Where it all began
I never for a moment thought I’d have to write about a journey from cancer to saying goodbye but here we are.
Just like that, all those plans that you have made vanish. Some may say that life gets in the way but that makes it sound like an inconvenience.
Life should never be seen like this. Summer 2018 had shown me this in a way I wish it hadn’t. In a way so painful that it is not fair.
As I took that call from my Mum, I think I already knew what she was going to say. I don’t know why but I can remember saying to her at the time that I knew she had cancer.
In fact I’d had a conversation that morning with my friend. I’d said to her then that I felt that Mum was ill, really ill. I even mentioned the C word to her, convinced that that was the news awaiting us.
Now I’d usually be the queen of positivity but it just felt all wrong.
How bad news really feels
It hit like a train, I didn’t think that was actually a ‘thing’ but believe me it very much is.
It’s a train that is showing no signs of slowing down. It just hits you over and over again until you feel like you can’t breathe. You can feel the world around you slowing to a stop. And right now, in this moment, you know that life will never quite be the same again.
No matter what the outcome turns out to be.
Mum and Dad came over that day to see us, we didn’t tell F, just left him to play. We talked about it a little bit, I called my Brother and Mum contacted one of her sisters.
We almost made light of it, joked about her wearing a wig and that sort of thing. Just for a minute you tell yourself that it’ll all be OK because she is here and not unwell, it can’t be right.
But I remember that she only had the scan 4 hours ago, and they’d been able to confirm the worst almost immediately. So sure in fact they put her back in for a second look.
Waiting
And this is how you spend the next few weeks, waiting and hoping and then feeling nothing but despair.
Life kind of continues as normal, but it is always there, niggling at you.
I speak to Mum daily to check if she’s heard anything. See if she is feeling anything she didn’t feel before, maybe if she doesn’t then it can’t be true.
Waiting for more news is terrible, you’re given a rough ‘You’ll be seen in a week’ and 2 weeks later the wait continues.
Is the wait over?
We were away camping when Mum finally saw a consultant. They were unable to tell her much without the obvious biopsy. So we begin the next long wait.
We’d only been away for 5 days but we visited Mum when we got back and she’d clearly lost weight. She was really beginning to look as ill as we feared she was.
Her spirits were up though and it was lovely to sit and talk to her while the men all disappeared to the pub.
Now she was not able to hide from the pain and discomfort. Watching her struggle to even sit up straight in her chair was not nice to see.
You wish with everything you have to be able to take the pain away.
A few days and a few falls later and Mum is in hospital. A sense of relief falls over you. Surely that means that you’ll start getting some much needed answers.
Days turn in to a week which turns in to two and you feel no closer.
But you visit every day, sometimes driving to collect Dad and then back to the hospital and back to drop Dad before going home.
I felt like I needed to be a superhero to keep going.
There are times I’ve driven down the M6 and had no recollection of doing so.
I’d go to work, race home, go for a visit, race home and so it continues. But you do it because you want to. I wanted to see her every day and you keep going because what she is going through is so much bigger than you.
The thoughts and worries don’t actually go away, but you do begin to think that she will be OK. Because surely if she wasn’t they’d be doing something by now right?
Finding small moments of relief
Eventually the biopsy took place and Mum was finally home after the best part of a month. The waiting continued though and it seemed to have no end.
Life slowed down a little though in this time and we could all breathe a little easier. Mum was home, she was comfortable in her home if not in her body. She had a hospital bed and chairs to help her move around.
Dad was playing the superhero with such finesse that it put iron man to shame. He looked after her with such love and compassion, nothing was too much for him. He cooked and cleaned, made soup, did the shopping, he was a thoroughly modern man! I was in awe of the way he dealt with it all and remained his usual chipper self. I’m not sure I’d of coped so well.
Anger grows
In herself Mum had her good and bad days. She never showed any anger towards the waiting, the same can’t be said for me I’m afraid. Sometimes it was an overwhelming rage.
I hated the fact that Mum had just become a number, She is not a number, she is my Mum. The logical part of my brain tells me that this is how it is and we can’t change it so we wait.
Reasons to celebrate
Our birthdays soon arrived and it certainly didn’t feel like a time to celebrate.
I had arranged for a wedding dress shop to bring some dresses to Mum’s house. This she could help me choose between them.
I knew how important it was to her that she was part of this process and it meant the world to me that she was able to see this and know that I was engaged.
It was a difficult day, despite the happy moment of saying yes to the dress. It was what no one said that hung in the air.
Knowing that this might be the only time my Mum got to see me in a wedding dress was utterly heart-breaking, and I can’t say that this thought ever left my mind, and in fact it’s very much still there now.
Sometimes I think about how hard it will be to put that dress on, tainted almost. But then I remind myself just how special it was to have Mum’s approval of something so hugely important to us both.
