Two years

Today is the second anniversary of my mum's death.  It's hard to take it all in - two whole years without her, and not a single day has passed without feeling the pain of her loss.

I always remember when it was my gran or papa's anniversary of their death, in February and April respectively. Every year my mum would mention it, but that would always be followed by a comment that "it's just a date, it's not any more important because you miss them equally every day".  And so I thought of that today.  My mum was not one for anniversaries, and birthdays weren't really for celebrating either.  So she will probably be looking down on me today, shaking her head and uttering a few choice words.

I didn't know how I would feel, two years on.  On the one hand, I've surprised myself at how well I've coped over that time - that seems to be everyone else's perception of me too.  You hear all this "time heals" stuff and that it "will get better".  Well, that's only partly correct.  In my own experience, grief has no expiry date. You adjust, rather than heal.  Over recent months I have experienced the most frightening episodes of deep grief imaginable. Some of it has been worse than the immediate sadness which I experienced after losing her.  But it could have been so much worse.  I don't know where I would have been without the man you all know as faithful travelling companion.  He really has saved my life and my love for him is endless.

For the last two years, grief has been part of my life.  It is not something that can be switched off, or thrown out.  But it's something I have learned to live with.  So today I am not really doing anything special.  Just remembering my mum with love.  As I do every day.

Weight gain, prolonged grief and thoughts on Mother's Day

Since my good news from a couple of weeks ago of a half-stone weight loss, unfortunately I have been unable to sustain my good work.  There is one good, happy reason why (which I will eventually write about over at EuropeCrazy) but unfortunately my mood has also plummeted over the past week which has resulted in a couple of episodes of binge-eating - and that has been a significant contribution to a weight gain of 3lbs.  Yes, I gained 3lbs, in one week.   Not good news, which caused my mood to plummet further and I now feel trapped in this spiral of weight gain/negative reaction/further weight gain.  Of course there is "always tomorrow", a fresh start and back on the weight-loss wagon.  

It is difficult however when I feel this way.  On the one hand, I feel more in control and in some areas of my life, my confidence seems to be growing, yet I still struggle with crippling anxiety even in the happiest of situations. 

Right now I just feel so lost, and as time goes on I seem to be missing my mum more and more than ever, and it's not getting any better.  I am trying to fight off the possibility of sinking back into yet another depression episode.  I am alive and have so much to be thankful for.  British Summer Time officially started today, which means that we are guaranteed 6 months of more daylight and if we're lucky, a bit of decent weather along with it. 

But I cry a lot these days, especially on Thursdays.  

Thursday nights were always our special night, a kind of unofficial start to the weekend when we would put our feet up, forget the housework, eat cake and watch TV.  My mum passed away on a Thursday, and maybe that is in the back of my mind.  If something bad is going to happen, it will happen on a Thursday.   That recent household emergency - it happened on a Thursday of course.  Or those two buses I waited for, which never arrived and meant that I had over a half-hour wait for transport on a very cold/wet night from the supermarket - why of course, that will happen on a Thursday.   

Today is Mother's Day, although that is not the reason for triggering this post as my mum (and my gran before her) couldn't stand this annual commemoration - they would both say that "every day should be Mother's Day".  That is so true.  So if you are reading this, please treasure every moment spent with your mother.  Yes, there will be times when they will frustrate you, when they will be overbearing and dominant, when they will still treat you like a child even when you are well into adulthood.  But there will come a time when they will no longer be there.  And that will hurt like no other pain that you can imagine.  

Thursday night: the food shopping trip

As a follow-up to my previous post, there was one outstanding task which I had not been able to deal with since my mum passed away: the Thursday night food shopping for the week ahead.  Over the past year and 4 months, I went food shopping in the mornings, at lunchtime, at weekends - anything but go back to that weekly routine, because it was something we did together, for many, many years, and I couldn't face doing it on my own.

It is quite strange really, as I've had to come to terms with much, much bigger stuff over the past year which I've dealt with whilst adjusting to the 'new normal' of living on my own.  Yet sometimes the smallest, most insignificant things are often the hardest to achieve.

It was only with the change in my working pattern that I had to re-examine my weekly routines and so I decided that it was time to return to Morrisons on Thursday night.  It was strange, but yet somehow familiar and reassuring, and I coped well with it.

But I cried when I got home.

