With Every Step

by Cadigan, Neil;

  The central theme for the day was the saying we adopted in Chiang Mai from a card Chris found in a peculiar shop – ‘we live in deed, not years’. Rather than the traditional funeral program that is handed out as people arrive, we provided laminated bookmarks designed by good mate Craig Loughlin-Smith, who was my art director at Big League (and still is), and whom I would have worked beside at the Olympics in July that year. On one side was Rik’s classic shot of a shirtless Cad walking into the sunset, literally in the middle of nowhere, with the words:

  WE LIVE IN DEED, NOT YEARS

  You’ll always walk on in our hearts and our memories

  I wrote the main eulogy but, despite having too many experiences of reading them myself, including at Dad’s funeral, I knew I was no chance of doing it this time, so I handed the duty to outstanding celebrant Tony Thorington. Tony, a kind man with a soothing, deep voice who in a former life was a tough cop, had to take an emotional pause near the end of my eulogy, forcing him to reach for a gulp of water. I knew then I’d hit the spot with my words. There was humour that (thankfully) drew laughter, but also emotion, and when Tony finished there was a massive ovation.

  Cad’s cousin Luke read a wonderful eulogy too, and Wayne Simpson faced the very tough task of delivering his tribute. Andrew’s close mate Kane Foley had asked to read a eulogy ‘on behalf of the boys’, but I talked him out of it, as I knew how difficult it would be for him to do and I thought a video tribute would be more memorable. I’d asked the boys to make a video using Cad’s blogs from his walk and his bike ride to Cairns three years earlier, and some of the more tasteful grabs from his Cannonball Cad DVD compilation, along with tributes from mates (and from Jaime, which was wonderful) to the camera. In the end, Kane was happy to anchor that. I knew it would be the standout memory of the day, and it was, and a far easier task for Kane.

  The video tribute, brilliantly edited by Blake Copeland, was just unbelievable, to the song ‘Kick Push’ by Lupe Fiasco, so appropriate due to Cad’s love of skateboarding. I could sense Cad would have been looking down from above saying, ‘Great shit, Dad; pretty good show.’ There is no such thing as a good funeral, but to have many, many people say it was the best service they had witnessed, and that the video was just so powerful in emotion, humour and providing an insight into Cad’s character, made me feel proud that I had honoured Cad as best I could. It was unexpectedly special to have so many young people on screen so naturally and sincerely saying they loved him and thanking him for his influence on their lives. Those who knew him well said it captured him so aptly; those who didn’t know him well, or at all, said they left the service feeling they did. Just as comforting was that Chris got through it; in fact, she loved how it went.

  The attendance that afternoon was, like so much of the love and support we received during those tough three months, almost overwhelming. Many, many friends who came from all over, so many family from both Chris’s and my side, my cricket mates and partners, so many of Cad’s friends, people who knew him only from the walk, friends of Nicole and Glenn who wanted to support them, former work colleagues and many from the rugby league community, which has been such a big part of my working life.

  The toughest part was when Andrew’s casket was taken out – by pallbearers Matt Delaney, Todd Bailey, Kane Foley, Leon Stephens, Luke Naividi and Matt Ruff, representing four good mates and two cousins – to the Foo Fighters’ song ‘My Hero’. Some of the boys broke down as the hearse drove away. I had to fight very hard not to as well, while holding a crying Chris in my arms.

  The most touching moment of the day for me came when Nicole’s five-year-old daughter, Kayla, who only joined us after the service, wanted to send a balloon with Andrew’s name on it to him in heaven, as she had volunteered to Nicole days before. The experience (and particularly the photographs) of family and close friends lined up with balloons, waiting for Kayla’s bossy prompt to release them only after she had let go of hers, is something I’ll never ever forget, even though I expect Kayla and Max will have little memory of their uncle, something that has really saddened Nicole and Glenn (and Chris and me); he would have been an ‘interesting’ uncle!

