Thursday 6 October 2011

Helena's story featured in Prima Magazine

We all feel her light and love in our hearts

Annika Ostman, 27, a broadcast journalist from London, had expected to share a lifetime with her beloved sister Helena when she was cruelly snatched away.

July 9. My sister Helena’s birthday: the date indelibly etched on the calendar in my mind. The eldest of us three girls who had always been so close – the bossy, beautiful big sister I looked up to as a child, and adored as an adult. But when our family came together on 9 July 2010 it was to bury our dear girl, on what should have been her 30 birthday.


Eighteen months earlier, Helena - bright and fluent in four languages - had taken a job with the EU commission in Nairobi, calling me every day to update me on her progress. Along with the reports of the situation with pirates in Somalia, were her worried health bulletins. Since arriving in Kenya, she had been suffering with back pain and abdominal cramps. But, as an apparently healthy 29 year old, doctors put it down to stress – and her body adapting to Africa.

So when, one evening, she phoned to say she thought she was dying, I was startled by her fear. The pain was making it impossible for her to think about or do anything. Unable to eat and sleep, she’d resorted to taking hot baths through the nights to try and alleviate the agony, but nothing was helping and she was losing weight rapidly. I’ve since learnt that one of the hardest things about pancreatic cancer is that it often has no clear symptoms other than extreme pain. All I knew then was that wasn’t like Helena to be dramatic, and I was very worried.

Our mother Anne, 54, was so concerned that she travelled to Africa, and when she saw how thin and frail Helena was she knew immediately it was something serious. They went to another doctor who ran an ultra sound and some blood tests. He managed to diagnose her within a day.

Helena was remarkably calm as she explained: “I have cancer”. She was relieved to have a diagnosis at last, but my middle sister Cecilia and I went into freefall. Helena had pancreatic cancer – incredibly rare in someone so young – and our reaction was one of disbelief and despair.

The doctor recommended she return to Europe as soon as possible, and during treatment in Brussels (where the EU had helped find a specialist medical team) it became clear that Helena was not going to survive this ordeal. Her diagnosis (by now we knew it was stage 4), meant she had just a 1 per cent chance of survival. Hearing the grim statistics I broke down in pieces at the thought of losing Helena, and feeling powerless to do anything.

But Helena was strong, unerringly opinionated and fiercely stubborn – and she was obstinately optimistic that she would pull through. A vaccine had been developed which helps strengthen the immune system and can attack tumour cells. It wasn’t yet available but maybe it would become so in time for Helena to benefit. We all shared her hope.

It helped that the chemotherapy treatment she did receive, although not curative, did make her symptoms much better; and in February 2010, we three girls and our dad Anders went on a skiing holiday to Zermatt, Switzerland, a little town we’d loved when we were children, and one of Helena’s favourite places in the world. With hindsight I think this was a pilgrimage she wanted to make before her time was up.

My heart danced with joy as I saw her gliding down the slopes, still the brilliant skier I’d always admired. But, after the trip, her condition deteriorated rapidly. She lost weight and struggled to cope with the abdominal pain. The painkillers were not having the same effect, and we all moved to London where she could be closer to her old uni friends – and also had the hope of the vaccine…

But it was soon clear that Helena was too poorly to try the vaccine, and in early June, she was admitted to a private hospital in Wimbledon. I think we all knew that Helena was dying, but none of us said so and Helena didn’t talk about it. She didn’t make a will, or draw up plans for her funeral as some people do when they feel their life ebbing away. But, while we all just talked about how much we loved each other, friends of hers later admitted she had occasionally confided that she didn’t know how much longer she had. Just days as it turned out.

Typically it was Helena who kept everyone else strong right to the very end – even insisting on taking us all out to a restaurant for a proper dress up dinner one night. She put on red lipstick for the occasion and ordered for us all in fluent Italian.

It wasn’t until the last three days that she couldn’t speak or move. We sat there, talking to her, holding her hands, washing her, changing her sheets, dabbing at her mouth as it was cracking with blood. She seemed at peace (they say liver failure is a painless way to go). But for us it was total hell to sit there and watch as it became more and more difficult for her to breathe, knowing there was nothing we could do. It felt like she was trying to still fight but her body was giving up.

