Second Irish Runner Magazine Article


First Irish Runner Magazine Article


Irish Examiner Article


3 Months to live. What would you do?

This was Liam’s June 2015 article for Careers in Government. It covers what went through his head when he was first offered treatment, but told it was likely that treatment would end his life before his cancer got to.  

13 years ago I was given 3 months to live. It appeared to be absolute. I had just been diagnosed with one of the worst cases of Head & Neck cancer ever seen. All of those who had gone before me were gone within 3 months.

I was just getting to grips with this predicament when my 3 months took a new shift. A cancer hospital in Liverpool was one of the few places in the world that could even look at a case like mine and, impressed by my fighting spirit, they wanted to give me a chance. But even there, they didn’t think I had any hope and told me the surgery I required was so risky it was very likely that I would never recover from it.

I would be trading in the 3 months I had left.

Two consultants explained the procedure in detail to me and outlined the many dangers. If I was still alive after the operation it would be a success in itself. The price of that success was almost certainly going to be that I would be disabled, blind, dumb, deaf or mentally impaired. The most likely scenario was that I would end up with some combination of all 5.

Or I could simply do nothing.

That was the only way to guarantee that the rest of my life would contain at least 3 months of good quality of life. But that was all it would contain.

They went to leave the room to give privacy to myself and my wife Pam, to contemplate the dark dilemma I was now in and make on our decision. It was about 5 paces from where they were standing to the door.

The brain obviously is extremely adept at correlating priorities at times like this. Just after they had taken their first step it flashed an image of my 3 small children in front of me. It told me that 3 months would make very little impact on their memory of me in 10 or 20 or 30 years time. Even if I brought them to a new Disneyland on Mars in the next few weeks they were all too young for it to be retained as a major landmark of their lives.

Then it turned to me. What would you do if you had 3 months to live. For some reason the activity that sprang to mind was a round the world cruise. By now they were taking their third pace and although my body still stood there in front of them, my mind was looking out to sea on a luxury cruise liner, somewhere off the coast of New Zealand.

I had a glass of champagne in my hand.

Now it asked me what was going through my head.

There was only one emotion. My brain was absolutely furious with me.

“What the hell are you doing here”.

“Those two men in Liverpool offered you a chance and here you are toasting your life away. All you wanted was a chance and if a chance came it was your job to take it. You should be on that slab fighting this to the last like a real man would”.

I knew at that point that not only would I not enjoy a single minute of the world cruise, it was also the last place I wanted to be.

By now the first consultant was about to put his hand on the door handle. I told them there was no need to go. The decision was already made. If they were telling me they were prepared to offer me a chance then it was my duty to everything I believed in, to take that chance.

The rest is history. Wonderful history.

So one day, just out of the blue, tell yourself you have 3 months to live and see what comes up. As you pan across your life will you regret that your car isn’t bigger, or that you didn’t buy that beach house you looked at, or that you didn’t work even harder to win the prestigious contract two years ago.

Or will it be that you haven’t made up with your brother since that silly argument last Christmas, or that you haven’t told your Mom you love her in over a year, or that you missed out on all those years as your kids were growing up.

Giving yourself 3 months to live is like taking a duster to your life. It will push away a lot of clutter. It will help you reset what are your true priorities, in the correct order.

If you do it now, when your time eventually does come you will already be a step ahead!

– See more at:

Journey to the End

This was Liam’s 5th publication on the Careers in Government website in March 2015. It is one of the stories from his book and outlines two trips he made to the opposite ends of the British mainland with his 3 great friends, Peter Morgan, Paul Crothers and Brendan Kilpatrick and the unexpected perspective he received from the contrasting end destinations. The original can be viewed at