Accepting the need for help
The other hugely noticeable thing was how much Mum appeared to be struggling now, Her speech was slow and appeared difficult.
She was eating even less than previous, less than half a meal a day and she was beginning to need more and more sleep.
It was clear that something needed to happen. She couldn’t be left like this. Over the next few days Mum really took a turn for the worse.
I’d seen her on Sunday and by Tuesday the change was obvious. She was now struggling to be awake, her hands were unable to hold on to things like her phone or a drink and she seemed to be becoming a little confused and disorientated.
Macmillan nurses had been helping Mum and Dad for a while now, they’d been in to see them at home and at the hospital and were a huge help in getting Mum the things she needed to be able to come home and be comfortable.
So when they came in again after our birthday weekend and on seeing Mum decided that it would be worth admitting her to Myton Hospice we were on-board.
They suggested that Mum just needed a week, it would offer some respite for Dad and would allow the hospice to make some changes to Mum’s medication which they hoped would make her more comfortable but also improve some of the symptoms she was experiencing.
When the journey to goodbye really begins
It wasn’t until she was taken in on Thursday 26thJuly that I realised what was actually happening. A hospice as far as I was aware is where people go to die. How could we be sending her here? Were we admitting defeat, giving up?
That is certainly how it felt. But again you give yourself a good talking to and realise that this is the best thing for Mum and they’ve said a week so that’s what it’ll be. Plus she’d fallen again at home this morning so this was safer.
We saw Mum at the hospice the following day, Dad, Finley and I. It was a place where we instantly felt at home, it was cosy and the staff were all friendly. They were very honest and open and were horrified to hear that Mum had yet to even see a consultant about any results or the next steps.
They also seemed to agree that once her medication was sorted, she’d be able to come home. So I certainly began to feel that this was a good move for Mum and for us all.
Those early days
Those first few days were difficult, Mum was so upset and disorientated. I found it very hard to watch her like this, but I told myself it would pass, it was temporary. This was just short term. But it made it no easier, watching her shout out in her sleep, calling out to people who were not there and gasping for breath.
It was that first day where I had the most clear ‘vision’. I’ve not talked about this too much but as I was standing over Mum about to say goodbye for the day, someone walked in the room and stood next to me.
Now there was no one there, but it was as clear as day. I could not see the person but their presence was overwhelming. There was no fear , in fact I really didn’t feel anything. Surely it was my imagination and that was that. Until Mum suddenly took notice and began talking to this ‘person’ next to me.
What she said made no sense at all but the recognition on her face told me all I needed to know to confirm that I was not imagining this in anyway. She might have been away with the fairies temporarily but she certainly knew who she was talking to and seemed to take some comfort from this.
Hospice life
Just a few days later and Mum was back, she was brighter, had the full use of her hands back and was eating slightly more. The hospice had been fantastic with Mum but with us as well. She had a stream of visitors and F and I visited daily and it fast became a home away from home. F had won over all the staff and volunteers and often earnt himself a cheeky little biscuit or 2!
The staff had chased up Mum’s results and arranged for us to meet with a consultant on her behalf. We hoped we’d finally get some answers. Once again though we hit a brick wall. As Mum could not attend he really couldn’t tell us very much.
Another appointment was scheduled a few days later with the oncologist. Myton agreed that Mum was not well enough to attend but wrote to the consultant giving permission from them and Mum for us to attend.
Getting Answers
On the day, we spoke to Mum to see what she’d like us to ask, and as determined as ever, Mum wrote her own lists of questions to ask. The consultant was helpful and at least gave us some answers to some of our questions. It is just a shame they were not the ones we were hoping for.
The scan was the first thing he showed us, even to my untrained eye the tumour was obvious. It was at this point he explained there was no treatment that could be done, although he said that if Mum was strong enough he could do a course of radiotherapy but this would be for pain management only.
That afternoon the consultant met with Mum at Myton and spent a lot of time with her going over the results. He was extremely patient with Mum and between him and Myton they promised that they would manage her pain levels better.
Facing reality
It was on this day that a nurse from Myton took me to one side and told me that if Rob and I were serious about having a wedding style blessing with Mum there we needed to do it that week as they were no longer sure she’d be with us within the week.
Now you feel like this news should floor you, but you nod and say ‘yep ok’ and get on with your day.
I don’t know if this is because you think it must be utter nonsense, or if maybe acknowledging it means it is more likely to be true.
Maybe it is just a case that you have to carry on regardless of what they tell you because you are fighting every single day already to just get through.
Who knows what it is but I just had to keep on, make a plan, get busy. And that’s what I did.
By the following day the wedding blessing was all organised for the Thursday. I’d made no mention of this to Mum until the plan was in place.
Part of me worried about her reaction. Would she feel like we’d given up, that there was no hope for her?
I was so relieved when Mum seemed to be genuinely excited, but I am under no illusion that this was mainly thanks to a surprise visit from her Sister from New Zealand!