One year

They say that as you get older, time passes more quickly.  That is so true.  Time seems to be rushing away at the speed of light.  I have been blogging for just over 9 years and they have gone by in a blur. And the same can be said for the last 12 months.

One year ago, on 2 July 2015, my mum passed away. So after all the other first year milestones - Christmas, new year, her birthday - this is the last one.  The anniversary.  My mum wasn't big on birthdays and even death anniversaries weren't really marked.  Her view was that there's nothing special about an anniversary; you miss someone every single day, you remember them every single day, and therefore it's just another date on the calendar.  Yet it was impossible to ignore, although if I'm honest, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.  The sadness really kicked in from Tuesday to Thursday of the past week, as I relived her admission to hospital and her death 48 hours later.

After last July, the next 52 weeks were a learning process as well as a grieving one.  Learning to live on my own, learning the basics of running a house from day to day - the easiest things often turned out to be the hardest, and vice versa.  But I am getting there, slowly but surely.  I just need to find a way to address the binge-eating which I have turned to over the past year. But that's for another day...

Life means all that it ever meant, it is the same that it ever was

It's Christmas Eve today, I've been on holiday from work yesterday and today, with a mixture of housework, relaxation and naturally some seasonal overindulgence.  This morning I placed the presents under the tree, and what a nice array they are too.  Tonight I'll have my traditional visit from Santa (who looks suspiciously like faithful travelling companion) and we will exchange our presents. Just a normal Christmas Eve then.

Only it's not.  For it is another one of those milestones.  My first Christmas without my mum.  I was dreading it, but surprisingly I am getting through it.  Why?  Well, because along with all the love and kindness she gave me, she also instilled the self-sufficiency and resilience which were a very strong aspect of her personality - and which she also inherited from her mother.  It's those qualities which have kicked in over the past few months and enabled me to deal with the unbearable grief and loss, and also given me the strength to get on with life.  In the same way that my mum did after my gran died.  Because that's what we do: it is our own way of grieving.  Life goes on, and it is to be lived.

We all grieve in different ways, but we still grieve.  Because there isn't a minute of the day when I don't think about her.  There isn't a moment when I don't miss my best friend.  We had so much fun together.  I miss the laughs, and the daft nonsense, the swearing-like-a-trooper at the TV, and of course her love-hate relationship with the Eurovision Song Contest.  There is just this constant emptiness and a feeling of "going through the motions".  But I am adjusting to living on my own, slowly but surely.  New memories are to be made.

But maybe the reason that I don't feel so alone is that I still feel her spirit, her presence here with me. And when I have a good day, I tell her.  When I have a bad day, I tell her that too.  And tomorrow - Christmas Day - I will be going out with faithful travelling companion and his mum for Christmas dinner; a new happy memory to be made.  And there's plenty of other things to keep me going over the next few days - blogging, tweeting and watching foreign telly to name three.  And with Twitter, I'm never alone :)

Among the many sympathy cards I received in the summer, one particularly stood out as it had a poem which particularly resonated with me.  It made me cry floods but it also made me smile too, because every word is so true and I have revisited it many times and taken so much comfort from it over the past 5 months.  And it has helped me to work through my own grief, and helped me to understand that it is ok to smile, and laugh, for she will always be alive in my heart.  If you are reading this post, I hope you can take comfort from this poem too.

Small moments

I meant to blog last week but it's been a very busy week (apart from those outrageously lazy times). My birthday turned out to be a very special occasion.  I'm always at work on my birthday, apart from when it falls at weekends.  All my friends and colleagues at work made it a very special day.  It's as if I could feel this silent acknowledgement that my non-milestone birthday was to be just that bit more special this year than usual, after these horrible few months.  What a happy day I had, with lots of lovely gifts, beautiful cards and kind wishes.  

Of course it goes without saying that faithful travelling companion played a huge role in giving me a very happy birthday! :)

I've decided to throw myself into some major (and long overdue) painting, decorating and home improvement over the next few months, which will provide a major interest/distraction - not to mention some very hard work as I do all my own painting and decorating!  

It's now 14 weeks since I lost my mum.  And it is the small moments which continue to rip me to shreds.  Today my friend went to our GP for her flu vaccination.  And then it hit me hard.  This is October.  This is the month, possibly the week, when I should be taking mum to the doctor's for her flu jab.  But I'm not.  