When I was in college in Liverpool I was fortunate to befriend one of those people that are all too rare in the world. Everybody loved Peter Morgan. His infectious likeability became the social lynch pin of our entire year group. His pranks were both ingenious and hilarious, no matter which side of them you ended up.
One Friday he cornered three of us after a morning lecture. “I have a brilliant plan for the weekend” he beamed. “We’re all going to John O’Groats”!
John O’Groats is the most northerly point of Scotland, the very tip of the British mainland. He had discovered that we could rent a car, at a very cheap rate, as long as we had it back by Monday morning. Just enough time to get to John O’Groats and back!
Sure, we all thought, another of Pete’s famous jokes. But before we could work out what the angle was this time, we were all charging up towards Scotland in a new car. He had worked his magic over us again.
The journey was eventful in itself. We had an overnight stop in Glasgow and then needed a replacement car from the rental company after we hit a bridge north of Inverness. We eventually reached John O’Groats late on Saturday night.
There was little to suggest that this was a place of settlement. John O’Groats was merely a single pub with a few houses nearby scattered across a headland. We ordered four whiskys in the pub that would both insulate and tranquilize us for the cold nights camping that lay ahead.
The next morning we made the short walk to the very tip of Scotland, John O’Groats. By now, having slept as close to him as anybody ever had, we felt we knew him well enough to just call him “John”. This place was bleak and barren, but beautiful. One of those locations where you feel whoever made the world, is very near.
The four of us just stood there, both collectively and individually, on top of the windswept cliffs as the North Sea pounded the rocks below. We had “John” all to ourselves. Nature had taken over our senses as if it was the only thing in the world that mattered. It WAS the world and we had the best seats in the house.

But John O’Groats is only half a journey. You can’t have Adam without Eve, or Tom without Jerry, or Laurel without Hardy.
You can’t go to John O’Groats without going to Land’s End. A few years later the opportunity eventually presented itself for us to complete the mission. The circumstances had changed by then. We were all working and two of us were married. It was never going to be the cheap student hike our Scottish trip had been. Instead of freezing in a tent we stayed in luxury accommodation. Instead of rambling around in the rain because it was free, we went jet skiing in St. Ives. Instead of fish and chips, we dined in the best restaurants.
It was as if Land’s End was also aware of our upgrade in circumstances. Instead of rugged and bleak it was commercial and glossy. Instead of windy and wet it was sunny and calm. Instead of free we had to pay to use the car park.
And yet, for all its glamour and amenity, the magic was missing.

These two journeys were to leave a considerable mark on the rest of my life. Land’s End seemed to represent most of the things I had strived for from a young age – prosperity, impression, conformity, security. But on arrival it was bland, artificial and shallow. All of the best memories will always be firmly rooted in John O’Groats.
For all our advancements sometimes less is more. The little things will be big and the big things small. The last will be first and the first will be last.
I’m older now and see these journeys more clearly. Give me a windswept Scottish headland any day before a sanitised tourist resort. Give me the memory of four young men peering out at the sunrise from a wet tent rather than another indistinguishable hotel room.
Give me back that all too short period of your life, when you have the freedom, the spirit and the nerve, to do just about anything.


Stage 4 Brain Tumor Survivor: 12 Years Cancer-Free and Running Marathons

In November 2014 Liam met Janice and Bill McCarty for 10 minutes at the Lakeside Hotel in Ballina. 10 minutes was all it took for the 3 of them to become good friends. Janis was so taken with the story Liam was trying to tell that she wrote this piece and submitted it to the Good News Network when she got home to California. It went out all over America in January 2015.

Pic 1This is a true story of an ordinary man named Liam Ryan who beat huge odds against stage 4 brain cancer. Not only does he have one of the most astonishing and heart lifting survival stories, but he has abundant determination, resilience and spirited generosity. Liam is undeniably the most inspirational man I’ve ever known.

In 2002, Liam was diagnosed with cancer. Not just any cancer. A massive and very aggressive stage 4 tumor was discovered in the middle of his head. It ran from his sinus pocket, around his eye and was backed up against his brain stem. One consultant told him that it would be more accurately classified as stage 44.

The doctors counseled him saying it was the second worst head & neck cancer tumors they had ever seen. The worst case they had seen was dead in a month. He was given very little chance of survival and, most likely, only weeks to live. There were very few hospitals in the world that offered any hope to a case like this. Liam found a team of surgeons willing to perform the operation in Liverpool, England.

The problem with this advanced diagnosis was that the complex treatment required gave him only a 5% chance of making it. If he made it through the 12 hour operation, he was likely to be without sight, speech, hearing, mobility and loss of brain function – or any combination of all five.

Liam miraculously recovered from the extensive surgery and 7 weeks of radical radiation and chemo-radiotherapy. In between he contacted bacterial meningitis twice and a deep vein thrombosis. These serious medical issues themselves nearly ended his life, but with his intense will to live and fighting spirit he maintained his positive mind-set and overcame.

