Hello
I'm Rachel, the founder of this site. I was married to Mark for 15 years, before he was diagnosed with late-stage bowel cancer. He was 46 years old, with no symptoms, when we found out that he might have a year left to live. He died nine months later, in January 2025. Our children were 8, 11 and 13 years old when he died. This site is a legacy of our loss.
The Path for Rachel and Mark
In 2023 Mark was running marathons, caring for our family and doing the job he loved in technology. My son remembers that year as "the best year ever, because Daddy was here". In March 2024, Mark was struggling to work due to abdominal pain, so I drove him to A&E for the first time in his life. He was diagnosed with late-stage bowel cancer. We were told it was incurable, inoperable but treatable. I found those words unbelievable, horrifying and confusing. And yet, in that moment, I knew I would lose him and that I loved him unconditionally. It was an unspeakably tender moment which will stay with me forever.
He asked the doctors how long he would live. They said it was unlikely he'd live for more than a year. That felt like a disgustingly short time – I absolutely did not want him to die, ever, and I definitely did not want to live with cancer in my family. We were terrified for ourselves and our children. Thankfully there were on-site therapists who were able to support us and our children, during those insane first weeks. After that day we never stopped researching treatments, looking for the available hope and struggling to accept what it all meant.
Two months after diagnosis, Mark was in a critical condition in hospital. The cancer had already spread to his liver. We are so grateful that a newly approved immunotherapy turned him around and he began to gain strength, because it gave us back some precious time that summer. He became determined to live each day to the best of his ability; he wanted to stay for as long as possible with our kids, with me, with our friends and family. Each day he challenged himself to do the things he loved, to give himself moments to live for, and I spent every minute possible beside him. We went on UK holidays, hosted parties, saw West End shows, went to football matches, visited friends and celebrated our youngest child's eighth birthday.
We also knew that a genetic mutation (BRAF V600E) was causing his cancer to grow uncontrollably. At that time, he was already on the only available treatment with any reasonable probability of extending his life. It felt as though we were living on borrowed time. My heart was broken and the only person I ever wanted to share my feelings with was gradually fading before my eyes.
As the weeks turned into months of fighting, Mark remained motivated to beat his illness. He managed to stay focused on what mattered most, while being realistic about what was to come. We talked endlessly together about dying, living and carrying on. He could see that other people found it hard to believe how poorly he really was – all I could see was how alive he was, even though I knew he was dying. Those that understood our situation told us how his integrity, passion and commitment to live inspired them. His motto remained: "Stay objectively positive." Unfortunately, like its host, his cancer was highly motivated to grow. Like Mark, his cancer lived large, was intent on succeeding and learned how to optimise at every opportunity.
We were told that the treatments were no longer working in November 2024, which meant we had to tell our children that their dad would die very soon. Mark died in January 2025.
As I write this it's almost a year to the day since we agreed his end-of-life plan with the hospice palliative care team. And I still cannot quite believe that he's gone. He lived a life of adventure, fun and passion. He was my best friend, a wonderful brother to his sister and a caring son. We'd been married for 15 years, raised three children and loved each other endlessly. We lived abroad, built our own home, travelled the world and made many friends on the way. He taught me how to be bold, imaginative, generous and spontaneous. And he left me peacefully in the hospice, while I held his hand.
About The Unwanted Path
This website has grown out of what we learned together during Mark's illness. I want to give anyone whose life-partner or spouse is dying, a gentle place to come and find the information they need. Because I know that there's a moment you realise your loved one can't stay with you, and it will break your heart.
I'm so sorry I can't take that moment away, but I can give a tiny grain of hope. When an illness threatens your family, there are both emotional and practical realities which jeopardise the quality of your time together. We've done the research, so you don't have to. Every minute spent on your phone or searching the web is a moment you could be together – we want to help you cherish your time, because love matters more than anything else.
I believe that if you can stay calm, find your grounding and be present with your love, even in the very worst of circumstances, it can make all the difference for you both as you progress down any unwanted path which might be ahead.
Mark was a pioneer of internet technology and web design. I'm not that person. I'm a professionally certified leadership coach, with a decade of experience helping people learn how to live a life they love, at work and at home. To help me separate my personal tragedy from my professional role I decided to write about my experience on this Substack. Writing helped me to process what we went through and I realised that by sharing our truth we could perhaps help others.
Thank you for being here and supporting us. I'm open to hearing your feedback and available for any partnerships or speaking events which might support this site.
Please send an email to find out more. Let's connect.
