I feel inspired.. creative.. I feel like I want to write my story. The story of how I lost my mum.
I don't even know why I feel so inspired to write it, maybe for peace or closure, maybe so people understand me more. I'm not even sure, but here goes nothing..
It all started when I was 10. The most a 10 year old usually has to worry about is which friend they are sitting beside in class, or when they can next play with their newest toy or video game. But for me it was different.
I don't remember the exact date my mum first got sick, but I remember being 10 years old, and wondering why I had to make the breakfast and tidy the house up whilst all my friends were having sleep overs and playing out in the street on bikes. It didn't stop with just the housework, I was in charge of sorting my younger brother out too.
But back then was different, my grandparents lived close by, as did my mums sister. It wasn't all left to me, but most of the time it was.
The years flew by, and I spent alot of that time wondering when I was going to be able to act my age. I remember being 14, and watching all my friends go see my favourite boyband, whilst I had to stay at home, not just cos my mum was sick, but she wouldn't let me go one my own, and always said we couldn't afford it. Years later I learnt it was also because she was scared of being at home in case anything went wrong.
I know it sounds like my mum was deathly ill. She wasn't. She had a spinal problem, which took YEARS to diagnose, and by then it was too late to fix, but she was ok. And it didn't just end there. She had surgery when I was around 11, and the scarring from that inside her stomach fused together and she could barely move. I fought so hard in my teenage years to just act my age and be me. I can vividly remember being holed up in my room, blasting music so loud the windows shoot, wishing of a life that was nothing like my own. My sanctuary was music. It still is. It's played such a big part of my life, keeping me sane, making me smile and be happy despite the heartache behind the smile.
My mum was in and out of surgery alot. She had a operation that fixed her scarring inside her stomach, but not long after that she had to have her gall bladder out. That saw my mum go from a healthy size 16, to a size 0 in a mere few months. That was hard, watching her just disappear before our eyes. She never did gain the weight back, even up until the day she died. But it wasn't that that killed her, either.
Flash forward to October 4th, 2007. I was 22, and on a day off from work. As well as working in retail, I used to volunteer at a mother and baby group, held on Monday, Thursday and Friday Morning. I loved it. As well as feeling like I was doing something good, I got to hang out with my friends who also used to help out, and bring their kids with them too.
It was your typical October morning. I remember it like anything. The sun trying to peek its way through the clouds, the air crisp. My brother was stomping around upstairs, getting ready for his day at school. I was due to leave the house by half 8, and my mum was sat in the living room, calling me to go in.
The mornings were always the same. Get up, head downstairs, get my mums morning daily moan, complaining about what her hurt that day, then I'd grab some food and leave.
This day was no exception.
She was complaining of stomach pains. It wasn't unusual, she frequently had pains in her stomach after having her gall bladder removed. She was telling me how bad it hurt, and how she felt sick.
I told her to take some meds and rest.
Might seem heartless right? I was 22, had been dealing with all this for over 12 years. I knew how my mum acted. In some ways she was like the boy who cried wolf. She made things out of nothing. She had in some ways turned into a hypochondriac, thinking that she had all the worst illnesses possible. She went to the doctors at least 3 times a week, and I think even by then they didn't know what to do.
To say I was at the end of my tether was an understatement. I just brushed her off, told her I'd see her later in the day and left. Something that kills me to this day.
It was around 11am when my brother called me. My mum had called him at school and begged him to come home. He was a mummys boy, so he did as she asked and had rushed home. Mum was crying, saying she couldn't deal with the pain no more. He called me to tell me he'd called an ambulance and that she was being rushed in.
I still did nothing.
You have to understand, which was a regular accurance. It happened once every few months. She'd get seen, given some tablets and sent home. I seriously thought thats what would happen this time. So I stayed, finished the mum and baby group then headed to my friends for lunch.
Thursdays was our food shop day, and it wasn't rare for me to have my mums bank card in my purse. After lunch me and my bestie were gonna go do the food shop before picking up her eldest from school. We left her house, dropped her youngest off with her other half before heading to tesco.
Its crazy how memories work. I can remember the aisle we were in, and the exact item I was looking for when my brother called me.
My mum had sent him out the room she'd been put in, for water. The water machine was literally outside the door to her room. He stepped outside the door, filled up her small cup before walking back inside. He handed her the cup and as she'd gone to drink it she spilled it all over herself. He thought she was being silly, but then as she spoke he knew something was wrong.
She'd had a stroke in the mere ten seconds he'd been out the room.
I can remember leaving the trolley full of food in the ailse, telling one of the workers that we had to leave. I remember sitting in the car on the way to the hospital, my heart pounding in my chest. I'd called my aunt, who was as shocked as me.