All of this happened 12 years ago. Apart from an eye patch, he has recovered and returned to work as an architect, talking and functioning again just as before. He even resumed running and has participated in several marathons.

In 2012, Liam published his memoir, Cancer 4, Me 5 – After Extra-time to share his story with the world.

“I wrote this book as the book I went looking for myself when I was diagnosed 12 years ago — the story about beating cancer against all odds.”

Liam, who grew up in a rural Irish town and became a successful architect in Liverpool, England, is living proof that no matter how the odds are stacked against you they can always be overturned.

One of his notable accomplishments is having been the site architect for the famous Beatle Story museum at Albert Dock in Liverpool.

“I am one of the very lucky ones who should no longer be here. I have a story now, a story I did not volunteer for. It is a story that I feel needs to be told. What I have endured and survived is a tremendous source of inspiration to people everywhere. It is a story that proves hope always exists, no matter what the prognosis. I am going to dedicate the rest of my life to continuing the fight.”

In the book he writes: Cancer chose me for one of its worst cases. But it made one big mistake. It did not take away my ability to run. It has left me with a platform to exact revenge. Now the fight is on my terms. The money I raise may one day lead to a cure being found for this incredible disease. By selecting me, cancer may have ultimately led to its own eventual downfall.

Run for your Life

This was Liam’s 4th post for Careers in Government in the U.S. and went out in January 2015. It outlines how important the mindset of running was to him in his cancer battle. It is available at

I have been a runner now for over 30 years at a level that many people can probably identify with. I will never be in danger of troubling the elite participants in any race but, at times of consistent training, I can put in a performance that many runners would be proud of. I have completed 7 marathons in that time with finishing times ranging from 3.22 to 5 hours exactly. In the early stages I was motivated by the challenge of the distance and the desire to improve performance but in recent years the attraction has been the escape running gives you in a busy life, the pleasure of running scenic routes and the level of fitness it offers you when you are getting too old for other sports. As a result I have probably enjoyed my running more in recent years than I ever did previously.

However, in 2002, at the age of 40, I was to discover a whole new dimension to the power of running. Out of the blue I was diagnosed with what appeared to be terminal cancer. My condition comprised a large, aggressive tumor running from my cheek, around my eye to my brain. It was a rare condition and I seemed I had no chance. My initial consultant told me that he expected I only had weeks to live.

I was eventually referred to a cancer hospital in Liverpool to see if treatment was possible. My consultants there told me the surgery I required would be extremely high risk. Without it I would die, but it was so risky it was likely to take my life even before then. In the end they offered me treatment but told me my chances of survival were less than 5%.

Before I went for surgery I ran 6 miles every day. These runs, around the narrow roads where I live, became crucial for my mental preparation for what lay ahead. Running is never easy. Never automatic. If you are fitter, you will only run faster. It isolates you with your challenge in a way that few other activities can. It offers you no shortcuts, no distractions, no teammates. It will begin with the first stride and not end until the last one. Every time you run a little part of your brain will rebel. “Why not leave it until tomorrow”. The spirit it drew out of me was the best mental preparation I could have had. It was teaching me how to override discomfort once a plan was is in place. It was equipping me with a mindset that would be essential to get me through a long painful recovery.

I also believed my job now was to become the best possible patient I could be, both mentally and physically. My daily running not only helped my mindset, it also ensured my surgical team would receive the fittest possible version of me for their work.

The operation lasted 12 hours. When I came around in intensive care the staff were amazed at how well I had come through. I am convinced I have my running to thank for this.

My consultant came and sat on the end of my bed two days later. I was more machine then man. He told me he felt the operation had gone well. He reminded me that the surgery I had undergone was as big as it comes. I had survived the operation but would remain critical for many weeks ahead.

My experience from running was a great source of strength to me now. When I returned to the ward I had 12 tubes coming out of me and the next day, when the first of these was removed, I just clenched my fist and thought one gone, 11 more to go. I could relate how I was feeling to the 20 miles stage of a marathon. You have nothing left, but you dig and find something. When I run badly I often adopt a strategy of run what you see. Literally get yourself around the next bend or over the top of the next hill and so on. If you keep doing that the finish line will come by itself.

I applied the same tactic to these days of recovery. All I wanted was some little bit of progress for each day that came. This could be the removal of a tube, to sit up, to get out of bed and eventually to talk, eat, drink and walk for the first time again. All of the inches would make a mile.

