Finally Joe spoke up, ‘There is nothing we can do for Cassie anymore.’
Even though it was the truth and we all knew it, it was shocking to hear it spoken aloud in front of Cass. I thought, How is she going to react to that?
But all she did was to say, laughing it off with a shrug of her shoulders, ‘What am I supposed to do?’ Then she picked up a box of nearby chocolates and offered them around. That was it.
Clearly we passed the pre-interview test. The producers took their leave, saying we would hear more from them soon, and we got a call the next day to say the story was on. We set the earliest possible date for the visit from the full camera crew and interviewer: October 6, just 10 days away.
Cass was declining rapidly day by day, but I was so intent on making the interview happen that I refused to see what was in front of me. It got to the point where she couldn’t hold down food at all, but would vomit it back up again. I simply wouldn’t accept that we’d have to cancel the arrangement, so the night before I texted Cass an encouraging message reminding her of how everything would run. She replied with a thumbs-up.
But the next morning she woke completely disoriented and could not stop vomiting. Still I pushed. I was on the phone to her and said, ‘You can do it, Cass, you can get through this. What if the tables were reversed, what would you tell me?’
‘I’d say that if you weren’t up to it, we wouldn’t do it,’ she said. At that stage, I knew I had to call it off.
Looking back, it seems obvious that my stubborn refusal to let go of the idea of the interview was a textbook case of denial about having to let go of Cass, but I couldn’t see that then. It felt like I just had to make it happen.
Feeling like I had failed Cass completely, I called the producer to say I was sorry, I knew they had put so much into this and were already almost here, but we wouldn’t be able to go ahead after all. They were very understanding of the situation and their genuine concern for Cass was obvious.
On October 24 the 2013 Wharf4Ward event was held. Cass couldn’t be there, so I would have to do a good enough job for both of us. Dad came with me for support. I had been asked to speak in front of the 800 attendees. I was supposed to help out beforehand at a table selling raffle tickets but was so nervous I had to excuse myself and go pace in the bathroom, practising. All too soon it was time to go on.
Peter Overton, who was the MC for the event, introduced me. I began the speech by explaining about Cass’s cancer and treatment, then about my own diagnosis and experience, and the huge difference Cass’s support had made to me. Then I told them about her relapse. I went on:
‘We are still fighting … still fighting together. I have had the privilege to come across this amazing young woman who meets whatever life throws at her with determination and courage. I feel honoured to call her my best friend, someone who I love very much. Someone who I couldn’t have got through cancer without. Cass is so passionate about Sony Foundation and the need for You Can centres to connect thousands of young Aussies in need of support. I am just one of many that Cass has helped and continues to inspire. Everyone needs a Cass. Everyone needs that person in your life to show you that the light at the end of the tunnel does exist and everything is going to be alright when you’re going through chemo. Through the You Can centres our future, our young Australians will have the chance to be that Cass to someone and save other people lives, just like Cass saved mine.’
There was a huge response from the crowd and Peter Overton walked with me off stage, only to have Dad come rushing up, nudging him out of the way in his eagerness to embrace me. He was in tears. ‘I’m so proud of you, son,’ he said.
I gave an embarrassed laugh and said, ‘Dad, everyone is watching us, can we do this somewhere else?’, but he was too moved to care about what anyone thought.
I went to visit Cass the next day to tell her how much people had loved hearing about her. It was clear she was fading fast. She was bedridden (and remained so from this point on), and had stopped even trying to eat solid food. For a little while Gloria attempted to get her to sip soup, but even that came back up. After that she would bring in rehydration ice-blocks, and when Cass had one whoever was in the room with her would suck on one of their own in solidarity. The palliative care team helping Gloria and Joe care for her told them her death was imminent.
But she didn’t die. I visited with her every day. Sometimes she’d be sleeping and I’d just sit beside her, other times she was feeling too ill to even talk. But she still had periods when she was well enough to post comments on Facebook or interact with me and the close girlfriends who came by.
I had the idea of giving her a virtual trip to Greece. My sister Mel had been to Santorini and I took some of her photos and made a montage, replacing the faces in the pictures with Cass’s and mine. She loved it and kept it by her bedside, giving me heaps about my dodgy Photoshop skills. I’d put her wigs on to make her laugh, and let her paint my fingernails to amuse her. I brought my iPod over with a playlist I’d made for her that expressed my feelings. It opened with the Taio Cruz song ‘You’re Beautiful’.
Still, Cass clung to life. Four weeks had passed since her parents had been told her death was only days away. The doctors said that sometimes people kept going on sheer will so as not to cause grief to their loved ones. They advised that it could help for those closest to the dying person to tell them it was okay to let go. This was so hard for Cass’s parents, but they did it because they didn’t want her to suffer anymore.
I, too, had to say something. I told her that it was okay to stop fighting and things would get better. ‘Do you trust me?’ I asked her. She nodded and slowly opened her arms, choking back tears. I was also crying as I hugged her tight and said, ‘I’ll take care of your mum too, I promise.’