Special touches
Mum had arranged with the team at Myton to have a bath, not just any bath but a fancy Jacuzzi style bath and to have her nails done in preparation!
We’d had orders for which top she wanted to wear and she needed her Dior perfume. She was so chatty and bright all day, it will be a day I remember fondly.
I was in Liverpool for the day with F and Rob and spent most of the day chatting via text to Mum. Her messages made sense and it had been a while since I could say that. She was happy and breezy and just like my Mum, I was so happy.
Wedding Blessing
The following day we celebrated our wedding blessing with my parents, Robs, the children and 2 of my Aunties.
Mum looked glowing, I even thought she was wearing a little make up and anyone who knew my Mum would tell you that she never wore make up! But it was just in fact a natural glow, it made the day even more special.
I had vowed that I would not cry, mainly because I’d paid good money for the make up I was wearing that day but also because I’d done enough of that. I didn’t want to remember any part of that day for sadness at all.
So even when I felt overwhelmed with love for Rob, I couldn’t falter, this was A NO CRY DAY!
It was a beautiful day, I am so glad we did it. I am so pleased that my parents were able to meet Robs, I am so glad that Mum was alert and able to enjoy herself and it could not have been more perfect.
Back with a bump
Still in my lovely love bubble the following day I couldn’t wait to see Mum. We spent the morning chatting as if there was not a thing wrong with her.
We were together for a good few hours before she began to struggle. I watched the colour drain from her face and her eyes get heavier and heavier.
By the time Dad and Catherine arrived Mum could barely stay awake to say hello. They almost didn’t believe that she’d been so bright that morning, but I know she was and right now that was the best feeling in the world.
It was enough to make me forget all the shit and just enjoy my Mum again. To feel like for a moment I didn’t have to worry anymore, she was still very much with us and that is where she would stay.
In that moment, there was not a single part of me that didn’t believe that 100%!
Another Monday warning
Another Monday rolled round and another nurse is telling me to prepare for the worst this week. I wondered how many more times I’d have to listen to those words.
How many more times I’d have to tell the family this before it became a reality. Or do I just ignore it because they’ve said it before and we are still here, Mum is still holding on.
In reality she was fading. She wasn’t awake much now and when she was she was finding it difficult to talk.
Her food intake was down to nothing at all and even drinking was becoming more and more difficult for her.
Why can’t they help?
We questioned the Doctors as to why they weren’t putting her on a drip, why they weren’t feeding her. They explained that it would not help and could in fact make her feel worse.
If they gave her fluids that fluid could build up where it shouldn’t because her poor body currently doesn’t know what to do with it and the same with food. Her body would hold on to it rather than absorbing it.
The body is kind to us in these late stages the Doctor tells us, it stops feeling thirst or hunger because it doesn’t need either of those things.
I almost want to laugh at this, what part of this is kind? No part of this whole process has been kind.
How can this happen?
We discussed with the Doctor our concerns about how this could have taken so long to diagnose. The consultant said the bone cancer Mum had was secondary to Kidney cancer Mum had removed and needed no further treatment on in 2012.
This meant that for 6 years this cancer had been growing and causing difficulties for Mum.
I can’t remember a time now where she didn’t struggle to walk and move around. She has been using a walking stick for many years and it was a contributing factor in her taking early retirement.
The difficulty she had walking put pressure on her heart and caused this to be an ongoing issue.
Over the last 5 or 6 years she’d had various appointments, scans, x-rays, MRI’s and even a few diagnoses and some treatment.
There was even talk of a hip replacement when she was a little older as well.
6 years
So in all this time and all these specialists and appointments how can this possibly be missed? I feel like I need to know why.
We felt as though we’d been robbed of time with Mum, time for her to have treatment and fight this. I told myself a lot at the time that actually we have had 5 or 6 years that maybe we wouldn’t have done, that her body has been fighting this for a long time.
She had fought to walk, and fought to keep going every single day with no idea what was really going on.
It was clear to us all that this week was not going to be kind to Mum. You could no longer communicate for long periods with her and sometimes she was not aware that you were there, who had been or who was coming to visit.
It’s OK to not be OK
The Wednesday night was one that will stay with me forever. Now I think about it, it was the first time I’d let Mum see how broken I was.
I’d spent so long pretending this wasn’t really happening, so long trying to remain positive and strong for her.
The last thing she needed was to know how I felt as it wasn’t about me. This was about her and how she felt.
And while she was struggling to stay upbeat, I felt I had to do that for her. I had to keep my emotions in, at least until I was in the car, or at home because she didn’t need to see it.
But that day I couldn’t anymore. Maybe it was because I had friends with me rather than family and I didn’t feel the need to stay strong for them like I did for everyone else.