As she fought so bravely for every single last breath we sang some songs and talked about all we had done together. We slept at the hospital and didn’t leave for the whole last week.


When she passed away in the early morning in her sleep on the 17th of June 2010, we were all there in the room with her. Somehow it seemed appropriate the funeral was on her 30th birthday, as it was always going to be her special day anyway. We even had strawberry cake to eat after the ceremony – something Helena had always insisted on for her birthdays.

Our sadness was – still is – immeasurable. More than eight in 10 cases of pancreatic cancer in the UK occur in people aged 60 and over, and it is notoriously hard to diagnose, but the fact that it is so unexpected in a young woman is no reason for doctors not to look for it. I can’t help feeling that, had Helena’s symptoms been recognised earlier, there would have been a chance we would have celebrated that birthday with her, and many more to follow.

Now we have to accept that we’ll continue our days without Helena next to us, and I wish every day we’d had more time together - but I have also learned to be grateful for all we had.

BOX: The ‘Cinderella’ cancer
Around 7700 people in the UK are diagnosed with pancreatic cancer every year – only three per cent of them surviving beyond five years, and many dying within months or weeks of diagnosis. Sadly this Cinderella cancer attracts just 1.6 per cent of all research funding. For more information contact the Pancreatic Cancer Research Fund at www.pcrf.org.uk, or call 020 8360 1119.




Thursday 1 September 2011

A project in memory of Helena

Health Research in Jeopardy from Annika Ostman on Vimeo.

For the past year I have been pursuing an MA degree in broadcast journalism at City University, and as a final requirement for our degree we have to produce a short news documentary. I decided early on that I wanted to do something in honour of Helena. It wasn't easy to focus on a subject so close to my heart but I also wanted to do something that I could feel Helena would be proud of.

The report was produced, written, filmed and edited by me, but a special thanks must be mentioned to Cecilia Ostman and Mimi Flemming who helped me with the filming for a few of the interviews. Please read the short blurb below and then press the play button on the screen above to view the report. Let me know what you think!

Cancer patients miss out on new trials due to excessive regulation

A new medical trial for a vaccine which treats pancreatic cancer has been launched in the UK. This form of cancer has the lowest survival rate of all common cancers. The trial will recruit almost a hundred patients in the UK. But researchers say thousands of cancer patients are missing out on these kinds of new trials due to excessive regulation.

Reporter, Annika Ostman, has been looking at what’s going on
.

Friday 17 June 2011

One year ago

It is hard to believe that it is one year since our dear Helena left us. Like the shadow that danced from the candle I lit for her last night, her spirit fluttered away during the early morning hours of this summers day last year. Our lives came to a standstill but somehow the world hasn't stopped spinning.

We decided to pay tribute to Helena's memory with a trip to Rye, the little quite village in the English countryside that we stayed in last May. With the heavens pouring down with rain, we travelled out on the train and were filled with comforting yet hard memories of our time there last year.

As soon as we got into the town we walked up the little cobbled streets, seeking out the darling antique shop that Helena just loved and I wrote about last year. But when we turned the corner I noticed immediately that the shop had changed from its old shabby chic exterior to some fancy new ladies dress shop. The lovely old man who ran the shop had retired and somehow it felt fitting that this little gem had withdrawn from the world, just like our beautiful Helena.

We filled the rest of the day with lunch at the quaint Mermaid Inn, lit candles in the old cathedral, and took a taxi out to Great Knelle farm. This was the place where we spent our last few days outside the hospital with Helena and she really cherished it, always saying in the hospital that she couldn't wait to travel back out to the farm and the little lambs. Now we were back and the life at the farm felt the same, but we were there without Helena clinging gently onto our arms.

With time it seems one has to accept that we continue our days without Helena next to us, but I know we all feel her light and love in our hearts. I wish everyday we had gotten more time together, but I have also learned to be grateful for all we had. You are so very missed Helena and still so very loved. That will never change.

Cecilia and Helena at Great Knelle Farm


Wednesday 15 June 2011

Guest Post: Anne Ostman -Linden Flowers to Helena


Helena,
The Linden trees are blooming. Their sweet but not heavy smell lies over Clapham Common and somehow it reminds me of you. On my early morning walks up there I have had my alone time with you. 