  I knew I had to be upbeat for the occasion, to pull off my theme that I wanted it to be a celebration and not a funeral, and thus I talked openly and enthusiastically to all I could greet. But I know now that I was existing purely on adrenaline, and keeping it together for the benefit of Chris, Nicole and all those around me. I was obviously still in some degree of shock after almost three months of navigating daily through a nightmare that was too real.

  Soon after, all the daily helter-skelter, the publicity and the dutiful daily commitments that had seen Andrew be wholly the centre of the universe for Chris and me for what seemed an eternity, were gone. The mop up after the devastating cyclone had to begin. Chris and I were homeless and jobless, but that didn’t matter a lot just then.

  I knew, however, that when I woke up from whatever sleep I would get that night, it was my turn to adopt the words Andrew said to the camera from the centre of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, with that satisfying smile I’ll take with me to my grave. Those thirteen words still run round and round my mind:

  ‘Tomorrow will be day one: getting on with the rest of my life.’

  EPILOGUE

  WE LIVE IN DEED

  10 NOVEMBER 2014

  It is just over two years now since Andrew’s death. I wrote most of this book in 2013 and self-published it, distributing primarily to friends and family of Cad and our family, or those who had heard about his story. The response, like so much I have experienced since Andrew completed his walk, was quite overwhelming, and so I decided to release the book to a wider audience.

  It has been incredibly evident to me that Cad has left a legacy that will endure for a long time, judging by the hundreds of messages I have received from those who met Andrew, some for just minutes during his trek. They all tell me what a difference he had made to their lives, and I’ve also received many other messages from those who have read about his story. It has truly blown me away.

  We have held two memorial fundraising walks (in October 2013 and 2014) in Cad’s honour, from The Entrance to Terrigal on the Central Coast, the route of the fundraiser he had started to plan on his homeward leg but aborted. It seemed the right way to launch what I hope might remain an annual event, and become a way of sustaining his memory, of raising money for Cad’s Cause and of drawing together Andrew’s friends, family and admirers once a year. We had about 180 walkers both times, and many more donated to Cad’s Cause. We have raised close to $12,000 from the two days, and other fundraising events are now planned. We had Cad’s pram with us, and inside it was much of the gear he’d carted around Australia. I thought it was appropriate that Josh Simpson led us out, pushing the pram, on the first year, while my wife, Chris, and Chris Simpson’s mother, Kim, took it out the second time.

  Another significant event, coming just weeks after the first memorial walk, was when Cad’s mate Adam Martin combined with Chris’s brother, Ken Knight, to complete the 111-kilometre Hawkesbury Canoe Classic paddle race from Windsor to the F3 motorway, in honour of (and to complete) Cad’s aborted attempt in 2009. It was a great show of determination by Adam, who carried a crook shoulder into the event and had never paddled before he began training two months earlier (much like Andrew in ’09). They completed the course in fourteen hours in the canoe bearing ‘Cannonball Express’ signage (in reference to Andrew’s ‘Cannonball Cad’ alias), with Matt Delaney, me and Adam’s partner, Natasha, acting as the support crew. It was a wonderfully rewarding experience.

  Inspired by Cad’s story and his wish for his funds raised to go specifically to MDS, the Leukaemia Foundation in early 2014 launched a three-year PhD scholarship to research myelodysplasia, named ‘The Andrew Cadigan–Leukaemia Foundation PhD, in honour of Chris Simpson’. When he first aligned with the foundation, Andrew’s hope was that his money would go directly to an MDS research program and be n
amed after ‘Simmo’; now it is a reality. The Cadigan and Simpson families are very touched, not just that the boys’ names are being recognised but equally that from this undertaking there might be better understanding and hopefully a breakthrough in treatment that might help many people avoid the fate Simmo confronted. We will commit, through Cad’s Cause, to raise as much as we can of the $60,000 a year that is required.

  Chris, Nicole and I spent a very emotional few hours in Melbourne as guests of the Leukaemia Foundation, where we met the research team and were given an insight into MDS and the breakthrough in treatment they are hoping to make. If this research creates a much greater chance for sufferers of MDS to live longer, or if a cure is found, and Cad’s and Simmo’s names are attached to it, it will be the proudest moment of my life.