I lay my head on Mum and cried and told her how much I loved her and that I knew she had to go. Told her it was time, I told her to go to sleep. She told me she loved me, it was clear as day.
But those were the last words she spoke to me. Which is of comfort to me but also absolutely breaks me.
Even writing this (And again when I re-write this!) I’m in absolute pieces.
Having that moment with her, I see now that it was important for her to know just how special she was to me and that more than anything in the world I loved her with everything I had.
Any day now…
We were all there every day now. Another Monday arrived and I felt like we’d won. Those nurses had been wrong every time they’d said to prepare for the worst. I felt like sticking to fingers up at them and telling them they were wrong!
We spoke with her Doctors who said ‘Anytime now’ but that didn’t really mean much, we’d heard it before.
I’d even said to Rob and some friends that day, that I though it would be weeks yet.
I’d even dared to say that ‘you wouldn’t put a dog through this, its not fair on her’ on more than one occasion and I swear I’d do anything to take that back now, as if taking it back would suddenly change the outcome.
Goodbye
Tuesday 21st August 6.50am, even when my phone rang at that time in the morning I didn’t really think this could be it.
I arranged for the girls to be collected by their Grandparents and hurried F to get dressed so we could head to the hospice.
I packed a bag with anything I could find at that bleary eyed time of the day. Boxes of lego, reading book, Crisps, biscuits and drinks. That’ll do for now. We’d have loads of time to fill today.
Rob was away with work but it was fine because I’d find someone who could collect F later.
I knew I wouldn’t be leaving the hospice any time soon and that was fine as I was right where I wanted and needed to be.
I wasn’t going anywhere, I’d be there to see my Mum take her last breathe if that was what was going to happen. Not that I’d really thought this was about to happen.
The world just stops
When I saw Dad rushing towards me as I go to sign in at the hospice and he says those words ‘She’s gone’, the world stopped.
I could feel it stop, I felt everything in that moment change forever. F seemed to have no idea what had just happened so I told him, I could see his little heart break and he cried, it was just for a moment though.
I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with this information, how was I supposed to process it? I just had an overwhelming need to see her, I had to be with her.
At peace
Now you hear people say it all the time ‘They looked so peaceful’ and I’ll be honest I always thought it was a crock!
She did look peaceful, it’s more than just asleep though and it was clear she was gone no matter how much I wanted this not to be true.
As I sat beside her and cried, I begged for her to come back to us. Told her I was wrong, I wasn’t ready for her to go so she just needed to come back to us.
I spent time with her before ringing my Brother and Rob. And then contacted some of my friends, Mum’s sisters were there and notifying family, I even called the registry office while Dad called some of their friends.
We all spent some time with Mum both alone and together.
Natural unnatural
F was kept busy while we were in there. He’d decided that we needed to remain positive as that is what Nanny would want. With Auntie Catherine’s help wrote a list of the things he loved about his Nanny, the things he enjoyed to do with her.
He then joined us all in Mum’s room and read through his list. Together we came up with some more things to add to it.
It felt like the most natural unnatural thing in the world, all sitting around Mum lying so peacefully. You could almost forget for a moment.
Continued respect
Eventually Myton said they needed to move Mum. Well I didn’t want them to move her, I didn’t want to leave her here.
But I knew of course that I had to, I just wasn’t ready to go yet. They allowed us some more time but eventually we took to the family room so they could do the necessary.
Even now the staff treated her with such dignity and respect. She had a blanket and pillow with her that we wanted to keep hold of as they’d been made for her.
I went through with the nurse to collect them and she spoke to Mum and told her she was just going to take them from her but that they’d get her another blanket to keep her warm.
I was so pleased to have witnessed that, I needed to know that she was going to be well taken care of. They cleaned Mum and eventually moved her, I wanted to see her go, be with her on this journey but I know for the family it was too much.
I honestly could have stayed with her, got in to the bed with her and held her forever and I’d never really understood it when people chose to spend time with their loved ones after they’d past.
But it felt like the most natural thing in the world being with her and it felt like that was it now. No more time with my beautiful Mum.
The nurse bought through the top Mum was wearing for us to take home and wash. I could smell my Mum on that top and could for a week or so after, I slept in it that night and it remains in my pillow case unwashed and will stay there. It bought me some real comfort over the first few days.
What next?
We left Myton all together that day and went for lunch. It almost didn’t feel like the right thing to do but in all honesty, we weren’t really sure what we were supposed to do.
The restaurant was really busy, the staff were running around like mad things and everyone was chatting away as if nothing had happened this morning.
Other people’s reaction
My world had stopped turning and not a single person seemed to care. The birds still sang and the sun still shone, people were doing their shopping or going to work and carrying on as if nothing had happened.
How can life carry on around us when the world was stood still? I could not understand that, didn’t want to.
I had to remind myself every second that she was my Mum. These people didn’t even know her so why would they feel like I do, why shouldn’t they laugh and joke and chat as if nothing happened when in fact it is just another Tuesday to them!