You know how I have talked to you and sometimes asked you for advice and in the wind your presence has been so real. I’m going to miss my walks up there with you, meeting all the kids on their way to school and watching the dogs chasing each other over the wide open field.

It is time for us to leave the house; it is time for me to leave London. On Friday it is a year since you left us. Or did you really? Because somehow that feeling that I was so scared of losing is still there, you are with us my darling, but not in the way we had wanted it to be. We should have lived in this nice house all together. It did not happen that way, everything turned out the way nobody wanted it to. 

But we have had a nice time here at 17 Parma Crescent. Your friends have been taking good care of us and we sometimes of them. We have passed your old place on our way in to Sloan Square and it is as if we have followed in your foot steps here, lived your London life.

On Friday we are going down to Rye. We think it is a nice thing to do; go for a quiet walk around the lovely little city as we used to walk around with you. Visit the little antique shop even though we are not going to buy anything (we have too many things as it is). We will have lunch at the little pub and hopefully we can get a taxi to take us out to Great Knell Farm.

You liked it there, with the baby lambs and the horses. We all liked it there, but it was cold. I could have stayed there for ever, I wanted life to stop there, stop as it was, all of us together and you smiling over the strawberry cake and bubbly on my birthday. 

So darling this is it from London, next time I will be at Gotland and I will have been able to visit your grave. I have not seen the head stone and I have not planted that rose yet. I will, and you know I will make sure to pick one that smells as nice as the Linden flowers at Clapham Common.

I will for always love you and your sisters, you are all three of you so very special, not only to me but to so many people, and I will for ever be grateful for having had the opportunity to share my life with you.
With all my love and a big thank you to the three of you,
Anne

Helena and Anne at Borough Market, London
Annika, Anne and Helena at the Tate Modern
Helena and Anne at a restaurant in London
Cecilia and Helena on a London bus on their way to her farewell party

Wednesday 11 May 2011

Guest Post: Monica Antoine

Memories of Helena in Nairobi

Part 1- Helena at the Swedish School in Nairobi
Helena was my pupil during her second and third schoolyear in the Swedish School in Nairobi. For me it seems as if  it was more than two schoolyears though, maybe because we had such a good connection and "understanding" of each other. She was the pupil you dream of having when you decide to become a teacher; always trying to do her best, smiling - and of course, always in a pretty dress.
Monica with her class in Nairobi (Helena-second from left)
With great help from Anne and older pupils this group of children performed the most fantastic plays, such as "De förtrollade prinsessorna" (The Enchated Princesses) where Helena and her best friend Manuela were the two witches. As Anne wrote earlier, all the costumes were made from beautiful materials bought in Biashara Street in Nairobi.
The princes and the witches of The Enchanted Princesses
But it is not only from the school I remember Helena. My husband Jean and I were lucky to have Helena, Cecilia and Annika visiting us many times and once they came in a "luciatåg" (Lucia Train).
Helena, Cecilia, and Annika in a Luciatag
At one occasion "the girls" even spent a couple of nights at our house in Lavington, as Anne and Anders for different reasons were not at home. Then suddenly, the second evening, Helena complained about pain in her stomach and it turned out to be her appendix. What a worrying time it was, as the doctor wanted to operate straight away! But luckily Anders came back the next day and Helenas operation was successful. From that time in Lavington we will also always remember Annika's nickname chuki, which Jean gave her, as we called one of our Jack Russel dogs "Chuki". Now we have a lovely Chuki nr 2, so we are always reminded of the girls. 
Helena at school 
In the years that followed, I only met Helena a couple of times, as she was studing in different places. But one day I learned that Helenas first posting for the EU was going to be in Nairobi. I was very happy about that and was looking forward to seeing her again.

Part 2-Helena working in Nairobi
Helena came to Nairobi full of enthusiasm to work, to look for a house and so on. Jean and I picked her up one Sunday for lunch - now in our home in Karen. We all talked and thought about the time we spent at the Swedish School and all the wonderful other times in Lavington.

Helena found a charming old english-stylied house to move into- again in Lavington. This is not easy these days, as most houses of this type have been pulled down and the plots turned into apartmentblocks, esspecially in Lavington.
Helena and Monica in front of Helena's house in Lavington
Then one morning in September 2009 Helena called me and asked if I could accompany her to Nairobi Hospital for a Colonoscopy test. Of course I could and I was even proud that Helena had asked me! Just like when she was little she spent the night in our home and we had a nice evening in front of the fire. How difficult it was to realise then that in a months time Helena would quickly be off for treatments in Europe.

