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Cuti may have left the building, but his legacy lives on

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With us every step of the way: (from left) Martina Chetcuti, Hospice PR Manager James Davis, Michelle Chetcuti, and Marianne Chetcuti

My brother Michael must have made quite an impression during his 51 years on earth. An understatement maybe, but I am biased.

When Marianne, his widow, myself and others set out to remember the first anniversary of his passing, we all agreed that this was something we wanted to celebrate. We didn’t want to huddle in a corner and cry. God knows I’ve done enough of that.

His anniversary, 24 February, coincided with the Malta Marathon, so it seemed like an obvious plan to gather family and friends to run (and support) together in his honour. We created t-shirts, designed by Michael’s daughter Michelle, and printed them. I thought we had too many, which was fine as I run a lot and could do with some spares. I also hoped we’d manage to collect a few hundred euros for the Hospice, the agency which so helped Cuti (and us) when he was in the final months and days of his life. I guessed the large amount of people at the marathon would remember my brother and we could get them to help the Hospice.

Then, the marathon was cancelled.

Turns out, it didn’t really matter.

For starters, the t-shirts were all gone. All of them. I had to fight to get one for a friend (who didn’t know Michael and still donated €50). I was taken aback – that was quite a sum from a person who didn’t even know my brother.

“I saw your post and wanted to offer my support,” he told me. I walked back home a little bit shell-shocked and a bit amazed at how my brother had managed to have such an effect on people. Because it is not about us posting stuff on social media, but rather what Michael did when he was alive.

It also turns out that my hope to collect ‘a few hundred euros’ was also incorrect, by a hell of a lot. At the end, we collected a staggering €2,500. Seriously amazing. Money came from family, friends, mothers of his daughters’ friends, Michael’s former work mates, people who he didn’t even know, acquaintances, and so many more.

Michael’s family, Marianne and their daughters Martina and Michelle, handed the money over to Hospice a week or so later (see picture of them handing the money to the Hospice PR manager James Davies).

By the way, in the end, I ran the marathon – admittedly, it was on the wrong day and in the wrong country. It’s my small gesture of gratitude to all of you who helped.

Nearly five hours later, I completed the required 42.195km in Switzerland a week after the 24 February. Only then did I wear the medal (with pride)

The Hospice Malta

Our charity of choice was the Hospice. They helped Michael in his last months, and gave our family superb support.

I really didn’t know what they did, and had no idea what palliative care was (I had to googled it when my sister-in-law mentioned it to me).

The money we collected will help some other family who are inevitable going through what we went through a year or so ago. I can imagine many of you went through the same experience – it’s not nice, and organisations like Hospice are simply amazing.

The incredible amount collected is, I believe, the result of the life Michael lived, one in which he touched so many people in so many ways. It is by your actions that you have made him live even stronger in our hearts and for that, and on his behalf, we humbly say ‘thank you’.

Cuti may have left the building, but his legacy lives on.

The Hospice always needs help. Visit their website – https://hospicemalta.org/ – and help out if you can. If you don’t live in Malta, donate to the Hospice or similar organization in your country. A small gesture can go very far.

Sports

Marathon bliss, with a little help from my friends

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As the starter gun went off, I wasn’t really sure how I’d perform. It was my third marathon, but it’s still a marathon – a gruelling 42.195km. And weighing 91.5kg meant I had a lot to carry around.

It was also the first marathon after my brother passed away last February. We had been planning to run one together when he was diagnosed with a brain tumour. So the minutes before the start were somewhat emotional as he was not there, physically. He did, however, accompany me the whole way. I honestly believe that his presence made me get through the marathon.

I say ‘get through’, but in actual fact it was a great performance from my perspective, first and foremost because I finished the marathon in 4 hours 30 minutes 39.7 seconds.

When compared to the first placed athlete, it is way off, but when you consider that my first two marathons were run in 4:51:57 and 4:48:57 respectively, it was a great feat.

What’s even more amazing, in my eyes, is that I didn’t stop – I kept on going, fighting my mind which was badgering me to stop. Actually, I did stop and walk for around two seconds and then just started running again. I imagined my brother starting down at me and hassling me to get a move on as he didn’t have all day to hang around with a walker.

It’s funny how I could actually hear his voice in my head – “Ejja man, move on ostja.”

He was that way for the best of reasons, of course. And that helped me in my childhood, teenage years, and adulthood. And even after he left, he’s still helping out.

The marathon itself was relatively uneventful to be honest. I had planned it out quite meticulously, but my plans did change when I noticed that there was a pace maker for 4 hours 30 minutes. I then planned on sticking to him for as long as I could. I had aimed for a 4 hours 36 minutes time, so I figured that if I managed to keep behind the pace, I’d be more or less fine to reach my goal (even though I myself thought it a bit ambitious).

But it worked – I stuck behind him all the way. And he also looked out for me, which I found quite cool. In fact, at the end, I sprinted to the finish and saw him stop and more or less wait for me at the finish line.

I’m glad I did it, but I’m very glad it’s over. Will I do another? I’m not too sure right now, but I guess my opinion will change once I regain full use of my legs. Right now, they are aching like hell – as they say, no gain without pain.