Going home
We went home and Catherine and F kept busy cooking while Dad and I let people know what had happened.
Immediately it felt strange thinking about the fact that she would never come back home again.
The phone seemed to constantly ring. Everyone saying such lovely things about Mum and how sorry they are and it genuinely helps. I wanted to know that people were feeling it like I was, that I wasn’t alone.
It was comforting to hear these things from people. I knew how amazing she was and I am glad other people knew that as well.
Difficult conversations
But then a really tough call came in, It was from the organ donor department.
We knew it was coming. It is not an ideal conversation to be having just a few hours after you’ve said goodbye. We were glad we knew what she wanted.
I’m pleased to say that Mum was able to donate her eyes. I just hope they can be of use to someone soon.
The days that follow
You kind of hit autopilot and just cruise along. Each day becomes about just getting through.
You keep busy in the hope this will help. To an extent it does but at times it feels like you are just putting off the pain you feel.
I stayed positive for Dad, and F bounced around trying to keep us all smiling. And now I come to recall this time, I find it very difficult to remember what happened.
Time passing
The day Mum died is etched in my mind. In such scarily clear clarity. Everything else is just a block of time.
I know we visited the funeral home. We registered her death, and collected some of her belongings from Myton hospice. I even went away to Centre Parcs for a week.
But all of that just seemed like more waiting to me. Just as we had been waiting since May.
I struggled so much to process what was going on. Even now, I can’t quite accept that she has really gone.
I play the last few days out over and over. Wonder if I should have said this, or if I should have done that. Questions if I should not have gone home. Or maybe I should have asked Rob to come back from his work trip.
There are an awful lot of shoulda woulda coulda’s during that time and maybe they’ll always be there.
How does it feel?
Losing a parent is like losing a part of you.
My Mum was the core, everything I did was with her blessing. It was her I’d seek comfort from. Go to for advice on the most important and the most sublime of things in life.
Her approval meant more to me than any other and to think that was gone, just like that was too hard to process.
Soon you’re sick of crying, sick of saying sorry to whoever is with you when the tears start to flow. But so sick of trying to hold it in.
Shutting down
You’re aware that you are shutting down a little bit. Maybe pushing people away. Bottling up those tears or being less patient than you normally would but it feels like it is beyond your control.
You wake up in the morning and you already feel tired. Going through the motions, stick to a routine and plod on.
Some days it seems a little easier and other days 10 times harder. Sometimes you find a reason to laugh or to smile. So a little part of you tells you ‘Stop doing that, you’re supposed to be sad’.
As if smiling or laughing or having any kind of fun means that you can’t be grieving.
People are great
And everyone is great, really great. Friends call and text even if you don’t pick up. Rob was still there each day despite how shut off I was and F was still remaining positive.
Family still support you through their own grief and words of kindness drop through the door every day.
Despite all that you still want to fall apart, tell the world to leave you alone, but you don’t. You get up and get on.
Planning a funeral
Then you plan the funeral, and you have to be quite mechanical about it. The minute you let any emotion in, its game over.
You choose music. Although Mum had given us some ideas, we wanted something significant to us, those left behind. Something that came close to telling the world how we felt through music.
We wrote the eulogy, and it’s then you realise that you needed more time with Mum. Time so you could ask her more about her childhood and growing up. Talk about college and how she felt about Dad and getting married. Find out what it was really like to be our Mum.
But it’s too late. Until they are no longer here you don’t realise just how much more you want to know about them.
Somehow it comes together and you finally understand how final this act is.
More waiting
The wait continues, a week of waiting for the day to arrive. You wait because people tell you it’ll feel easier after the funeral, so you hold on to that.
Hope that they are right because you can’t cope with this feeling anymore.
During this time I began a journal. It was somewhere I could write to Mum and tell her how I was feeling. I’d talk to her and hopefully eventually share the good as well as the bad. I found it really helpful putting pen to paper. It was our place.
I’d beg her to come back to us, tell her how much I loved her and share the journey we were on without her. Even now I try to write to her once a week at least.
Feeling lost
In this week I found myself doing things but having no recollection of doing them. Driving to places and not remembering the journey, talking to people and having no idea what we’d talked about.
I’d take F to school and then come home and forget where he was.
I’d go to the gym but old ladies were talking about going to see their Mum’s. The selfish part of grief makes you think ‘why do they have their Mum at their age and I don’t?’
Then I’d feel guilty even thinking like that. I’ve never really experienced guilt in any form, but my god now it was overwhelming.
I felt guilty for being sad, guilty for being happy, guilty for crying but guilty for not crying.
I’d feel guilty for not doing something round the house. Guilt when I couldn’t face normal things. I would feel guilty about letting people down and about not being able to manage work.
There were times where I felt guilty about being alive!