I will always cherish the memory of Helena as my pupil and also having had the pleasure of knowing her as a successful and beautiful woman.

Helena, Monica, & Cecilia at the school in Nairobi

May 2011
Monica Antoine

Saturday 30 April 2011

Arriving in London

This time last year, almost to the day, I set off to London from DC to be with Helena. The ash cloud that sent Europe into turmoil miraculously cleared a day before and I made the journey across the atlantic with three large suitcases. I couldn't wait to be with Helena, for good this time.

When I arrived in London early the next morning I found Helena in her pyjamas, having just woken up.  Strapped around her little waist was a blue bag that held her newest chemo treatment, a sign that things had gotten worse since I saw her just a month before.

But most noticeable was her smile and delight in my arrival. I still remember the warm hug she gave me and the chipper tone of her voice as she exclaimed how good it was to have me there.

The next few days were a whirlwind as we set about the task of finding a more permanent place for all of us to stay, to pick up a new blonde wig for Helena, to refill prescriptions and to send Anne and Cecilia off to Kenya to pack up Helena's house.  When they left Helena and I had a few days to ourselves in London before moving out to the house in the countryside that I finally managed to find for us.

They were not easy days. Helena was in a lot of pain and very tired, and I felt a great a responsibility to ensure she was comfortable and entertained. I worked my way through a new cookbook for cancer patients to help her to cope with some of her side effects, and I ran around getting any little thing she wanted.

Yet, the strongest memory of our days together in London is a little outing we made to the Fortnum & Mason department store in Piccadilly. Helena wanted to get a hamper for her friends upcoming wedding so we took the bus downtown with her clutching my arm with determination.

We walked all along the aisle of the beautiful food court, choosing each item for the hamper with care. When we were pleased with our selection we sat down in their beautiful conservatory for a little afternoon tea. With a hint of oysters filling the air Helena told me all about their possible health dangers and we sipped our elderflower presse with sophistication.

It was just a small outing but today it reminds me of some of the many qualities Helena exuded: determination, generosity, and sophistication, and I will always cherish these memories from London together, remembering that with the hardship there was always a beautiful day. 

Sunday 20 March 2011

Battersea Park

With the sun shining and many flowers now in early bloom, I was inspired to make my way to Battersea park yesterday with Anne and our friend Stina. Whenever I go the park I can't help but think of Helena and all the hours she spent in this beautiful park on the south side of the river Thames.

Helena lived around the corner from Battersea Park when she was in London between 2004 and 2006. She would head there on weekend mornings for a little jog, delighting male passersby with her speed and rosy-cheeks-endurance. I had the pleasure of going with her a few times, but I was always a few steps behind her, watching her blond hair bounce while breathing heavily and not looking half as sprightly as Helena.

There were also the times she would head to Battersea Park to attend the British Military Fitness training sessions. I am not sure how many she made it, but who would have thought that a glamorous girl like Helena even went once?!

Oh Helena, how I miss you and the many ways you could always surprise us!

Sunday 27 February 2011

Guest Post: Rebecca, Kristiina, & Caroline


After many flights from several different corners of Africa, carrying far too much luggage, and exhausted after our various adventures in Liberia, Uganda and Kenya – four friends found each other at the domestic terminal at Jomo Kenyatta Airport in Nairobi and bounded off to the magical island of Lamu to rest, relax, gossip, and spend some quality time together.

We were all at cross roads in our lives. Rebecca had just moved from Liberia to Uganda to start a new job, Kristiina had left Liberia and took a detour to Kenya on her way to start her new life at the World Bank HQ in Washington, and Caroline was packing up her life after many years in Liberia to move back to her home country, Canada. 

Helena had left us Monrovia girls a few months earlier and was by then settled in Nairobi. It was September 2009, and little did we realize that a few weeks later Helena’s path would turn so abruptly when she received the cancer diagnosis that changed her world.