Once we were at the hospital it was a rush. We'd had to wear gloved and stuff to go in her room, and I vividly remember sitting there with my hands itching as I'm allergic to the powder they put in the latex gloves. I remember looking at my mum, who was talking to us but we couldn't figure out a word she was saying. The doctor came through and did tests, asking if she could feel when it touched her toes with a pin. She'd say yes, even though he was near enough sticking her with the pin and drawing blood.
I left the hospital that night after being told she would be monitored and needed alot of care and attention, and eventually... physiotherapy.
I felt awful as it was, ignoring my mum telling me about the pain in her stomach, which was the blood clot she'd had rupturing. The last normal conversation I'd had with my mum was me pretty much being an asshole.
I had next to no sleep that night. I cried.. and cried and cried and cried. By the time morning hit I was an emotional wreck. My brother was the same, and his best friend who pretty much always stayed at ours was the same.
The phone ringing at 6am was what made my blood run cold. No one gets calls at that time. Not unless its bad news. It was my aunt calling telling me she was on her way around. I'd never got dressed so fast in my life. I knew it was bad news, so when they arrived and told us the machine my mum had been hooked up to to break up the blood clot hadn't worked, and that the clots were blocking off all my mums main organs.. well I knew what that meant.
She was dying.
My brother punched a wall, breaking his knuckle. I did the one thing I was good at, and ran. I ran out the house, up the street and banged down the door of one of my good friends, who was also our neighbour. She told me I put the fear pf life in her with the look in my eyes, not to mention I was hysterical.
I did alot of running that day. We got to the hospital and I chickened out of seeing my mum at first. I'd been told she was hooked up to all kinds of machines, and that scared me as much as knowing she was dying. No one wants to see the ones they love all hooked up to machines and not as themselves. I hid out in the stairway of the hospital, scared out of my mind. And the amount of people who walked past was crazy, yet only one person stopped, sat beside me and hugged me. To this day I have no idea who they were, but they gave me the courage to go back to the ward and see my mum.
She got moved to ICU, and we were told that they would slowly turn off the machines that my mum was hooked up to, and then it would be up to my mum when she went. That was scary. The amount of people who visited her that morning was nuts. My mum always said she was alone, but that day she wasn't alone at all. There were close to 30 people there that morning. And even at the moment she took her last breath she was surrounded by so many people.
All but me and my brother.
I sat with her a while, but it was too painful. She was on life support, and wasn't awake. I could talk to her, but it didn't feel right. The only thing I did was tell her I loved her before sitting back in the waiting room with my brother. We sat together, him silent, me on the phone to one of my friends who kept me sane. She died at 3:28pm on the 5th October 2007.
And that was the date my life changed.
I've never expected anyone to understand how I feel inside. It would be nice, but I know that unless you've been through something like that yourself then its hard to not feel anything other than pity. I didn't want pity, I just wanted people to understand.
5 years have passed. 5 years of me trying to figure out how to deal with it all. My brother is probably the only person who knows exactly how I feel. We went through it together, and we stayed together even after she died. We were told we could be seperated, him going to live with my dad and me on my own, but I didn't want that. The both of us knew we would be better together.. and it has worked, despite the fact he drives me crazy.
I've had to sacrifice alot in these 5 years. My dreams, holidays, you name it. Money isn't just for me now.. I barely ever had money. I sacrificed my dream of working at Disney to stay with my brother, who was obviously still at school.
I've lost friends along the way. People who didn't know how to be there for me, people who said I changed. Of course I changed. I had to. After October 5th I was never the same person. I grew up. I had no choice. It hurt losing people who said they would be there, and even to this day I still see some of the people. They blank me, act like they never knew me. Yet I did nothing wrong, except lose my mum. I've even lost family. I've pretty much realized who I can count on, and who I can't. Most of whom I call family aren't even blood related.. but that.s how it is.
I wish I could end this blog by saying that even though 5 years have passed I'm ok. I have off days.. alot of the time. I miss my mum daily, and so much has happened where I STILL find myself reaching for the phone, ready to call her. I still remember her mobile number, and we still have her greeting on our answering machine. She will forever live on. In me... in my brother. I've taken all her knowledge, EVERYTHING, and stored it inside.
And despite everything I used to say growing up... I don't regret anything. I wouldn't want some stranger taking care of someone I love. It was supposed to be me. She cared for me as a baby, so it was only right I cared for her when she was sick.
I only wish I could change that day.... and not be so pig headed and selfish and just LISTENED to her.
Mum, I love you. I miss you.. I know you are watching me, and I'm glad. I feel you with me all the time, and that scares most people when I tell them. But it only warms me inside. Hug nan and grandad for me.. I'll hug the boy (if he lets me) and keep him on track, just like I always have.
I love you.