Nothing but time seemed to bring an end to those feelings.
Chapel of rest
We’d decided to go and see Mum on the Friday before the funeral.
It was something I vowed I’d never do. But faced with it I had to go, I needed to see her face one more time.
Needed to say goodbye to her properly.
I’d been told to expect the worst so I think I was surprised to find it easier than I expected. But I knew immediately that Mum wasn’t there anymore, she didn’t look peaceful, she looked uncomfortable.
I just needed to go. The funeral home came in and re-positioned Mum and I went back to say my goodbyes. This time she did look peaceful and I left there feeling like I’d done what I came to do. I now felt a little more ready to face the funeral.
The final goodbye
Now I’ve heard people describe funerals as being a beautiful send off. I just thought they were being nice, but Mum’s really was beautiful.
She had such a huge turn out. Although as we followed Mum in I didn’t notice anyone except for my friends husband weirdly.
I could not have told you who was there and who wasn’t. It was only when we sat down that I was even aware of my family sat behind us.
Letting go
I held on to my Dad as if my life depended on it and held F while he sobbed. It was a relief to see him finally cry, it worried me how OK he was being.
The service went so quickly, hearing the eulogy bought to life by the celebrant and hearing people cry and laugh along with us bought it to life.
I cried so much that day that it hurt, but the wake bought some happier moments.
A time to talk and share stories and meet some of Mums old school friends and work colleagues. Time for family to laugh and love.
As funerals go we could not have asked for more. I think Mum would have been happy to.
The Healing process
Now it feels like the healing process has to start. There are calls to make, things to organise and people to notify.
It keeps me occupied and my mind busy which is no bad thing. But inside I still feel like the world is not turning as it was before.
I begin to smile a bit more and ache a little less on the good days. The bad days remain as hard.
Some days I smile because I feel like that’s what’s expected of me. I feel like it’s the only way to make it through the darkness.
Missing you
So many things I want to tell her, conversations I could have ever day.
There are times where all I want to do is call. I’d even be happy to go to Myton every day again if it meant I could see her again, even just for a minute.
I miss her smile and laugh, those blue eyes and I realise that I took all those things for granted. I never really took the time to appreciate all the wonderful things that made her special.
The pain
And it breaks my heart still, each day. Most days I don’t cry. Others it’s unstoppable, and if I can hold it in, in bubbles under the surface until I let myself go.
It’s made me realise that it is OK to feel sad, it’s OK to breakdown and not be OK.
I just have to take each day as it comes and lean on those around me. I need to allow myself time to grieve and learn how to live without you.
Family Focus
It made me realise how important family is. How I need to take more time for all my family, Rob, F and the girls and my Dad.
I need to talk to them more about how they are feeling. Ask them what they want in the future and have some of those really difficult conversations.
It’s not an easy thing to discuss but we didn’t have that chance with Mum and I now know how important it is to know these things.
I want to spend more time making memories and documenting family life. Mum would be happy to know that I’ve been able to find some sort of lesson in all of this crappiness!!!
Thank you
I want to thank all the amazing people I have in my life. I’m sure I’d not be getting through any of this without you all.
Even now as I edit this post, some 15 months later I’m very aware that I am at the beginning of the grieving process.
Never will I be the person I was before. But I hope that once I learn to live this new life, I’ll find a way of accepting that you’re not here anymore.
Oh my goodness, thank you for sharing your journey. I know it must have been painful to write as I teared up reading parts of it myself. I lost my husband 8 months ago and felt everything you felt. The guilt, oh my, the guilt, over everything! I had no idea about the guilt. The happiness, the sadness, the blur or fog I call it. I’m so glad you were able to get married with her in attendance! My husband was able to walk our daughter down the aisle with assistance but he did it. And the tears, lots and lots of tears. I really needed to read this today and know someone understood what I was going through. I’m sorry for the loss of your Mum. Many hugs
Oh Wanda, thank you so much for reading.
I am truly sorry for your loss, I completely understand the pain you feel. Sending love x x
I’m sorry that you had to experience the loss that comes with a journey like this. I, too, have lost loved ones to cancer and know how incredibly difficult it is to watch as their health fails – that one vibrant and full of life individual suddenly needing help with the most basic of functions. It’s heartbreaking. Thank you for being so vulnerable and sharing your story.
Thank you so much Britt. It is so incredibly hard to watch those we love suffer x
Oh goodness what a sad journey for you. So sad to read and I am so sorry for the loss of your Mum. I can’t imagine the time you had to watch her and want to help. Also I really admire you carrying on for you family. I hope writing this was a little helpful for you too.