  I also heard from an electronics worker Andrew had met briefly in the Kimberley region, Daniel Walker, who was so inspired by Cad’s mission that he organised a roadside memorial that was erected at a truck stop near Halls Creek; so look for it if you travel that way. Another memento is a portrait sketch of Cad done by Indy, one of the crew from Melbourne Andrew had struck up such a wonderful friendship with, which hangs on our bedroom wall.

  In a very different ‘memorial’, but appropriate considering Cad’s fondness for ink, Matt Delaney had another of Andrew’s great mates, talented tattooist Todd Bailey, draw a masterpiece on his calf depicting Cad giving a peace sign with a cheeky grin, with the walking shot from the front cover of this book in the background. Cad’s cousin Matt Ruff also (just as this book was being completed) had his calf inked with the Arnotts parrot – one of Andrew’s tatts that I actually liked – below Cad’s name as another personal memorial.

  In another incredible tribute, way earlier in the weeks after Andrew’s death, we were contacted by the producer of 2DayFM’s ‘Kyle and Jackie O’ program, Kim Czosnewk, who had been alerted to our fate by another of Cad’s mates, Ben Hansen, and we were absolutely stunned when, on air (after I was interviewed) they pledged $10,000 courtesy of Sony Music to go towards a family holiday. This enabled Nicole, Glenn, Kayla, Max, Chris and I to go on our first cruise, to the Pacific. It was just another example where kindness given to us was so unexpected and touching, as was the gesture by Craig Brown, who I was with in Grafton two days before rushing off to Thailand, in offering Chris and me an opportunity to join his ‘Rugby League Experience’ supporters tour to the 2013 World Cup in England, with me as a (very much non-celebrity) tour leader. We had a great trip, at a time when the break was invaluable.

  Queensland rugby league legend Trevor Gillmeister, a mate of mine to whom I gave a copy of the initial version of this book, was so inspired by Cad’s walk that he embarked on his own walk from Townsville to Brisbane in October 2014 to raise awareness of asbestos-related diseases. He also wished to raise money for a Queensland support group that helps families affected by the dreaded form of cancer that took Trevor’s father, Ron. It was another powerful legacy that Cad created, and I was so touched that Trevor completed the journey and raised close to $150,000. I was proud and amazed that he carried a stress fracture in one foot through most of the thirty-one-day trek.

  Chris and I moved to the Gold Coast three months after Cad’s death, as we had been hoping to do for some time, which means we’re only an hour or so away from Nicole, Glenn and the grandkids in Brisbane. We enjoy the lifestyle there although it means we are away from many friends and other family. It’s been a new start, one that we needed.

  As I said in my eulogy at Andrew’s service, it is accepted that it is a father’s role to teach his children valuable lessons in life, but perhaps Cad taught me as much as I did him. There are many days that I call on those qualities as my life goes on – his determination not to give in, his resilience, his strength and his innate ability to dust himself off and get done what he had to do, no matter what issues he may have been hiding inside.

  On the testimonial video his mates put together for Andrew’s funeral, Matty Hansen recalled something that has stuck with me. His story, about kicking stones in life, was just one of several amazingly emotional and genuine tributes to Cad on the video, which is a life’s treasure for me: ‘I just want to say thanks to Cads for being an inspiration to all of us growing up in Killcare and trying to train us to do what we wanted to do and not what other people wanted us to do. I’d see him down the beach in the arvo and I’d say, “What are you doing, mate?” and he’d say, “I’m just kicking stones around the car park at Killcare … Don’t get stuck kicking stones around Killcare car park! Do what you want to do and make what you want to make out of your life.”’

  To have read hundreds of messages from people whom Cad touched, even briefly, has been truly remarkable and almost incomprehensible, considering that those closest to him knew his frailties. Here are some that were posted on Facebook after his death:

  ‘I will forever tell my children about the time I picked up a man on the highway and he was walking around Australia, I will tell them how he dropped everything in his life to see out a challenge that had called for him, I will tell them that sometimes you just have to go your own way, and you taught me that, Mr Cadigan. But more importantly I will tell the story of Andrew Cadigan.’

