55

Today my mum would have been 55.

But she’s not here. She’s gone. Gone forever.

I shall light a candle. I expect I will talk to her. The way I do. Sometimes in my head. Sometimes out loud. I miss her so much. Everyday. Not just birthdays. Or Christmas. Or even the day she died. Although that day still hits me like a bullet to the chest.

Today I will share something with you. My mums voice.

Or if you’re listening on a phone try this link mum

I have 7 messages of her. Her voice. Her words. I will have those forever. Those will never leave me. Copies here. Copies there. Never will they be gone.
When I listen to them I can see her face. I can smell her. It’s a happy memory.

Happy Birthday Mummy. I love you xx

Goodbye…part 2.

Monday 27th August 2007.

We arrived at the hospice about 11. Mum’s breathing was awful. We asked if there was anything that could be done about it. The lovely lovely nurse said she could give mum something for it, she looked at us deeply as she said this and we knew what she meant. My sister, brother and I all agreed she needed something to make her comfortable. She said it would be a few hours before she was.

We took turns in sitting with her, my mums parents were there, as were 3 of her sisters, the only people missing were my uncle as he was abroad, My Aunty Sally who was looking after Caitlyn and mums husband Terry as we had sent him home for a break as he had been at the hospice every waking hour.

I remember making tea, and talking with my aunties, my sister was washing up. All of a sudden Aunty Sue, came running down the corridor and shouted to us. Hurry, it’s time.

Time stood still, I still can’t remember getting to the room, or how my legs worked. I have tried so hard to think back but I can’t. I just remember walking into the room and there was nothing. No sound. Mum wasn’t breathing. I thought I was too late. I grabbed her hand, as did Kelly. And in that moment she took a breath. Her last one. I really hope she knew we were there. To say goodbye.

When she died she was wearing a nightdress with a butterfly on, with a saying printed on it “fly away home” And at the moment she died out of the window we saw some white butterflies. So, for us butterflies mean our mum is with us. You might think it’s silly. But to me when I see one I think my mum is watching over me. Checking I am okay.

I literally jumped on my mum when she died. I was shaking from crying. And my poor Nan, she thought mum was still breathing as she was moving. But it was me, moving mum with my body.

My mum, Roberta, died of cancer. She had lung, bone and liver cancer, and a brain tumour. She stood no chance of surviving that. After her first dose of chemo she developed a duodenal ulcer and after that, all of her strength left her. She couldn’t eat, barely drink and it left her so weak. She really did try to fight and for that I am very proud of her. I do get angry though, wishing when she first started to feel tired, and when she couldn’t take deep breaths in she had gone to the doctors sooner. Maybe then she might still be here. Who knows. But she did say she knew she had lung cancer long before it was diagnosed. So for that a part of me will always be angry with her. But all of me misses her, all of me loves her.

From that very day she was diagnosed, it only took 88 days for the cancer to kill her. It wasn’t enough time. I remember going to see her not long after she was diagnosed and saying to her that she couldn’t die as I wasn’t finished with her as my mum. She replied “don’t give up on me just yet” I promised I wouldn’t. I needed her. But by then it was already too late.

RIP Mummy. See you again one day xxx

I am sorry if reading my blogs have been upsetting. It was upsetting to write, but I needed to get it out. I feel better when I write. It calms me. These 2 blogs took over a month to write, and looking back it doesn’t seem possible that it’s taken so long. I also want to point out, I didn’t write these for sympathy or for attention. I wrote them as I am proud of my mum and I am proud of me and it’s part of our lives.

Goodbye…part 1.

The day my mum told me she had cancer I knew she would die. It hit me, I felt my chest crushing beneath me. It’s weird, how you can feel like that yet nothing does hit you. But it happens.  I knew she wouldn’t survive. And even though I knew that, her actual death still makes me feel so empty, so alone and so upset. I will never get over it. It doesn’t get easier despite what they say. You learn to live with it. Well you try. But no, it never gets easier. Never hearing my mums voice telling me she has a cold, or moaning she’s tired breaks my heart. I’d do anything to listen to her moan. Listen to her gush with love over her grand-kids. And I quite envious of those when they moan about their mums. I’d really do anything to have my mum back.

About 2 weeks before she died, she said she was going to a hospice to get 1 to 1 care that you can’t get in a hospital. She tried to convince us anyway, I knew she went there to die. I knew she’d never leave there alive. I accepted that. I thought I did. My sister and brother never did, not till the day before I think it was. The day before she died I mean.

I still remember the first time we went to the hospice it was a surreal feeling. We met my brother there, and we went in. We told them we were there to see Roberta. They told us where she was and as we approached the person they said was our mum we called the nurses back “Er we’re here to see our mum, that’s not our mum” I still remember the feeling when they said that was our mum. How could that person be her, it didn’t look like her. Her hair was all but gone, she had aged about 40 years, she looked so frail. Writing this I feel sick, I can see it over and over in my mind. But she was our mum, and she needed us, like we needed her. We spent a few hours with her. She kept slipping into moments of memory loss. Or saying stuff that didn’t make sense. She turned to me and said “I was watching tele last night Kirsty at the front door” then in the next breath said “There isn’t even a TV in here, so I didn’t watch it, why did I say that Kirsty?” We did laugh a few times that day. 24th August. When she turned to Kyle and said “You heard from that poisonous little dwarf?” that’s the name she gave Kerry. My brother’s wife, thankfully my mum died never knowing my brother married her. I think it would have been horrendous for her. So I am pleased she never knew. That’s another story but some of you do know about the PLD.

I didn’t go and see my mum on my birthday. Terry her husband sent me a text from her phone though to wish me happy birthday. He said he held mums hand to type the message which made it more special.

My sister never came to see mum on the Sunday, but I went along with a few of my mums sisters. From Friday the 24th she had deteriorated so much. She was no longer conscious. I knew it wouldn’t be long so I said to my sister and my brother that they both had to be there the next day.

Such a perfect day….

5 Years ago today my mum got married to the love of her life Terry. A magical day, it really was. For about a week it had been raining non stop but my mum was insistent that we had a picnic in Wellington park. And she was right, the sun shone all day long.

I only have extra special memories of this day and all of them happy. She was so brave. She was in an incredible amount of pain but was adamant she would walk down the aisle on her wedding day. And she did. So proud of her. And the bloody shoes she wore. Could hardly walk through pain but she wore 6inch heels. That’s my mum….

And one memory that stands out more than most was the smile on her face. Mum always did have the most amazing smile and it never left her face on her wedding day 7/7/07

Rest in peace Mum.

The very happy couple. See that smile. Infectious.

Gorgeous..

My mum with her mum and dad, my grandparents who miss her so much.

The kids and grandchildren. 5 years ago today.

My favourite picture of my mum on the day. Awesome.

Releasing balloons with messages on asking people to donate money to cancer research. One ended up in Denmark.