Thank you so much Sarah. It is a terribly hard time but writing has certainly helped x
I’m so sorry for all of these experiences – it is beyond difficult and something that stays with you forever. I have had a similar experience and it is heartbreaking – sending you a big hug 🙂
Thank you so much. It is not an easy road to travel x x
I lost my mother in 2010. While she passed from a pneumonia induced heart attack, her heart and lungs were weakened from surviving Oesophageal cancer years earlier. It really does hit you like tonne of bricks. So sorry for your loss. While time doesn’t heal it does make it easier xx
Thank you so much. I am so sorry for your loss x x x
You are incredibly brave and I was in tears reading this. It’s clear how much you love and miss your mum. I hate cancer it’s robbed so many of my families lives. Sending you so much love and strength xxxx
Thank you so much for your kind words Laura. Cancer really does suck!
I am so sorry for your loss. It was heart breaking to read your journey through to the end. I hope in some small way it helped to write about it.
It really has helped, thank you so much for reading x x
I am so sorry for your loss. Reading your journey through this brought so many emotions to the surface for me as well. So many are directly effected by Cancer. It seems everyone really. My father passed in 1999 when I was 17 years young. It was so difficult and honestly still is. It took me many years to have a memory of him where he did not look weak, sick and grey. I am now able to remember who he was before Cancer took him. I wish you all the healing in the world.
Thank you so much Jody. I am so sorry that you have been on this horrible journey as well. It is just the worst feeling in the world x x
I am so sorry for your loss, I think your story will hit everyone who reads this having experienced similar. It was incredibly brave to pour your heart out and write about it which in turn I hope helps others and has been theraputic to you x
Thank you so much Samantha, it is hard to write but to see it so well received really makes it worth while. I have had some wonderful messages from people who have taken comfort from it x
I am so sorry for your loss. But thank you for sharing your story. I lost my mom to colon cancer. It was so difficult to watch her decline. But, yes, she was peaceful at the end. After going through that, I developed breast cancer myself. After processing that fact for myself, my biggest worry was how it would affect my family; my girls. It is comforting to read through your story and know they will be okay. I’m not ready to go yet. I’m fighting with all I have. So far so good. It seems childish to say this, but it is so appropriate… Cancer Sucks!
Thank you so much Patricia. I am so truly sorry that you are going through this yourself. Cancer does SUCK! there is no better description of it. Keep fighting, sending so much love x x
Gosh Claire, what a post. You know already how much I admire you for writing about this so eloquently and honestly and this post was no different. It’s very obvious from this that both you and F have inherited your Dad’s strength. What F did in the hospice is beautiful – I’m sure you’re extremely proud of him.
After what we went through with my Granddad last year, I can certainly relate to a lot of what you’ve said here. However my Granddad wasn’t given the dignity and grace that you Mum had at the hospice (as he never made it to the hospice and had to deal with the district nurses instead) so it makes me happy knowing how incredible hospices can be – in case I ever need to look into one in the future for any reason.
Your Mum would be so damn proud of you xxxxxx
Thank you so much Jenny. You know how much I value your opinion. Its such a hard subject matter but every time I write about her, I am blown away by the response from people.
The irony is she’d probably kill me, she was so private about everything. But if my journey can help or inspire someone or show them they are not alone then I’d hope she’d see the positive in it x
This story resonates on many levels. from my mother having cancer to the passing of my mother-in-law & father-in-law. The grieving stage is so hard but so important to go through, I hope your journal and this process has been helpful, and you’ve found a community of support!
Thank you Julie Ann. It has really helped me to know I am so far from alone x x
I am so sorry to read this. It’s incredibly brave of you to share your story of your wonderful mum.
A family were once in the devastating position you were in when they made the courageous decision to donate their son’s heart to my husband so that our children could grow up with their daddy around.
I know your mum’s donation will have been received with such gratitude and love.
Sending you love and strength xx
Oh Jayne how incredibly sad but also so wonderful for you family. I am so pleased your husband was given that chance x
This was really hard to read because it reminded me of my grandma. She went in 9 days… only 9 days since the diagnostic… it was and it still is very painful to think about it.
Oh Joanna, I am so sorry. Life can be so incredibly cruel x x
So sorry for your loss. Such a personal and sad post to have to write.
Thank you Lyndsey x x
I am so sorry for your loss. I don’t know exactly how you feel but I can relate in a way. My Mom got cancer 2 years ago, it’s gone for now. She hasn’t been the same since the treatment, she’s tired and weak and I sometimes wonder….
Oh Valerie. Sending love and well wishes to you and your Mum x x
I don’t even know what to say… that was a really hard read.
So, many of us have a story like this and you captured your own personal journey so well. Both relatable and unique.
Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for reading Aaron, it is a tough write and a tough read so I really do appreciate it x
Thank you for sharing your story. I know it will help so many people who are going through this know that they’re not alone.