I have never cried at work since mum died, but today I came pretty close, just because of that small moment.  And when those small moments happen it's like the world crashes to a halt.  But then it starts again, and I hear her voice telling me to get on with life again. 

Bad times

It's been 6 weeks now since I lost my mum and, well, it's really kicking in now.  I feel sad, distressed, distracted, and lost.  In the beginning there was important stuff to do, things to be seen to, and not a day went by without some official matter to be dealt with. But now, there is just an undescribable emptiness, and a sadness which is impossible to overcome. Only the love and support of faithful travelling companion, and our impending holiday, is getting me through it all.  But otherwise, over the past couple of weeks I've struggled to get through every day, and this week has been the most overwhelming one yet.  Every moment of every day, I am reminded of how much I miss my best friend.  Particularly when I've had a bad day. In the past I would have come home and she would have given me a big hug and made everything better.  I miss her so much, and getting on with life is turning out to be even more of a challenge than I'd ever imagined.   But that's not really surprising. For it's hard to lose a loved one, but to lose not only your mother but your best friend, whom you've spent your whole life with, is just too much to bear.

Wednesday was particularly difficult, with all the talk at work about arranging a Christmas night out. Regular readers of Random Ramblings will be aware that I struggle with the whole concept of Christmas at the best of times, so needless to say I just can't face the thought of it this year. And I don't do nights out anyway, least of all in a year when my world has fallen apart.  The inevitability of that time of year approaching was enough to tip me over the edge.  There is also one Christmas-related thing which I've been involved in for the last few years, which inevitably dominates (and arguably ruins) the lead-up to the 'festive season' but that is outwith my control,  And I know it's still 19 weeks away, but once you hit August and September then it's downhill all the way.  In past years I've written too much on here about how miserable the lead up to Christmas can be, so I've decided not to mention it so much this year.  And anyway, faithful travelling companion has a plan to get me through Christmas and I'm going with that.

At least I still have blogging to keep me going, so I am planning to publish some outstanding blog posts over at EuropeCrazy in the next week or so, including those long-overdue Eurovision reviews and some other stuff as well.

The first days of the rest of my life

After a hectic week of making arrangements, non-stop phone calls and rushing around, I was close to exhaustion.

'Boredom' is not a word which has ever figured in my vocabulary, and there is always so much to do at home.  The list of unfinished jobs, unwatched DVD box sets, unread books etc is long enough to ensure that it'll be a long time before I'm looking for something to do, to occupy my mind.  Then there is the diet/fitness regime which will be crucial; history has shown that when my weight increases and my physical fitness deteriorates, my mental health goes into freefall.  Mum wouldn't want me to end up in that dark place again.

But right now, I don't really want to do very much at all.  I am craving rest, and sleep, and complete relaxation.  I am now knee-deep in grief, and loss, and complete emptiness, and trying to come to terms with how I am going to live without my mum.  I can seem 'fine' and then there are sudden, explosive moments of painful sobbing.  And while I have taken great comfort from everyone's love and support since it happened, the fact remains that I can't go and and tell her any more about something I wanted to share with her.  Bus journeys just got a lot bleaker, because I can't phone her to tell her I'm coming home.  There are so many situations which I won't be able to share with her any more.  Last night I wondered if I would ever be happy again, or to be more precise, would I ever have the right to be happy again?  But then I keep remembering mum's letter to me, and her telling me to get on with my life and not be sad.  And I am not alone - I have faithful travelling companion, and my life is filled with love.

I am going back to work tomorrow.  Some people have questioned this decision, but I don't feel that it will do me any good to take more time off.  Since my mum passed away, the loneliest moments have been those spent on my own, at home.  Talking to people, something I've always found very difficult, has suddenly become easier, and the interaction with others has been a comfort.  It has taken tragic circumstances to make me realise just how much my work colleagues and friends care about me, and I will never forget their kindness.  So that's the reason why I'm going back tomorrow.

Thursday: my mum's funeral

One week ago today, I lost my mum.  And today, we all said goodbye.

When I woke up this morning, the sun was shining, but my heart was in the darkest place.  I sobbed relentlessly, I was physically sick with nerves, crippled by worries, hoping that everything would go ok and that I wouldn't let her down.  My legs felt like jelly, I could hardly walk.

