‘Look for Mummy in the stars, I’ll be there Freddie,’ Rachael Bland tells son, 3

RACHAEL Bland knew she was dying.

But in her last months, the 40-year-old was determined. The BBC presenter was determined to make sure her memory will live on for her son, Freddie, three.

Her book, For Freddie, is part of the legacy she leaves him, her life story in her own words, and advice only a mum can give her child.

Here we share an exclusive extract of the book, which Rachael continued writing up until she died on September 5, 11 days before Freddie's third birthday and two years after she was diagnosed with breast cancer.

My beautiful son. I so wish that I didn’t have to leave you now.

I’m sure people will say I "lost my battle with cancer". I didn’t lose anything.

From the outset it was not a fair fight with this cancer. My cancer was too big and too aggressive and we didn’t begin on a level playing field.

You were fourteen months old and at the very start I was so full of fierce intention that we could get past this.

I would lay you in your cot each night and communicate from my mind to yours, "I will do this, Freddie, I will take whatever they have to throw at me and I will take it gladly if it means we can still stay together".

Then as you grew and began to talk and interact more, that unspoken mantra became a more vocal one and I would hug you and squeeze you every night, promising you out loud for the universe to hear that I would do this for us.

And I NEVER stopped trying, not for a moment.

I’ve already told you about checking up to the stars which Mummy loves and looking for Mummy there

Look around you for the true beauty in the natural world.

I’ve already told you about checking up to the stars which Mummy loves and looking for Mummy there.

Give back to the people who give to you, look for those who may need your help – give without expecting back.

Life can be short or long – every second is precious so make it count.

Be kind. Be good. Be strong. Be true, my Freddie.

I know you have the most wonderful life ahead of you.

And know through it all that your mummy loves you with every last tiny piece of her heart.

I hope I have left enough of those fragments there for you to feel me with you everywhere you go.

You will always be the most special of boys – we remain the Three Best Friends wherever I am in the ether. All my love to you always.

The cancer I had was a tricky kind, and that’s just the luck of the cancer lottery Fred.

You never know what your numbers are going to be.

With more research into genetics and cancer one day doctors will be able to predict your numbers a lot better and more people will make a full recovery more quickly. And that is really good news.

You are so young, and I know you will want your mummy for a long time to come.

The thought that you have to grow up without me there to cuddle you when you’re sick, had a bad dream, or just want your mummy is too much to bear. It’s just not fair.

And Freddie, you are so cool and so much fun, I am so annoyed I have to miss out on all the fun times ahead with you!

It was you and Daddy who kept me strong throughout all of this, and I will be with you always to give you the strength that you need through any tough times.

Your daddy and I said we would leave no stone unturned in the search to fix this cancer and we didn’t. We kept across all of what was going on in my treatment.

But when I said this was no fair fight I wasn’t in jest: Grade 3 – the highest in terms of cells growing and dividing.

Life can be short or long – every second is precious so make it count. Be kind. Be good. Be strong. Be true, my Freddie

Stage 3 – as high as it can get without technically becoming metastatic.

Triple-negative breast cancer – so no conventional post-treatment drugs like your hormonally driven Herceptin and Tamoxifen.

When my treatment "finished" it never really did.

I never got months of time off thinking I was in remission.

I knew there were always some nasty little cells lurking about in there waiting to catch me out again.

But I thought I was ready to catch them out.

But the last moment came when the grim-faced oncologist delivered the very grimmest of news, a job I did not envy him one bit.

Dr Sacha Howell had a long history at The Christie in Manchester – his father before him had worked in the research department – and you know if this man is telling you there’s nothing more they can do then he isn’t joking.

But the real blow came when I asked, "How long?" – something I’d been reluctant to put a number on before – and the answer came back "Days …possibly weeks".

That is such a shock – one that as I write this, we’ve not quite dealt with yet.

Steve says that’s all he keeps hearing going around in his head.

We thought we were quite up on our "death admin" but suddenly pensions needed forms, 'i’s needed dotting and ‘t’s crossing, and most of all I wanted to finish this book for you, my darling.

That’s the most important part.

I hope you can pick up on all that advice that I’ve dropped throughout this book.

It was relatively late in life that your daddy and I crossed paths – we both agreed that we wished we’d met sooner and spent more of our formative years together, but sometimes you have to wait for the best things in life.

And every moment, every second of our meeting and what followed I believe was mapped out to lead us to have you… our beautiful, perfect, fun-loving Fred.

You love to have your arms tickled as you go to sleep.

Now that your speech is so good you’ll ask me, "Will you tickle my arms, Mummy?" and if I try to stop you’ll grab my hand and put it back on your palm for more tickles.

These are the times I love most at the moment, where we are snuggled up on the giant bed with you about to go off to sleep and I can comfort you.

Rachael tells Freddie: 'When you can, picture Mummy laying face-to-face with you on the bed, tickling your arms and telling you how very very much I love you'
I keep telling you how very much I love you in the hope you might retain some memories of this as you grow up.

You keep telling me how much you miss me, like you know what’s coming.

But of course you can’t know.

It’s just a lovely little thing you do at the moment.

So when you can, try and delve back into your memories, Freddie, and picture Mummy laying face-to-face with you on the bed, tickling your arms and telling you how very very much I love you.

Always have and always will.