This was completely different, something I knew instantly that I would never get over no matter how much time passed. Caroline was just a girl with her whole life ahead of her; she was my little sister.
I had no Internet access. I was completely cut off from the outside world; originally that had been part of the appeal. I stood on the balcony, looking out at the silhouette of the mountains. It was deadly quiet. There were still a couple of hours to go before the sun would break the horizon. I felt like nothing was real any more; I was in limbo with only time to think. I just couldn’t believe she was dead; how could she be? She was a strong and feisty young lady. How could she have been taken away from us? I replayed the phone call in my head, “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Caroline has been involved in an incident and she is dead.” This couldn’t be right, maybe the officer might have meant something else, he might have been mistaken? It could have been some other poor girl; deep down though, I knew it was true.
Chain-smoking cigarettes, I thought about our lives as brother and sister. I always believed we had been brought up the right way, loving parents, a traditional family with a normal life. Never wanting for much, we took pleasure in the simple things. We didn’t deserve this happening to us. I now realised, just like in the rest of life, ‘deserve’ has nothing to do with it. I always thought of our childhood as special, we were lucky as a family. Living in Huntington, York, our primary and secondary schools were both within walking distance and many of our friends lived just around the corner.
Mum and Dad had always pushed us to be active; Caroline was a member of the local gymnastics club and I thought she was really good at it. Mum and I would go to pick her up and watch as she effortlessly jumped and span around the floor. We both loved swimming and would go to the pool a few times a week for training. When we went on holiday, we were water babies and loved snorkelling in the sea or splashing around in the pool.
These memories all came flooding back like an incoherent movie playing in my mind at double speed. My emotions were all over the place. I didn’t know what I should be feeling and couldn’t work out what I was actually feeling.
I remembered our lives growing up. Dad was an artist by profession and loved showing us different animals and insects that lived in our garden. Butterflies were our favourite. The life cycle from caterpillar to chrysalis to butterfly was extraordinary and fascinated the pair of us. I remember Caroline and I being amazed by how this transformation took place and we desperately wanted to see a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Dad in all his years had never seen it happen. One day, Caroline came running into the kitchen. “Dad, Dad, I’ve seen it.” We rushed outside and saw a red admiral butterfly sat flexing his wings on its empty chrysalis. She was always the lucky one, so I just couldn’t understand it. Why hadn’t she been lucky this time? All the scrapes I had gotten into over the years and I was still here. It just wasn’t fair.
She had such a caring nature which she got from Mum, who’d been a nanny in her early career. I had never met anyone who gave so much love so willingly to everyone she met. Sometimes we could both be very naughty, but for us it was of course always unconditional love, no matter what we did. Sometimes Caroline would go and see Grandma for dinner and chat incessantly about everything that happened at school and with her friends. They both loved spending time together and Grandma used to joke, “I love Caroline, but she has worn my ears out and I need a rest after every visit.” Sundays were always our family day. Mum used to cook the best Sunday roasts with all the trimmings, apart from the beef, which was always overcooked. I never realised at the time but when I trained as a chef I understood, medium rare and well rested. That’s how beef should be cooked and that was the end of it. It became a long running family joke.
Grandma, Grandad, my aunties and uncle all lived locally. Dad would go to work in the morning but was always back in time for lunch. We would eat early afternoon and catch up with the week’s news, Caroline always liked to be centre of attention and would tell us everything that she had been up to in excruciating detail. After lunch, and fully stuffed, the older family members would have a little rest and could be heard snoring in the living room. As Mum always managed to use every pan, bowl and plate in our kitchen, it always looked like a bombsite. It was mine and Caroline’s job to wash up. A worthy trade as Mum’s food was amazing, despite the beef. We would do it together, we were a team, and the kitchen would always be spotless after we had finished.
Still waiting for the sun to rise above the mountains, I remembered these times, it pulled on my stomach and made me feel physically sick. Of course, we weren’t perfect and like most brothers and sisters when we were younger, we sometimes fought like cat and dog. Deep down we always loved each other dearly. My head was spinning, tears brought me back to reality as they streamed down my face. I needed another cigarette.
There was still an hour to go before anyone would be awake. Taking a long drag, I thought about how over the last few years we had become great friends. When I was in the UK, we would regularly meet in York for coffee and were never lost for conversation; we could talk to each other about anything. I would give her advice like a good big brother should. It was one of Caroline’s big dreams to go travelling and I remember when she and Sarah were planning their Australian adventure. She was so excited and had been organising everything for months down to every last detail. When we discussed all the things she was going to do, her face would light up. She could hardly contain herself and looked so alive. Why didn’t I talk more about staying safe instead of just making jokes about how the hell was she going to manage without her hair straighteners? I am sure I said, “Be careful, make sure you look after yourself and each other.” I now felt it was nowhere near enough, but Australia was considered a safe place to visit.
I would have done anything to have had one more coffee with her. I loved her so much and kept getting flashes in my mind of the moments we shared. Once I accidentally trapped her fingers in the car door and never properly apologised. I was only a kid, but it haunted me now that I could never say sorry or apologise for anything I had ever done. She was gone. It hit me again like an avalanche, she was dead. We wouldn’t share anything again in this world… ever.
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January 11, 2025