First posted in February 2019, this is Katie’s first ever post. We have grown so much more than we ever thought we would, and we want to share our earlier posts. We aim to reflect on the early struggles of our grief, and what we went through without our mum. We are proud of where we have come from, and of where we are going. We hope you are as well.
If you are struggling with your grief, that is okay. You are not alone.
*Trigger Warning- Topics containing cancer and treatments*
My sister and I have about 25 ideas each that we’d like to write about for this blog. Evee is a natural writer – she puts pen to paper and her words are able to convey exactly the emotion she wants for anyone to understand. For me, on the other hand, it takes a little longer. I feel so passionate about what I have to say but I can’t decide what post to start with or how to start it. A few weeks later, I have about five documents on my laptop all started and all unfinished. So, after a little thought, I have decided to put less pressure on myself and just start with a post to ease myself in with. When I feel stronger and more capable, I will finish the more emotional posts at a later date!
Although our mum was ill on and off for seven years, it was 2018 that really took all of our strength. To me, 2018 felt like being at sea in the middle of a heavy storm, on a tiny wooden boat with no paddles.
After missing perhaps, one and a half months to support my mum through her treatments, I finally went back to university in March. It was about this time that the weather was getting a little brighter after having such a cold and brutal winter. As the winter was ending, I felt like my mum was getting better too. She had finished her radiotherapy, she didn’t need a feeding tube anymore and I thought that we were in the clear. We did it again.
I felt thankful and started listening to music again (specifically Here Comes the Sun – The Beatles) and I slowly found myself smiling more and more. My mum was healing and so was I.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case and while she had been so poorly in hospital, the cancer took its chance to spread, to the one place Mum always “thanked God” it hadn’t reached – her liver. I just had enough time to finish my exams and coursework at university to come home and the very next day, find out the terminal news with her at the appointment. It had infected more than 50% and the oncologist didn’t want to show us the scan. I was angry. And I haven’t listened to The Beatles since.
The next couple of months were for our family. Nothing else mattered but spending time with our mum. Always trying to forget the thought that summer would soon be over, and Mum wasn’t likely to see Autumn – my favourite season.
The cancer storming inside our mum carried on relentlessly and come Autumn our little boat of three destroyed, leaving the two of us washed up on unfamiliar lands. I read a quote once: “My mum taught me everything except how to live without her”.
October was bleak and painful. I remember telling people how numb I felt, but really, I couldn’t describe the pain. The winter was long and offered too many similarities to the last one, but this time without my mum. And here we are again, full circle, coming up to March. I’ve resumed my Master’s and the weather is brighter and more promising than ever.
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