10 years ago a woman came up to me at an awards ceremony. “I’m Deborah,” she said. We clicked immediately. We got drunk, gossiping and laughing for hours. I loved her. We got in a cab to go to a party, she leant over and said, “I’ve just found out I have breast cancer.” /1
2/ It was so startling, and so - it turned out - *her*. I just wanted to hug it away, to banish it. She had hardly told anyone. I was a stranger, really. Easier, then. She smoked out the window of the cab and all I could think was beautiful she was. Just gorgeous. And how funny.
3/ and I just prayed to fucking god she’s be ok. They caught it early! It will be fine! She seemed tough. And she was, I learned. We became friends. That immediate click stuck. We would have dinner, just her and me. She got very ill and then she got better. We carried on.
3/ She was always so wise, and so insightful and so damn cutting. It always felt naughty and brilliant and fun and wild being with her. We disagreed on things. But we always listened. She felt like a big sister in journalism when I really needed one. She gave great advice.
4/ Meeting up with her always felt special, somehow. Our gossipy evenings - we knew so many of the same people - always full of dark laughter and shared experience. We both had PTSD. We both knew what that meant. And earlier this year things looked hopeful.
5/ She was so happy to have written her book, her memoir. Just delighted. When I last saw her, in hospital, in September, she was on oxygen but just speaking so beautifully and proudly about having written it.
6/ As we sat there together, holding hands, she started describing everything she could see and feel; the slight breeze, the view over south London. And she said she had been feeling so completely in the present; and that she wished during her life she’d felt that more often.
7/ It felt like her last gift - her last words of wisdom. Ever since I’ve been thinking about that, how I needed to do that more. So, Deborah Orr, I’ll say this to you now, you brilliant, gorgeous, funny woman, “I promise you I’ll try. And I loved you. Thank you.” Have peace now.
8/ oh and P.S Deb, I’m sorry I’m crying. I had to stop myself in the hospital. So I’m doing it now and you can’t stop me.
I wish I could buy you more of that chocolate. And all the dinners you ever wanted. I wish I could’ve come to your new place. I wish you’d had more time. X
I wish I could buy you more of that chocolate. And all the dinners you ever wanted. I wish I could’ve come to your new place. I wish you’d had more time. X
To everyone else: thank you for all your lovely messages. I tweeted in shock, needing to describe what Deborah Orr meant to me. Wasn’t expecting such a response from so many who’ve lost people to cancer or lost friends. Sometimes Twitter is worth it. Deb definitely thought so. X