  ‘You touched our lives so very briefly but left a lasting and indelible mark. You will have touched the lives of so many who also travelled those roads. Your strength, humour, determination, commitment and apparent love of your friends and family will be missed by many, many more people than those of your family and inner circle will ever know about.’

  ‘This world will miss his heart and energy, his smile and determination to make a difference. Having said that, he is one of most inspirational people I have ever met and admired. He leaves behind a beautiful legacy and footsteps of a giant.’

  ‘No one can ever accuse him of not living his life to the fullest, making the most of every situation and taking advantage of every thing life had to throw at him. It is one of the saddest moments I’ve experienced in life, having to say goodbye to such a bloody legend.’

  What I have so harshly observed is that what happened to Andrew and our family is not isolated. While we so naively think such a tragedy will never ever touch our lives there is nothing to suggest we may be exempt; there have been too many examples of that since Andrew died, involving people I knew well losing their lives, or those of sons or daughters, brothers or sisters, husbands or wives.

  I found out in recent months that, on average, one Australian a day dies in Thailand, most from motor accidents. That is a staggering statistic, and we must try to change it. I recently heard from Julie, the mother of Nicole Fitzsimons, whose death in a motorcycle accident generated much publicity just weeks after Andrew died in 2012; Julie’s daughter Kate has devoted much time to educating teenagers in schools about travel risks and dangers.

  Janette Doolan, a wonderful woman who has transcribed tapes of interviews used in many of the books I have written, left me with a thought that, as succinct as it may be, has really hit the spot as much as anything said to me this past year. Janette lost her son Tom at age nineteen in November 2011, in tragic circumstances in Britain. She relayed some advice she received that goes something like this: ‘You can keep asking “why” this happened to us, but the real question is “why not” – why should this happen to other people and not us?’

  She’s right. And that thought has given me more strength.

  I hope Cad’s story has moved you, entertained you and enriched you, made you laugh, cry and perhaps marvel at how he survived navigating Oz by foot. He was no angel but I loved him dearly. He may not even be among angels now, but he certainly is in the hearts of many in our world, even though he is no longer physically in our presence.

  If you have had a Cad or a Simmo in your life, I hope you learn to understand that that is a blessing. To lose them is tragic, but you must be thankful that at least you’ve had the wonderful pleasure of having had them in our presence.

  I
hope mostly that these pages have triggered a recognition that many of us ‘ordinary’ people, like Andrew ‘Cad’ Cadigan, are capable of doing things that can be truly perceived as ‘extraordinary’. I hope you have learned from his incredible determination and commitment that saw him defy extreme hardships at times to finish what he had vowed to finish.

  Cad preached to so many of his mates, long before his grand walk, that we should aim to achieve and not have any regrets by failing to follow our dreams or our search for happiness or, simply, our niche in life. We may never get to our destination, we may always be searching, but it is better to be on the path to fulfilment and perhaps fall off than it is to be stalled in a bog of ‘if onlys’ and never step onto the trail.

  However, we can do all the planning and have belief in fate, religion, destiny or our own apparent immortality, but none of those things may necessarily be our salvation. It is how we live our life that matters: ‘We live in deed, not years.’

  Lastly, I just hope you at least admire what Cad achieved, and how he did it; how he never surrendered.

  If it so happened that you noticed him somewhere on a lonely road or in a town he passed through somewhere in Australia between late December 2010 and mid-June 2012, and you saw him as some heavily tattooed, pierced young bloke to whom you might have been tempted to give a wide berth, perhaps you have now discovered that Andrew was more than what he may have first appeared to be.

  As could anyone we pass, on any day of our lives.

  WHATEVER MAKES YOU HAPPY

  As I began writing this book’s epilogue, the Powderfinger song ‘Whatever Makes You Happy’ came on my iPod while on shuffle. It was one of Cad’s songs, which I’d copied from his library. The timing was a little eerie, and it felt as if he had some sort of presence in the room just then. Maybe it was a message he wanted me to relay. It seems an appropriate way to end this book.