From then on she was almost always asleep when I came to see her. On November 9 we spoke for the last time. It was a huge effort for her to talk and she had to pause to gather her strength after every few words. I held her hand as she said, ‘I just want … to let you know … I love you … so, so much.’ She tried to squeeze my hand but it was the tiniest of flutters.
I sobbed, ‘Oh Cass, you know I love you too. Everything I’ve done is because I love you and because I think you’re so amazing. I can never thank you enough. I promise I will finish what we started.’
Two days later, at 6 am on November 11, I was lying awake thinking about Cass when my phone rang. It was Joe, sobbing as he told me she had died. I told him how sorry I was and we hung up. I was devastated and lost for words. I went downstairs to tell Mum, but she already knew from the look on my face what had happened. I didn’t get emotional; I just hugged my mum tightly.
Later that day, I sat at our favourite place and just cried. After a moment of quiet reflection, I looked to the sky. I realised that it didn’t matter that Cass was no longer there physically; she was always going to be with me wherever I went. And, like we always did, I appreciated the view, and felt her by my side.
In immense grief of the days after her death, I spoke to the TV show producers and told them what had happened. I said that I wanted to still go ahead with the piece as a tribute to Cass. They were kind and sympathetic and said they would talk about it and get back to the Sony Foundation team. I learned that their decision was to drop the piece because they considered it too much of a sad story after her passing. I thought that was so wrong and said to myself I wasn’t giving up. I would come back to the problem after Cass’s funeral.
The day before the service, I received the final edit from Sony Foundation of our You Can awareness-raising film. It was four minutes long, which was much shorter than I had imagined when I first dreamed up the CASNAS project, but as I’d learned along the way that was the perfect length for this kind of video. It’s amazing how much you could convey in that time. They’d done a fantastic job, far exceeding even my highest hopes. It perfectly captured Cass’s zest for life, her unbelievable courage and calm spirit.
Dad wa
tched it with me, and even though we were both crying it was so comforting to know that people would be able to remember her through this. Jack was still a tiny baby, but he would always have this to remind him of his loving, beautiful aunt – as would the rest of her family, including her nieces or nephews not yet born – and her message would also inspire thousands and thousands of people who had never met her.
More than 800 people came to farewell Cass at a Catholic church not far from her home. Her parents had seen to it that my last gift to Cass, the Minions soft toy, was placed in the coffin with her. Joe gave a beautiful eulogy. ‘In true Cass style, we’re here today not to mourn but to celebrate – just as her life was a non-stop celebration,’ he said. He described her as ‘the happiest, most carefree person I know … She had such a zeal and passion for life. She had an infectious smile that would light up the whole room – people who didn’t know her would want to meet her.’ Joe finished up by saying:
‘Cass was my hero and my inspiration, and we know she was an inspiration and was much loved by so many people over her life journey. We know she touched so many people’s lives – and the outpouring on social media this week has been overwhelming. She fought with courage and determination – she never gave up, she never complained. She always said she’d prefer a short happy life, than a long miserable one … We love you, Cass.’
The Sony Foundation film was screened as part of the service. This time I didn’t cry watching it; instead, I was filled with feelings of intense love and thankfulness that I’d known this wonderful girl and been able to play my part in sharing her essence with the rest of the world.
Epilogue
And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.
– Haruki Murakami
I honoured the promise I had made to Cass on her deathbed to care for her mother, who had become my second mother. Gloria had devoted the past three years to the daughter she loved so much and Cass’s death left a terrible hole in her life. She visited Cass’s grave every day, taking fresh flowers and spending time with her, praying and remembering. I phoned or texted Gloria daily to let her know I was thinking of her, and went often to the house to visit her and Joe. I always got a pang as I pulled up expecting to see Cass waiting for me on the porch, only to realise I would never see her again.
I’d started a part-time job working at a petrol station and was continuing with my university studies but I hadn’t given up on getting our story shown on TV. I went back to Sony Foundation with ideas and suggestions. They were really good at their jobs but they kept hitting brick walls. Sophie called me herself to tell me that they’d exhausted every avenue. The answer they kept giving was that it was too sad. I got really angry with poor Sophie, yelling, ‘It’s only a sad story if we don’t do anything with it,’ before hanging up on her. I later called Sophie back to apologise for losing my cool, although she was used to me! And together, we agreed to keep trying. We knew that we had to do whatever we could to keep Cass’s legacy alive.
Then I had the bright idea of using my Starlight Foundation wish to make it happen. Every young person with cancer or another life-threatening disease is given a wish to use. As you’ll know, if you’ve seen or read The Fault in Our Stars, the wishes don’t expire. I’d never used mine and even though I was now in remission, I was still entitled to nominate something I wanted and the organisation would do its best to make it happen.
I decided I would use my wish to have the video played on something like Ellen DeGeneres’s huge TV show. The Starlight people considered my request carefully but said no, because the wish was supposed to be something for the young person themselves, not others. (I also realise now that it would have been impossible for them to guarantee anything like that outcome; the most they could have done was make contact with one of the show’s producers and ask them to watch the footage.)