10 years later my recovery had reached such a miraculous level that I ran my first marathon, post-cancer. That was the 5 hour one. So my slowest is the greatest of all. My running was only one of many factors of my successful fight against cancer but I have no doubt it was an essential provider of the spirit I needed to stay alive. Running forces you to discover the great depth of personal resolve we all possess. So the next time you pull on your running shoes, remind yourself that not only are you about to do something you enjoy and that is good for you, it may also one day play a role in saving your life.

– See more at:

Stardust and Gravel – Interview with Liam Ryan

This is an interview Liam did with Sarah Scheele for her Stardust and Gravel  Blog that was published in January 2015. It is available at

Pic 1Describe yourself in 3 sentences. Who is Liam Ryan?

This question is not as straightforward as it appears because there are two Liam Ryans! The first one was an architect who was very much minding his own business in the world and was never destined to reach beyond his own circle or write a book. Then after being diagnosed with one of the worst cases of Head & Neck cancers ever seen in 2002 and given no hope, Liam Ryan No. 2 eventually emerged with a story that has inspired and encouraged people all over the world and nothing would ever be the same again!

Liam Cancer BookWhat motivated you to write this book?

It was always going to take something special to get somebody who has never been a great reader to write a book. About six months after my treatment I wrote short account of my ordeal. I wrote it for myself, my own record of my own disease. That initial script got passed on from friend to friend and I eventually got responses to it from places as far away as the U.S., Australia, Canada and New Zealand. It was then I began to realise the story I now had, Cancer 4, Me 5 (After Extra Time) carried great inspiration for everybody coming behind me.

When I was diagnosed I also went looking for a book. But I was looking for a book that was written by an ordinary person. Somebody, just like me, to take me through all the things that must faced as you take on cancer against all the odds. A book to help you keep your head in the right place so that you are the best cancer patient you can be and help everybody else help you. So I wrote it as the book I went looking for myself 10 years earlier, knowing what it would do for me if I found it then. The book also contains a memoir because I felt I had to bring the reader through my life to the point of diagnosis. This, I now realize, was also subconsciously being put in place in case I wasn’t around years later to tell some of those stories to my young family.

What moments that you recorded in the book are your favourites. And why?

With the diagnosis I was given, and especially when the meningitis and deep vein thrombosis during my treatment are taken into account, there would appear to be no logical reason why I did not die in 2002. So without trying to give a glib answer to this question, almost everything has been a favourite and a bonus since then, both little things and big. My first time to walk, talk and eat again were huge events and were all key building blocks in restoring my life back to where it had been before. All family moments in that time are also hugely cherished. My youngest boy, Abe, was just one when I was diagnosed so the likelihood was that we would never really get to know each other.

Pic 19So all of the little landmarks of his life are quietly acknowledged and appreciated by his Dad as events I have been blessed to still be here to see. To run again was also nothing short of miraculous, so my first marathon post-cancer, was an amazing day and an unbelievable testament to the quality of the recovery I had made. My consultant was waiting for me at the finish line and that was a wonderful moment for both of us. But I guess if I was to pick one moment it would be the day I brought personal closure on the ordeal I had been through. The day I went from being a cancer survivor to getting on with the rest of my life.

When my recovery reached a stage where there was no doubt that I had completely rebuilt my life to the one I had known before cancer, I wanted to go somewhere for closure. I wanted to make a journey to somewhere special, the mark the end of the journey itself. That place was to be Medjugorje in Bosnia and Hertzegovina. I knew Medjugorje had a small holy mountain called Krizevac and I was determined to climb that mountain, on my own, as the final act of this amazing cancer survival story. Krizevac, as it turned out, was also about the same height as a mountain beside where I live called Tountinna. Just after I was diagnosed I used Tountinna as a great source of calm and strength when I would run past it daily. Two small mountains, one in Co. Tipperary in Ireland and the other in Bosnia and Herzegovina would now bookend my entire cancer journey. The book outlines in detail the wonderful week I had in Medjugorje and the emotional experience I had climbing Krizevac. Out of nowhere it became like an incredible re-enactment of all I had been through and as I sat on the top of the mountain it was as if I was looking down on my ordeal and all of my life to that point in time.

The remainder of my life would then be waiting for me when I got back down to the bottom. In a book of many favourites and highlights, it was probably the most momentous of all.