In retrospect that sunny, slow weekend on Lamu seems like stolen time. A short interlude where we all managed to break away from our routes and schedules, switch off our cell phones, and most important of all - soak up Helena’s sunny company, hear of her stories and dreams, share her hopes and ambitions, before it was all snatched away from her far too early.

Helena had picked our destination. Lamu is an island in the Kenyan archipelago – a smaller, cosier version of Zanzibar - famous for its beautiful beaches and warm waters, stunning Swahili architecture, delicious seafood seasoned with ginger, coconut and garlic, and donkeys trotting the narrow alleys (smelly and dirty animals according to Helena who didn’t fully embrace their presence on Lamu, but grudgingly accepted that they did add to the ambiance). 

In this little paradise we rented a lovely, simple house with a rooftop veranda overlooking the town and ocean. During the days we went for dhow trips, swims and snorkelling sessions. We ate grilled fish and fresh chapatti aboard the dhows, listened to Caroline’s endless Akon and Ryanna soundtrack, and burnt ourselves in the bright Kenyan sun. 

Helena knew the local Lamu legends and pointed out the mansions belonging to various celebrities. We debated which of these mansions we would choose to holiday in when we became fabulously wealthy. In the evenings we retreated to our private rooftop with a bottle of wine, fresh crabs and calamari, to long rambling conversations about our lives, our many opportunities and challenges. 

We spoke about our ambitions and dreams – those (admittedly corny and perhaps a tad repetitive) girly conversations about the men of our dreams, our future lives as successful career women yet with loving husbands and beautiful well-behaved children, the countries we would like to live in, the places we would like to visit. 

We talked about our existing families (not only our future fictional ones), the challenges of living and working so spread out across the globe. We shared warm memories of our times together in Liberia.

During that same week we also got to enter Helena’s Nairobi life. She was truly in her own element in Nairobi – we stayed in her beautifully arranged Blixenesque mansion which skilfully combined the elegance of Europe and Africa; experienced her mad driving style that she must have learnt from the Kenyan matatu drivers; and enjoyed her ability to arrange suave dinners and parties. She handled Kenya’s roads and markets and soirées with Kenya’s diplomats with equal grace and sophistication.

Our memory of Helena will always be that of a strong, smiling 29 woman with lots of dreams and ambitions, with plans to have a family of her own one day, with career goals and new resolutions. We thank you Helena, for those special days we shared in Kenya in late 2009, that still shimmer in our memories. We will always remember you, and miss you.

Rebecca, Kristiina and Caroline

Rebecca, Helena, Caroline & Kristiina on the dhow

Relxing on the dhow

Helena reading in the hammock

The Magic of Zermatt

A little more than a year ago Helena, Cecilia and Anders and I made a journey back to one of our family's favourite places on earth, Zermatt. Our grandfather discover the small but glamorous ski town at the foot of Matterhorn in Switzerland in the sixties, and we spent many very special holidays there growing up.

We had only been a couple of times in the past few years, but when Helena suggested we go back in February last year we all knew it was a must. We packed our ski clothes and fancy dinner outfits and flew in from three different continents to come together in this magical town.

Just like when we were kids us three girls shared a double room at the beautiful Hotel Monte Rosa, with me on the extra cot. We weren't quite the same size anymore so it was a little tight, but it wouldn't have been right any other way.

We unpacked and stepped right into our childhood routine, getting up early and rushing off to the lifts, skiing up and down the amazing slopes, and finding a chalet to replenish us with sausages, rosti, and sparkling apple juice for lunch.

Helena skied with her usual combination of elegance and speed, while Cecilia and I struggled to keep up and marvelled at her strength. She felt so good and grateful for her tarceva medication that coined a little expression for herself: "look at tarceva go!"And go she really did.

In the afternoon we would relish in the hotel's afternoon tea, spend some time in the sauna and outdoor pool, and head off to one of our favourite childhood shops to buy lollipops or browse the porcelain dolls. In the evening we would crowd around the mirror, getting dolled up, and then head downstairs to the charming dinning room.

With radiant and eager smiles we would sit down for the hotel's superb five course dinners, and Anders would order wine and grumble that it wasn't the same price as back in the eighties. The pianist would play his dulcet tunes and we would delight in each other's company.

We felt sophisticated and thankful, but most of all happy. Happy to be back in this very special place together, happy that Helena was strong, and happy to escape our very trying reality.

