Leaving the past behind
My Mum died three weeks ago. I miss her.
Anyone who read my blog before Christmas about meeting myself coming back will know I had persuaded my 87 year old Mum to move closer to me so I could do more for her and see her every day. She moved on 17th December to a ground floor apartment attached to a nursing home at the bottom of our farm drive, nice and close. Lovely apartment, lovely people. She was looking forward to looking out of her french windows and seeing our ewes and lambs grazing in the field opposite. She was only there three weeks before she was admitted to hospital. Bad turned to worse and she was finally diagnosed with a secondary tumour on her spine. By this time she was too poorly to have further investigations as to the primary cancer and too poorly for any treatment. She died on 11th February after five weeks in hospital.
This has been the worst experience of my life, watching someone you love fade before your eyes, unable to do anything except be there.
My husband and daughter have been beside me every step of the way and together we have come out the other side.
Although we moved her in December and had already sorted through a lot of her possessions, the final clearance of her flat has been a very moving time. Finding photographs of long forgotten holidays, pets, friends and homes has been a revelation and I am now managing to remember the past with great fondness rather than with feelings of loss.
So now both my Mum and Dad are gone and despite my wonderful family, a tiny bit of me feels very alone. This is the first time in many weeks I've felt able to start put my thoughts and feelings into words. I hope you don't mind that I've come here to share them with you.
Anyone who read my blog before Christmas about meeting myself coming back will know I had persuaded my 87 year old Mum to move closer to me so I could do more for her and see her every day. She moved on 17th December to a ground floor apartment attached to a nursing home at the bottom of our farm drive, nice and close. Lovely apartment, lovely people. She was looking forward to looking out of her french windows and seeing our ewes and lambs grazing in the field opposite. She was only there three weeks before she was admitted to hospital. Bad turned to worse and she was finally diagnosed with a secondary tumour on her spine. By this time she was too poorly to have further investigations as to the primary cancer and too poorly for any treatment. She died on 11th February after five weeks in hospital.
This has been the worst experience of my life, watching someone you love fade before your eyes, unable to do anything except be there.
My husband and daughter have been beside me every step of the way and together we have come out the other side.
Although we moved her in December and had already sorted through a lot of her possessions, the final clearance of her flat has been a very moving time. Finding photographs of long forgotten holidays, pets, friends and homes has been a revelation and I am now managing to remember the past with great fondness rather than with feelings of loss.
So now both my Mum and Dad are gone and despite my wonderful family, a tiny bit of me feels very alone. This is the first time in many weeks I've felt able to start put my thoughts and feelings into words. I hope you don't mind that I've come here to share them with you.
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35 Comments
I've found that dealing with this sort of bereavement is a bumpy road, full of ups and downs. There are occasional ambushes when it hits you all over again, and other times when you're able to regard the situation with a feeling of acceptance.
Take care. xx
Steve
Spangles has just me the word to describe how I feel sometimes: ambushed.
Once the heartache has gone, you get the opportunity to remember all the good times that you shared.
One of the biggest regrets of my life was not being there at the end for my grandfather. At least you know that you did the best you could for your mum and you shared the most important part of your lives together.
All my love and warm wishes, Steph xxxx
It's still early days, but it is good to find comfort in happy memories. I've always felt that.
My thoughts are with you, Lana xxx
Love,
John xxx
That made my eyes prickle. OF COURSE we don't mind. Isn't that what this blog thing is for?
My heartfelt condolences, Karen, especially since my own mother, 90 years old, has just suffered a catastrophic collapse in the spine and in the space of a week has been transformed from a doggedly independent old lady living in her own house into a cripple in a nursing home, dependent on morphine patches and unable to stand unsupported. Still lucid, still undefeated, but oh so frail. So I can really empathise with you.
Take the love and support you've found here and add it to what you're getting from your family, to help you through this sad and difficult time.
Take lots of care.
I've never been a religious or particularly spiritual person. I've never seen a ghost or felt a 'presence' but that doesn't stop me believing in some sort of life after death or people's souls hanging around after death, shouting in our ear when we're about to do something stupid even though we're not tuned in to them. I read a poem, somewhere along the way, about death and one of the lines was something about the person not being dead but in the next room and that is how I'm beginning to feel about my Mum and Dad.
Physically I know they're not there and I know I won't see them again in the flesh but it does feel as though they are in the next room and that one day I will open that door and they will be there in some form so although I miss the ability to talk to them and hug them, I don't feel so alone today.
Spangles and Tony, you have both been through this and thank you for your thoughts and kindness. Going through my Mum's personal belongings was one of the hardest things. I never thought I would experience such gut wrenching moments when a much loved momento would turn up and bring back so many childhood memories. My daughter was wonderful and helped as much as her job would allow and she lightened the mood no end, particularly when we went through my Mum's extensive wardrobe - spanning 50 years - we had some laughs!
We also laughed a great deal at my Mum's ability to not spend any money. My Dad left her comfortably off but she would make a huge fuss when i took her shopping and picked up Rowntrees jelly and she would shuffle back with her trolley and insist on picking up Tesco's jelly for 8p!
I've rambled a little here and I haven't spell checked or checked for nonsense as I've just let the thoughts come out but it's good to let them out!
The sun's shining today. My daughter is coming round and I have a day off from lambing duties and we're going out for a shop and coffee and I'm very much looking forward to participating in Cloudy going's on again from now on.
Thanks to you all my Cloudie friends.
I hope this doesn't upset you, but I went to St Luke's Carol Service in December and I think the poem you're talking about was in their programme. I've copied it from the net for you.
All Is Well
Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by my old familiar name,
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used
Put no difference in your tone,
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household world that it always was,
Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It it the same as it ever was, there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near,
Just around the corner.
All is well.
Henry Scott Holland
1847-1918
It may not be the one you're talking about, but hope it is. I'm not religeous either, but do believe our loved ones are sometimes close to us in spirit, and looking after us always. x
We always have the memories don't we...:)
Mac
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