You are quite a traveler! What place outside your native Ireland did you most enjoy?

I have only been a good traveller in a very limited part of the globe! I have never been to Africa, Asia, Australia or South America! From the travelling I have done my favourite destinations will always be underdeveloped or so-called, third world countries. If you go to Paris or Italy or even New York tomorrow they all tend to be so well documented you almost know what you are going to see before you get there. The sensation and surprise for the first time visitor is often diluted to some degree as a result.

But if you go to British Guyana or Mozambique or Nepal you will have no idea what to expect unless you undertake extensive research beforehand. Often you will discover that they have sights that are just as impressive as the more well known destinations. What I also like about travelling in these countries is you generally don’t know what you will be doing tomorrow. It will depend on who you meet today and what recommendation they pass on to you. Like minded travellers seem to find each other much easier in these countries and complete strangers can become wonderful travel companions in a matter of hours.

The best part of travel, for me, will always be the people you meet. Long after you forget the sights you will still remember the little old man in the bar who helped you find your accommodation or the family who invited you in for tea when your car broke down. I met some wonderful people travelling in these countries, both fellow tourists and locals, and my two favourites were Guatemala and Turkey.

Pic 2Are there any Irish locations that you would recommend for people contemplating a trip to Ireland?

Not unrelated to my answer above but I always like to see that when visitors come to Ireland they get to see the “real” Ireland. Tourism these days, in many countries, can be over packaged. It can consist of meeting people at an airport with a coach and then shepherding them around for two weeks in hotels that could be anywhere in the world and taking them to places that often the natives wouldn’t dream of going to! In Ireland it is well worth breaking that circle and getting off the beaten track. You will arguably get more dramatic scenery in other European countries and you will certainly get better weather so, for me, the greatest thing about coming to Ireland is the warm, friendly people and our relaxed way of life. If tourists don’t get to connect directly with that, I always feel they have missed out.

A good guide book is essential and I would recommend to anybody coming to Ireland to do their homework, decide exactly what kind of vacation they want to have before they arrive and take control of it themselves. The further west you go the slower and nicer it tends to get. I would recommend basing yourself in one of the smaller pretty towns where you find your feet quickly and get the know the locals. Somewhere like Kinsale, Clonakilty, Dingle, Clifden, Westport or Sligo. I have also been very lucky to have ended up in wonderful, friendly place that I couldn’t recommend highly enough. The twin towns of Ballina and Killaloe are separated by a narrow stone bridge across the river Shannon, on the edge of a beautiful lake and surrounded by mountains. It is a lovely place to live and I wouldn’t pick anywhere else!

Where can readers connect with you and buy your book?

My book is very personable and I have had responses to it from people all around the world so I am delighted when I get the chance with anyone who is going to read it, especially cancer patients. I wrote it, with myself in mind as the reader 12 years ago. Somebody who covers all the things that go through your head as you face into a life threatening cancer diagnosis and tells you what they did to try and ensure the fight is maintained to the very end.

I would be delighted to hear from anybody by email – and my book, Cancer 4, Me 5, is also now available on Amazon.

Do you prefer T.V. or Movies or neither?

I rarely get to the movies these days and really only watch news, sport and an occasional movie on T.V. so I am going to cheat here a little with a compromised answer – movies on T.V.! I have an eclectic collection of favourite movies that I never tire of, including Paris Texas, The Fifth Element and Remember the Titans!

Three places in the world to visit that you haven’t already been to?

From an earlier question I can just put Asia, Africa, South America and Australia! New Zealand appeals to me and I have always liked islands so I would like to go to the Azores and after my experience in Guatemala, anywhere in South America!

Is there a hobby or activity that you never thought you would take up but are growing more interested?

I suppose it has to be writing! I was never destined to write a book until an amazing story started to come my way 12 years ago. The book has been well received and now I get requests to write blogs, newspaper articles and inspirational pieces which I really enjoy. Otherwise I feel fairly well set. I think I have reached that stage of my life where less is more. I have a collection of activities that are precious to me like running, family, work, sport and music and I seem happier to look after them rather than seek out new ones.

Oldest, youngest or middle. Has your place in the family affected your viewpoint?

I am the youngest and only boy in our family and my three sisters will probably correctly concur that as a result, I was spoiled terribly by my wonderful mother. But I hope I emerged from those years to be a good brother to them today. The four of us have always got on very well. I think the youngest child does benefit from older siblings and possibly from a looser parental rein but in the main, I feel the bulk of your personality is the result of your genes rather than your influences.