In the intervening hours before the funeral, I got myself ready and focused on mundane things like washing up and listening to local radio (now that is what you call mundane).  My mum was unconventional and would have hated to be described as a traditionalist, so I had already decided that I would not wear black; rather, in personal tribute I would wear a purple dress, because purple - all shades and tones of it - was my mum's favourite colour.

Of course I have been very lucky not to go through all this on my own.  Faithful travelling companion has shouldered so much of my grief and pain, and has always been there for me. We have been through so much together over the years, and I will love him forever.

On our arrival at the church, I was taken aback by the amount of people who had turned up.  So many of my workmates were there and I made sure that I took time to speak to them before the service began.  As the years pass and the number of close family members dwindle, I didn't expect too many of them to be there, but my lovely cousins all made it.  And I was to happy to see my mum's two dearest friends who live nearby.  And my own lovely friends made it, which also made me so happy.

Inevitably, I was overcome with grief when mum's coffin arrived.  My poor, sick, frail little mum. Yet I managed to find the strength to make it through what turned out to be a lovely and very personal service, accompanied by some of mum's favourite hymns which I had personally chosen. Towards the end, the priest invited me up to give my 'eulogy'.

I went on to tell some of the stories I'd written about my mum's life, and the happy moments we shared. I'm certainly no stand-up comedian and I can't tell a joke to save my life, but the words I had written just bounced off the page as I spoke with love for my mum, whom I had shared my whole life with.  I looked out into the congregation to see smiling faces, and there was lots of laughter. There were no tears of sadness as I spoke - how could I be sad about a lifetime of love and happiness?  At the end of my little speech, everyone applauded!  Applause in church - that was incredible.  All I wanted to do was to make mum happy today; I think I did.

As we followed the coffin out of the church, I broke down again.  I know we were on a tight schedule, but I was determined to talk to as many people as I could, outside the church, because I wanted to thank them for coming today.  I lost count of the number of hugs I received.

We travelled with my uncle and cousin on the way to the crematorium, and there were some very welcome laughs in the car, which completely lifted my mood.  By the time we reached the crematorium I was a lot more calm.  I knew the drill at the crematorium because I'd been there before, a few years ago.  Two of my mum's favourite songs were played, prayers were said, and the curtains closed.

In one way, there was a strange sense of relief that it was all over, after the exhaustion of recent days, yet everything still feels so surreal.  Time is strange.  Every day I ask myself several times, "what day is this?".  Today didn't feel like Thursday. But no days have really felt like the way they should be.  I know that a few people are questioning my decision to return to work on Monday, but I need to do this.  Mum would certainly want me to get on with life.  Due to annual leave followed by sickness followed by bereavement, I've been off work three weeks, so it's time to go back.  I am grieving regardless of where I am, so I'm as well at work where there are friends and colleagues to keep my spirits up and keep me grounded, and where there are many opportunities to keep myself occupied and distract myself from this unbearable sadness.

I went home after spending the afternoon with faithful travelling companion.  That bus journey home was completely bleak.  But things got better when I arrived home, as I'd decided to just spend tonight relaxing and doing absolutely nothing.   I need to be on my own tonight. No phone calls, no texting. I feel completely exhausted, and need to rest.  There will be other days or nights when I will think about the new routines in my life, about what meals I'll eat, about how I'll manage my depleted finances, about the major, life-changing decisions....but tonight is not one of those nights.

More cards arrived today.  Tonight I counted 24 cards on display in my living room, and I continue to feel overwhelmed by the love and support of everyone around me.

It has really helped me to write about everything which has happened over the past week.  If you have been reading these posts, then thank you.  If you have taken any comfort from what I've written, then it's all been worthwhile.

Already I am thinking of several 'positives' which I can take from the darkest experience of my life, because no matter how dark things got, my mum would always look on the bright side (I feel a song coming on!). But the best thing I can do is just get on with living my 'new normal' life, to face each new challenge ahead.  It's a strange thing to say for someone in an age group usually described as "middle-aged" (ugh) but I feel as if I've grown up a lot this week.  I am my mum's legacy, and the best thing I can do for her is to be the best person I can possibly be; to travel through life with an open mind, to respect and help others, to embrace both new and familiar experiences, to maintain good health, and to be happy.  But I'll finish with a quote - the other day, one of my friends said that "you are your mother's daughter".  And that's the nicest thing I could ever want to be :)

Wednesday: realising the value of true friendship

I am overwhelmed by the number of sympathy cards which I've received in recent days, from loved ones, family, friends and colleagues.   I cried a lot today, because I would read the cards and many of the words would just be so true, and so lovely, that it would tip me over the edge again.  Whilst out for coffee with two of my closest old friends at lunchtime today, I met a number of my work colleagues (the coffee shop is just minutes away from the office) and every one of them has been so kind and genuine, which has been genuinely touching,  I will never forget their kindness.