C x
Thank you so much Charli, I only hope that it can help someone else x
This was such a difficult post for me to read, but I did and I commend you for being able to be so open about it. I hope you found the process cathartic. I haven’t lost my parents, yet, but know that it’s an inevitable part of life and when you lose a parent in this manner it just makes it that much more difficult. Sending you lots hugs and love!x
Thank you so much for reading. I know it is a tough one so I really appreciate it x x
It is such a tough journey isn’t it for all parties involved. Writing about it must be painful but therapeutic for you
It is so tough. You’re right though, writing is like a therapy x
I’m so sorry to hear about your mum, it’s always hard to say goodbye to anyone and cancer is a right bitch. It’s been about a year since one of my close friends was taken by cancer and it’s a rough ride x
It is just the worst isn’t it. Makes life seem very unfair x x
This was a really moving read – had me close to tears at times! I can’t imagine how this experience must’ve felt for you but I think it’s really positive that you’re able to open up and share your story with others who could be going through the same thing.
Thank you so much Kacie x x
That was such a moving read, I don’t know you but I felt your pain intensely. I hope that writing down your thoughts, both here and in your journal, helped just a tiny bit in the grieving process.
Sat here trying to read this through floods of tears. I am so sorry for your loss, I can’t even imagine what it must be like. We take for granted that our parents will just always be here because we can’t imagine how they could not be, plus we never think these things will happen to us. Sending all the love in the world.
Wow what an emotional read . Absolutely lost for words . I am so sorry for your loss xx
I am sorry for your loss. I can relate so much to this as I lost both my parents to cancer. I saw both of them take their last breath and it is a memory I can never ever forget. I know it is good that they are free from pain, but the pain of their passing is a wound in my heart that will never heal.
I am so sorry for your losses. I honestly don’t think the pain of losing a parent will ever truly fade x
So sorry for your loss. It’s very hard to lose a parent, but even harder when you have to watch them fight an illness. The grieving process takes time and will be a journey in itself xx
It really feels like a journey for life. Although it is ever changing. Thank you so much x
Oh my this was so emotional to read, thank you for sharing your journey as I know it will help others who may be going through this journey too. I remember when my nan passed away from cancer, I was only 11 but we were extremely close and I can totally relate to the train hitting you feeling. Sending you lots of love and hugs x
Thank you for being so honest with us and sharing your journey. I know this will help many people. I am so sorry for your loss. Mich x
It was so hard to read this. This week marks a whole year since my mum died and there are so many similarities in our journeys of losing our mums. My mum was dementia, which became severe pretty much overnight and then, just over a year from the formal diagnosis, she passed away. Like you I’m angry, could things not have been noticed earlier? Had they been might things have been different? Likely not I don’t think, but it doesn’t stop the thinking does it? I also wish I’d spent more time, done more, reacted differently on her final day, when they told us they thought it was best to not intervene, perhaps I should have insisted. All these things can drive us mad if we arent careful. We did our best and thats the truth of it. Like you, I still feel as if its very early days in the grieving process, in fact its only now that I can even manage to look at the grief and try to process it. Up until now its consumed me, eaten away whilse the rest of life goes on as if nothing happened. Losing a mum is the most hardest thing in the world I think. We are both doing our best. I know no words can help, but do know that I get it, and I am sending so much love your way.
L
Thank you so much Finn. It really helps to know that our feelings are valid. Grief is something so difficult that sometimes it feels like there is no escape and that you’re the only person to ever feel this way.
I hope the next few weeks are kind to you, take your time and sending so much love to you x x
Thank you for sharing your journey, a difficult road to walk down. Losing a loved one is a life-changing event, be kind to yourself and allow yourself to have both good and bad days.
This is so beautiful written I felt almost everything you felt. I zm deeply sorry for your loss and thank you for opening your heart about your feelings 💜
Thank you for sharing your story – so many others out there going through similar things – we find relief and comfort (on some level)in reading about others. As the saying goes “we are all just walking one another home”
Thank you for sharing your story. I was nodding along with parts, although for my grandfather last year. It’s a situation none of us want to be in isn’t it!
I’m sorry for your loss and you were very brave to share this story with us. Losing a parent is something we all wouldn’t want and it breaks my heart reading this. It’s quite a difficult path to walk on and I can’t imagine how I would fare if I were in your shoes. Sending you lots of love.
Thank you so much Lyanna, it is not something I would wish on anyone. Our parents should be old when they go, we should be old when they go. We should be able to squeeze so many more wonderful moments together x x
I went through this journey with my grandfather a year ago. I remember every little detail you described here like it was yesterday. Thank you for taking me back to that time and sharing your story with us.
Thank you Heidi, I am so sorry for your loss x x
Oh my, this was so emotional for me to read. I send you my condolences. I, too, have lost someone to cancer recently and it’s not any easy journey to endure. I appreciate you sharing this with us although I can imagine it was hard to write. You were so brave to share this journey with us. Sending you so much love.
Thank you so much. I am so very sorry for your loss. It was very hard to write but it does help to open up about such a difficult time x