Quality you most admire in other people and wish you had more of?

I would have given a much different answer to this question 12 years ago. These days I seem to be much more aware of the fragility and brevity of our lives on this planet. I guess it’s part of the makeup of my “second” life. In the end I think very few things will really matter. The little things will be the big things. How you dealt with people every day. Trying to always select the positive, rather than the negative. It won’t matter where you lived, who you knew or what you had. What will matter is what you did.

In the movie Schindler’s List, Oscar Schindler regrets on his deathbed that he didn’t do more. If he was regretting it, then we all will be. So I often wish that I sometimes had better focus to do more of the things that I know are important. Simple things like calling to see somebody. Giving more of my time for something I know is the right thing to do. But we all get sidetracked. We all lead lives that pull us in different directions. I admire people who make up their mind what the right thing to do is and just do it! Without letting any interruptions get in their way.

It’s been so nice having you here, Liam. And readers, don’t forget to check out Liam’s book here!

What Comes After Success and Wealth?

Liam’s 3rd blog for Careers in Government, posted November 2014. It is available at

I really only told half a story in my Life: The End or Just the Beginning? .

“Death” and “What do you think happens next” are located pretty close together in the human brain filing cabinet. You can’t really access one without accidentally opening up the other too. So as soon as I had braved the “You won’t be here next week” door, I was immediately confronted by another.

It said “And where do you think you will be the week after that”!

And where would I be?

Is this it. Am I just to die and get buried and become a meal for the worms. Or will I return in a few days as a tree or a dog or another human being. Or is there a heaven and a hell and if so, which one has been told to get ready for my imminent arrival. The likely possibility of your demise takes you to parts of your mind you rarely visit.

From the earliest days of my life I have observed people with faith. Without analysing the details of what that faith entailed, I thought it was a good thing. I saw older people especially, who had been discarded by both the abilities of their bodies and society in general, derive the strength to keep going through their faith. Their beliefs, even if they turned out to be untrue, were doing them good. Their faith was giving them motivation, when the world that surrounded them no longer could or would.

Faith allows you to tackle anything this world can throw at you because it permits you to remove yourself from the world itself.

Many of my friends do not believe in God. As I looked at what I believed in, I wanted to view it from their perspective. I wanted to keep the argument rational. So I looked at the world and all its wonderful complexities of mountains and oceans and stars and volcanoes. Then I looked at the worlds we know beyond that, the moon, the planets, the sun and faraway galaxies. And pretty soon I came to a very simple, personal conclusion.

We can’t have made all this.

In the vast scale of the universe we inhabit we appear like little ants scurrying around on a daily basis. The best of us make mistakes every day. We get sick. We are not strong. The worst of us commit unimaginable atrocities.

I could see good men persevere through lives of hardship. And bad ones elevated to positions where they could dominate and control and destroy.

I believed there has to be something more.

It seemed just as rational to argue there is something greater as it was to say there is not. If it is crazy to believe in an after-life, it seems to be just as proportionally arrogant to say there isn’t one when the evidence seems to point to far more than we could ever be capable of.

Declaring that man is the be all and end all seemed to me like saying the sun revolves around the earth. That was an absolute for a long time too.

So when I did look, the world that I saw generally fitted in with what I had been brought up to believe. Be a good person. Try and be a better person. Bring as much love and goodness to this world as you can.

Nobody could fault those aspirations, nowhere in the world. If we could all live by them, the world would be a perfect place. But perfection is not for here. They are aspirations rather than absolutes. We are all flawed. The mission appears to be not, not to fail, but to keep trying after you fail. And to try to fail less often. Your conscience is your guide to how hard you have tried. Your faith is your inspiration to try again.

Faith, to me, is a completely personal thing. It is as unique to you as your fingerprints or your personality. You and what you believe in. Religion can be a medium, but your faith is your own. I don’t believe we have each been given a conscience without reason. It is your direct connection to whatever it is that you believe in.

It is also universal. The general principles don’t change. A good person in the city is a good person in the jungle, or in the desert or on the ice caps. And they haven’t changed in 2000 years. A good person then is a good person today. The need the herd us all under different banners, with different rules and regulations, that has occurred in the intervening period, seems to me to have come a lot more from man, than it did from God.