At this point, there were a lot of people who told me that it was ‘time to move on’, so I unwillingly listened to their advice in the hope that this empty feeling would cease. I tried to change my screensaver of Cass and me to something new in order to ‘start the process’, but I felt even worse. I couldn’t just forget about the memories we shared, because they’d shaped who I had become. And I’m so grateful for them and I never want to lose them. The greatest joy Cass and I ever had together was participating in activities that we thought would help improve the lives of others. And I didn’t want to stop this legacy.
Christmas and then January came and went with no new developments and I was feeling very frustrated about the situation when I came across an ad for the Barnardos Mother of the Year competition. The children’s charity sought nominations for outstanding mothers, with finalists celebrated at a state-wide ceremony, and one state winner going on to be named national Mother of the Year. I thought immediately of Gloria. It was perfect. Her devotion to Cass meant she absolutely deserved the award, and this was something where I didn’t have to try to get past a gatekeeper in order to organise a meeting, I could just go ahead and enter Gloria in the competition myself.
Within an hour I had read all the relevant information on the Barnardos website, filled in my application and hit ‘Submit’. I was so fired up I didn’t even read back over it before I sent it. I knew that thousands of mothers from all over the country were nominated, so I was thrilled to get an email letting me know Gloria had made it through the first judging stage. I read the email on my phone during a lull at work and I had such a big grin on my face that customers commented on it throughout the rest of my shift.
The next step was for the judges to speak to the people who knew Gloria, including a neighbour, and then choose the state finalists. I got a phone call soon after from one of the organisers saying, ‘Sorry, but we think there’s been some kind of mistake here. It says on the form Gloria’s not your mother.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said.
The next question was, ‘Ah, then how does your mother feel about this?’
I had, of course, discussed it with my mum and she was all for the idea. I hadn’t said anything to Gloria when I nominated her in case it came to nothing, although I did tell Joe, who was intensely moved and agreed she was the perfect candidate. But now I was going to have to tell her. She, too, was so moved she wept but through her tears she said jokingly, ‘You little troublemaker, not telling me. Cass warned me about you!’
Next thing we knew, Gloria had been confirmed as one of the state finalists. The winner would be announced at a big ceremony at the NSW Parliament House in April. My parents came with me, and Gloria and Joe were accompanied by Cass’s sister, Andrea, and baby Jack (Cass’s brother, Chris, was away on duty). Gloria was really nervous at having to be interviewed as we went in, but she quickly got the hang of it. Part of the ceremony was that the nominators would get up and read out their submissions. In front of the Premier, Barry O’Farrell, and the dignitaries, I stood up and recounted all the things Gloria had done for Cass, and also in supporting me and my family and others dealing with children with cancer.
Gloria cried the whole time I was speaking and stood up as I returned to my seat to give me a hug. I whispered that I loved her no matter what and would always appreciate everything she’d done for me. Then the winner was announced: Gloria!
Gloria was crying so much she had trouble speaking as she accepted her award. She began by dedicating it to Cass, ‘This is for you, my baby,’ then made a point of thanking me, saying, ‘You were always there for my daughter and I’ll never forget that.’
It wasn’t just me and the other people at our table who were weeping: there was barely a dry eye in the house.
The two of us were swamped with media and Gloria’s nerves disappeared as she told everyone how special Cass had been. In the lead-up to the May
ceremony to announce the national winner, all the state finalists were styled and photographed in various outfits at different Sydney locations for Women’s Day magazine. It was a very special experience and I loved seeing Gloria pampered.
It was also nice to have something to celebrate, in contrast to the awful news about Dylan Tombides. Despite intensive chemo, his cancer had returned yet again and he had been told there was nothing that could be done. He died on April 18, aged 20. He had been a massive inspiration to me, and to so many other people. It was a terrible loss.
I was devastated to lose such great people in Cass and Dylan, that I took any opportunity to raise awareness and funds for the You Can project. This led to my involvement with the ‘Ferrari Racing Days’ event, in which I was invited to present a speech at their official after party. I’d become used to public speaking, but the whole ‘Ferrari’ thing added another element. Growing up in a half-Italian family, it wasn’t hard to adore the brand – I mean, it still gives me goosebumps every time I say ‘Ferrari’! I didn’t know if I was excited or nervous. I think a bit of both.
Finally, when the day came, I was able to successfully deliver my speech, and the response was nothing short of amazing. At the auction we raised a total of $65,000. To my surprise, the CEO of Ferrari Australasia and Japan, Herbert Appleroth, came up to me and congratulated me on my presentation. He gave me his business card and asked me to contact him if I ever needed anything. Luckily for me, his background was in marketing and he offered me an internship at Ferrari. It was almost too good to be true! I still pinch myself about it. Herbert took me under his wing and showed me the in’s and out’s of the industry. He became my mentor and role model, but he also became a friend to whom I could speak about anything that was on my mind. I am forever grateful to be part of the Ferrari family.
By Your Side Page 24