Helena with her grandparents on her first trip to Zermatt
Helena, Anne and Cecilia waiting for the train to Zermatt 
With Grandma, Anders, and Cecilia outside Hotel Monte Rosa 
Already a ski bunny
At the bar in our dinner outfits at Hotel Monte Rosa
Helena and the Matternhorn
A classic christmas card
Back in 2007
Posing before dinner in 2007
Back on the slopes February 2010
Enjoying Afternoon Tea
Ready for our sausage and rosti
Three very happy sisters 

Thursday 10 February 2011

Guest Post: Anne Ostman


To my darling daughter Helena,

I’m sitting in our dear friend Wellela’s house in Runda at the outskirts of Nairobi. I miss you. I miss you so. The birds are singing in Wellela’s beautiful garden and the tortoises are hiding under a flame tree. I can hear her new houseboy as he is doing the dishes after our breakfast. Wellela has gone off to work and I’m really supposed to work as well. But, I had to write to you first.

You see Helena, I would like to thank you for everything that you have given me. Being back in Kenya has made me realize how much your life enriched mine. All your lovely friends all over the world that still care for me and your sisters only because you were such a lovely person. All those places you took me to, the music you sang, all the interesting restaurants and sights you always discovered and shared with me.

Somehow Kenya has become a very strong connecting point with you. Here you had your childhood- a childhood I think that was different in many ways but I know you had a great time here as child. We went to see the baby elephants in the orphanage, to ballet classes with Vera Zerkowitch, riding with Karen Plumb in Karen, singing lessons, and of course the school theatre performances, with all the amazing costumes that we had made at Biashara Street. I also remember how when we walked out in Nairobi National Park you were always a little bit worried but also amazed at your own bravery.

All this came back to me but not as vividly of course as four months together here in 2009. I spent Tuesday night back at our penthouse at Palacina Hotel. You know that, because I talked to you a lot whilst I was there. It was hard at first to open the door and the climb the stairs up to the beautiful rooms we shared, but it was good to meet you there again. I slept in your big bed in the lovely enormous  bedroom. In the evening I had dinner with Paulina, Gun-Britt, Aaron and Nathalie. Nicko, Paulina’s darling little son whom you loved so much, is not all that interested in flowers any more, he prefers to be dressed as Batman.

I have also been to see your Doctor Ajay. We talked about you and he said that you were the most beautiful and lovely patient he has ever had. Then he changed his mind and said that you were the most lovely and amazing woman he had ever met. It made me happy, not that I didn’t know these things, but that he thought so too-him being such a lovely man himself.

Around every corner I see you, with every smell I can feel you. It is lovely and I’m so grateful for all those lovely things we did together. Like the St Patrick’s ball at which you won the tickets to Zanzibar, and our lovely vacation there. Or like our trip to Lamu, and how we both could not really understand the charm of it. Then there is the time you took me to the national park on my birthday because you knew how much I loved going there and how you found the lions hiding, eating their catch.

Helena in Lamu

Helena you gave me so much light and so much worth living for that I will try my best to go on with your spirit, even if it will be hard for me to find all the right places and do all those lovely things since you are not here to tell me about them, but I will try. I am also very happy about my new job that will give me a possibility to make a change in a way I really think you approve of. Planting trees is good and so much is needed here.

It was very emotional to go back to Uganda. Kampala was very hot and the heat contributed to all my emotions. I kept seeing you with your dear old friend from here, Soraya, and I asked about her. Sarita told me that Soraya was hit by a lorry in Toronto three years ago when she was crossing the street with her headphones on.  It made me very sad to hear that she had passed away, and I could see her beautiful little face with her beautiful eyes when she used pick you up for one of your many adventures together. After a little while tears started to drop slowly down on my cheeks and I thought- Soraya was waiting for you. I know she must be pleased to have you around and you her. All my love to you and her.

Now I have to figure out five things that makes Tree Talk special.

Love, Anne 
Helena and Anne in Nairobi

Sunday 30 January 2011

Take a bath

Last weekend I decided to take a bath even though I rarely do.  Strangely I find them dull and quite tiresome, but when I saw a little bottle of bath oil on the shelf I changed my mind. I would give it another try.