A little update from yesterday: I will be reading the eulogy.  I rehearsed it twice tonight and got on fine, although I was sitting comfortably in my living room at the time, on my own, and not in  front of a congregation. Public speaking terrifies me to the point that I had to stop giving training courses at work a couple of years ago.  But this is different because I wrote it, I believe in it, and I just want to tell everyone who will be there tomorrow, about everything from her hobbies and talents, to her beliefs and values, and what my mum meant to me, with a couple of (hopefully) amusing little anecdotes thrown in to reflect her refreshingly unconventional personality.

This morning I felt incredibly stressed, agitated and frustrated, but that soon passed.  The passage of time has been very strange over the past 8 days since my mum was admitted to hospital.  On the one hand it has flown by, on the other hand it has felt like months.  Days and nights have been packed with necessary tasks and tnumerous phone calls (last night's on-hold experience led to my mini Twitter rant).  But I have thrown myself into the practicalities, and the to-do list is considerably reduced.

For someone who often finds it difficult to talk to people, I have surprisingly been able to speak calmly to everyone about what happened last week.  But the fact remains that there is a crushing pain which feels like Pac-Man crunching his way across my body, and that pain has never gone away since last week; neither has the sheer exhaustion.  So although I may seem not too bad on the surface - other people are more worried about me than I am - this painful sadness is constantly with me.  I continue to seek solace in the internet, reading inspirational articles to comfort and help me through these painfully sad days.

The thought of tomorrow is unbearable, but I have faithful travelling companion, the most loving, caring and supportive person I could ever want in my life.  We will get through tomorrow together.  I owe it to mum not to let her down.

Tuesday: rest, relaxation and gathering my thoughts

After the last few hectic days I decided to make some time for myself today, and not do very much at all.  There are still some things to be done, but I've prioritised and decided that the less urgent things can wait.  Today is not the day to be spending 3 hours on the phone to one utility company or another, trying to change the bills to my name.  That's for another day.

This morning I phoned friends and colleagues about the funeral.  48 hours from now, it will all be over, and I will then start to get on with my new life, living on my own.  (That Freddie Mercury song has just popped into my head).  

The other day I began typing up a few notes about my mum's life, and for the last couple of hours I have finally turned these into a very personal eulogy.  In an ideal world, I would want to stand up in church and read it myself, because I was the one who lived with her, who knew her best.  But I probably won't be allowed to, and the priest will probably think it's too long and it will have to be edited, and....etc etc.  Maybe I've just become too 'secular' after all.

But I want to tell people about her childhood, her personality, her bright and beautiful mind, her fight for social justice, her love of words and poetry, and football, and music, and Irn Bru, and chocolate, and the love and laughter which filled our life together.  So I have put the words on paper, in language as heartfelt and honest as I can find.  And if I'm probably not allowed to read it, hopefully the words will convey what I want to say.

This afternoon I'm feeling more at peace with myself.  I'm not phoning or texting anyone, and am actually enjoying this quiet time, just me and the laptop.  Writing these blog posts is also therapeutic.

Last night I also had the very welcome distraction of watching Le Tour with faithful travelling companion, although even then I had a wobble as I remembered how mum would also ask me every year to explain race tactics, and the peloton, and the lead-out train, and why the person who won the stage wasn't automatically the race leader.  And she would always ask me if you could buy those lions anywhere - TdF merchandisers were totally missing a trick, weren't they?

Tomorrow I will meet my old friends for a coffee in town, and later on I will have to decide what to wear on Thursday.  But I'll think about that tomorrow.

One week

I'm staying up a bit later tonight, out of choice.  Inevitably I think back to exactly one week ago, when we both sat up late, watching all those late-night shows on the food channels on TV.  At that time, there was no indication what the next 24 hours would bring.  I didn't know that my mum would end up in hospital.  Last Monday night, we ended up watching an old Hairy Bikers show about Belgium, and I pointed out the places which faithful travelling companion and I had visited on our recent trip to Brussels.  24 hours ago tonight, I was the one who was unwell; off sick from work due to a horrible chest infection, struggling to breathe and coughing every minute.  How things change.