So my faith became an essential part of my fight too. It was one of the few pieces of my armour that could withstand extreme pain, discomfort and despair. And the strongest part to see off even death itself.

It has remained in place as an essential element of my second life. It tries to guide me to do the best I can, as often as I can. It isn’t always successful of course. But the most important thing is that it keeps me trying.

So when the day does come and I get to meet God, or an alien, or a talking spaceship, or just the worms, I will say that the only life I knew was that of a human being. That I looked at the world around me and using the judgement that had been trusted to me I believed there was more to life than wealth and power and impression. That the basic principles of right and wrong are the same for all and known to all. I hope to say that I tried to live my life based on those assessments and tried to make the best decisions I could. I tried to do good rather than bad.

But I will also remind them that I am not God, or an alien, or a robot, or a worm. I am human and therefore I am flawed. So I will have made plenty of mistakes too. But, every time I stumbled, I hope to be able to say it didn’t stop continuing to climb the mountain. If I fell, I got up and carried on. And I resumed knowing the important thing was not how high you were, but how well you had climbed.

What happens next will be up to them………

Life: Is it the end or just the beginning?

Liam’s 2nd piece for Careers in Government, posted October 2014 It is available at

Life.  Is it the end or just the beginning?  I went to a funeral yesterday. I have gone to a lot of funerals over the last 12 years of people who expected to be going to mine. It reminded me again of how we can all be so busy living, we forget about dying.

We want to forget about dying.  But we are all going to die. It is the worst kept secret in the world.

In the middle of my treatment I was asked if I got ready to die. This was done by people who either knew me well enough, or whose curiosity was brave enough.  From my diagnosis, I always knew that if I did survive, I would have come as close to death, as any human being possibly could, without actually dying.

I considered therefore, that I would have been foolish to ignore the possibility of my demise, or pretend it wasn’t going to happen.  It was, after all, the elephant in the room. And the room was very small.

I also knew my fight would only be as strong as its weakest link.  I couldn’t afford to have a chink in my armour. If I did my cancer would find it and devour my resistance through it.  For that to happen I needed to be not afraid to die.  Being not afraid was part of that armour.

So one night, as I lay on my hospital bed, I told myself I would not be here this time next week. How did I feel?  After an initial very deep breath I was amazed at where I was taken from there. It was only when I forced myself to focus on the part of my glass that was half empty did I begin to see what I now recognized as the portion that was half full.

I had lived a wonderful life. At 40, I had reached the top of the hill and was just beginning to go down the other side. I had come from a great family, gone to college, became an architect, married a great woman and lived to see three of my own children come into the world.

Suddenly I began to see the people who hadn’t lived a life anything like I had. The 3 year old diagnosed with leukemia. The 17 year old who comes off a motorcycle. The 20 year old who leaves home, only to never return again.

Then I could see people who would live twice as long as me but who would never have anything like the life I had. The child soldier. The oppressed factory worker. The many people in the world whose entire lives are blighted by illness or violence or poverty. Perspective is the antidote to fear of death. I was now glad that I had lived so well, for so long. I had turned a frightening negative into an immense positive.

I felt I had sat at a poker table with the Grim Reaper that night. I took the aces out of his hand. Now he had nothing on me. My cancer knew everything had changed. If it was going to claim me, it would only be after being dragged, kicking and screaming, down every single road available to me.

Had I not looked at my death, I would not have seen my life. My appreciation of that life meant that if my time had come, I wasn’t afraid to die. If I wasn’t afraid to die, there was nothing I was afraid of. I was indestructible now. My pain threshold went through the ceiling.

I just put all those thoughts away then. I knew they were there. That was all that mattered. I didn’t want them to dilute my fight. I would only return to them when there was only one outcome left. That outcome didn’t come. But they will still be there for me when it eventually does.

We all spend too much of our lives inhibited by fear. Fear of being different. Fear of saying the wrong thing. Fear of what others will think. Fear of dying. Fear often clogs up the lives we should let ourselves lead. It blinds us as to how beautiful and precious life IS, not can be. If we all dealt with the fear that one day we will die and put it away we would be amazed at what it would do. It would stop letting negatives dictate to us. It would free us to value and appreciate and do things differently. It would make us strong.

I wouldn’t be here without it. By not being afraid to die, I lived.