Helena took a lot of baths during her illness because it helped her with her pain. She would draw a really hot bath, light a candle, and drop in some Jo Malone Red Roses bath oil. It was a gift from a considerate friend over the summer and Helena just loved it.

Somehow it has managed to survive all our moves and when I smell the bath oil now, I am immediately brought back to our time together in the English countryside in May. Helena was at her weakest and she would often ask me to get things organised for her to take a quiet bath.

I remember a special day where we managed to get out for a little walk on the country road. We couldn't go far but Helena suddenly saw some flowers and insisted we pick a few. I reached down and picked the ones she pointed at with determination.

She clutched the spring flowers all the way home and then put them in a little glass. I had already forgotten all about them when I went up to draw her bath a few hours later, but there they sat next to the bath, as delicate and beautiful as our dear Helena. It made me smile as I reflected how she always knew how to appreciate the little things and make them stand out, no matter how small.

 Jo Malone Red Rose Bath Oil

Wednesday 12 January 2011

Guest Post: Camilla Hallmans

For some time I have thought about contributing to this blog and sharing my memories of Helena. I finally found the impetus to write when one evening I pulled out the book Anne wrote about the Old Town in Stockholm, and when I opened it a photo slipped out.

It was a picture of Helena and I taken during my visit to Milan. It is a trip I remember with true warmth because like so many of you have already described, Helena always made sure one felt at home and saw as much as possible of her new hometown. Our friendship, though, began many years earlier.

The two of us in Milan

Helena out on the town in Milan

Helena and I got to know each other in high school when we were in the same class at Lidingö, a suburb of Stockholm. She was a very good student and on a number of occasions proved that she knew even more than our teachers about the English language and the African wildlife.

Helena took her studies very seriously and I especially remember the time when she did a presentation in front of the whole school dressed in a folk costume. Very few people at that age would have had the courage to do such a thing, and I remember that I always admired her for it.

After just a year together in the same class Helena told me she was moving. This time the moving boxes were headed for Uganda. It was news that struck me very hard. We were going to be separated and Africa seemed terribly far away. Would we ever see each other again?

But through letters we stayed in touch and we always met up when Helena was back in Sweden. I have many good memories of holidays at Gotland where I went with joy to visit every summer.

Helena and I dressed for the medieval week at Gotland

Crayfish party with the Ostmans and friends at Gotland

Ready for a night out on the town in Visby

When Helena then studied and worked in many different places around the world, it was a fantastic joy and privilege to visit and be a part of her exciting life. It was a true inspiration to know a person with such vision and ambition in life. Indeed, this is what made it so very hard to accept that Helena was sick. How could a person so full of life be so sick?

When I received the news that Helena had passed away the feeling was similar to when she told me she was moving away to Uganda. We parted, again. And once again I didn't want to think it was forever.

I miss you Helena. You are always in my heart.

Monday 10 January 2011

Österlen

We spent the past ten days at my grandparent's house in Österlen, a beautiful spot on the coast in southern Sweden. It is a place we have come to for years to spend time with family, recuperate, and eat grandma's delicious home cooking.

Helena loved to come here and she often made little trips here, even on her own. It was in fact her favourite spot to study for exams during university. She would get up early, study diligently, join the grandparents for a walk along the beach, and eat at least five of grandma's little semlor a day.

For those of you who don't know semlor are swedish treats made up of a humble bun stuffed with an almond paste and toped with cream. They are traditionally made in the months leading up to lent; an indulgence before the fast.

Delicious Semlor

Helena absolutely loved them and our grandmother would always make them especially for her. She says that one time Helena ate so many during her stay that she couldn't button her jeans when she was going home!

This ability to let go, eat what you want, wear whatever, and take a step back from life in the big world is what makes Österlen so special. And Helena felt this magic from very early on. When we visited the area as little girls she went for a walk in the forest with grandma and she said, "You know, I think this is paradise grandma. But I don't know why they have planted the greenery so carelessly".

This is one of grandma's favourite stories about Helena. I think she loves it because it shows Helena's appreciation for beauty but also her usual candour, humour, and desire for order and tidiness.

Helena and Grandma Gittan

Helena, Grandpa Lasse, Gittan, Pricken (the dog) and me

Beautiful Helena on the beach at Osterlen