Thinking about Kris Hallenga

I’m thinking about Kris Hallenga, whose death was announced yesterday. I’m sitting in my tiny garden with my face to the sun—a pose I know she appreciated the power of—and thinking of her, her family and what a privilege it is to be alive. She was a woman who I knew not even a little bit in real life. She didn’t know me, though might have recognised my name from Instagram and Patreon comments. Yet she has had such a profound impact on my life over the ten plus years I have been following her story. If you’d like to read more about her charity work and health the obituary in The Times is quite extensive.

In her book, Glittering a Turd, she lays out her philosophy for life—what is important is not more time, it is better time. When she was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer at 23 she surveyed her options. She could believe herself to be a victim or she could create a life with such meaning, love, and purpose that even a short life would be a full one. I was floored by this idea. It stopped me in my tracks because for me, I’ve always struggled with the ultimate ending. Surely the more you enjoy your life the more you want more of it. I imagine her responding: yes, of course, but you don’t need more of it. You have lived so fully that more time is a bonus—positive, sure, but not a given. There is such peace in that. I’m sure she didn’t feel it every day and only her closest family and friends would know the reality of her fears and sadness, but in terms of what she wrote and said to those of us listening on the internet—she had found immense peace and happiness, not despite of but because of death’s closeness.

When my mum was diagnosed with cancer five years ago I leant hard on Kris’ Instagram and blog posts. In the community of those with cancer and those who love people with cancer, her story—of living far beyond the statistics with energy and joy—was a beacon of light and hope. More and more though, statistics seem to mean very little. With so many new treatment options being approved all the time (my mum was put onto a brand new PARP inhibitor for two years post chemo that could well be the reason for her lack of recurrence) there doesn’t seem much point in putting a time limit on someone’s life. Kris lived for 15 years with stage 4 cancer. Integrative treatment can be a divisive topic, and some people swear by them (Kris wrote and spoke a lot about the integrative medicine she found to be helpful). Nutrition too. The food we eat could have an effect, but in some cases it won’t—my mum spent her life eating healthily, buying organic, but cancer was in her genes. It may well be in mine.

The main thing I learnt from Kris time and again is that every one of us is an individual, and we should be treated as such. Knowing our bodies, our minds and what we value in life is the absolute imperative when facing ill health and mortality. (I would also really recommend the book Being Mortal for more on this). My grandfather has been quite unwell these past few years, though you wouldn’t know from asking him how he is: ‘very well thank you!’, ‘were you in hospital last week?’, ‘well, yes’. He told mum that as long as he can sit in his chair and watch the cricket he’ll be quite happy with life. For Kris wrote about what is most important to her, where she finds value—getting into the sea, watching Neighbours with her twin sister, eating ice cream in Italy, sitting in the sunshine in her garden. She also wrote about not wanting to fight death, and what she’d like her death to look like. I hope it was everything she wanted it to be.

I was feeling really stressed last week. The pressures of work were building and some unfortunate interactions left me feeling utterly depleted by Friday afternoon. I spent the weekend thinking about what kind of life I’m creating, what I never want to give up or compromise on. And then I heard the news about Kris. Death is an absolute reminder not to sweat the small stuff. The bitty annoyances and injustices. Sometimes they’re inescapable but they needn’t linger. I read an email at 11pm last week and then couldn’t get to sleep or enjoy watching Veep because I was worrying about something completely inconsequential. That's not how I want to live, that’s not the kind of bedtime routine that, to use the wellness parlance, serves me.

I’m working at my laptop in the garden today—screen glare be damned. Finally we have some proper sunshine and temperatures to match. Yesterday we tidied up the garden and planted some new burgeoning seedlings. Things are looking lovely, it’s a peaceful place to be.

Kris Hallenga exuded a rare vitality. I picture her running into the sea, cuddling her sweet cat and smiling up at the sun. If she made such an impact on perfect strangers I can barely imagine the hole she leaves in the lives of her friends and family. Their grief must be enormous, and their pride too.