Among my friends there is this underlying narrative of worry, given that I had a bit of a breakdown, for want of a better word, last year.  I guess that there is this worry that I may fall apart and sink into the deepest of deep depressions again, with all that brings.  But I somehow don't think I will; I need to hold onto that hope.

One of my best friends said that "the first year would be the worst".  But there is no time limit on grief.  There are those 'milestones': notably Christmas, which popped into my head the other day. Should I forget all about it?  Or should I put up the tree which was much-loved by both of us?  That's for another day.

As ever, I'm finding a lot of solutions on the good old internet, and my connection is like a lifeline to another, more "normal" world which temporarily distracts me and stops me thinking about how miserable and empty I feel.  Of course blogging is the most therapeutic thing I can do, and I think that once 'all this is over' I will throw myself into my hobbies and interests.

The other thing I am going to do, all being well, is to return to work full-time after a 6 month trial period of part-time hours.  I'm going to have a lot of my time on my hands from now on, so I need to fill it constructively.

Monday: another day on the rollercoaster

Recent days have been packed with activity; jobs which need to be done, agencies which need to be advised of changes of circumstances, and friends and family who need to be updated.  Talking to people is never easy, but in this instance the 'rallying-round' which seems to be a familiar part of life following a bereavement, has been a great comfort to me.  There is also a force and strength driving me onwards through this.  Mum is with me and is guiding me.  She wouldn't want to see me fall apart.  And that's what's keeping me going.

After various hold-ups and hiccups, the funeral arrangements were finally confirmed for this Thursday.

Today's toughest task was getting to grips with arranging a religious funeral, in line with what my mum would have wanted.  It has been a long, long time since organised religion was a part of my life, so the task of choosing a few hymns - and crucially, remembering the ones she used to like, all those years ago - turned out to be more drawn-out and complicated than first thought.  I became sad, and irritable, and even a little bit frustrated that a religious funeral means that the "send-off" isn't going to be as personal as I'd have liked.  But I've written a 'eulogy' of sorts, of edited highlights from her life, so along with the hymn choices, then that's as personal as it'll probably get.  I don't even know if I'll be allowed to play a couple of my mum's favourite songs at the crematorium.   Rules, huh?

What has impressed me throughout this process is the dignity and sensitivity shown by everyone over the past week.  From the wonderful nursing staff who cared for mum in her last days in hospital, to the registrar who went above and beyond, to the funeral directors' staff, and everyone else, all have been so kind and sensitive, and it gives me hope that there are some good people out there doing such good work.  If it can also inspire me to practice the same sensitivity in my own working life, both to my colleagues and to the public, then I will have learned a very valuable lesson indeed.  

Surprisingly, I have come to treasure the peace and solitude of night-time.  (The only thing I treasure more is the love and support of faithful travelling companion, who has been there for me every step of the way.)  That 'me-time', no matter how mundane - watching TV or reading the latest trending topics on Twitter - means a lot.

I feel exhausted, emotionally, mentally and physically, and I fell to pieces a few times.  It'll be a while yet before I can reintroduce my trademark eye make-up, that's for sure.  My body is wracked with pain, because of all the tension and stress.

In the meantime, I want to do as little as possible tomorrow, apart from make a few phone calls and sorting some stuff out with the church.  Some much-needed rest would be welcome, and I'm going to take it and enjoy it.

By the way, this was my 400th post on Random Ramblings.  Much more to follow, I'm sure.  

The letter

You will probably have read my post over at EuropeCrazy about my mum, but I also want to post some stuff on here over the next few days as it is really helping me get through this most difficult of weeks.  Even if she was a technophobe and never really quite understood blogging or social media, mum was fascinated with my blogging hobby and was very impressed that I had made some lovely friends all over the world because of it.

My mum's organisational skills ensured that every area of her life was taken care of.  A few years ago, she told me that she had written a letter which was not to be opened until she was no longer with me.  Yesterday, whilst gathering paperwork to register her death, I found that letter and finally plucked up the courage to open it.

Yet I needn't have worried.  For it was filled with words of hope, encouragement and inspiration, not in a sickly emotional way (she hated that kind of stuff!) but also filled with love and humour and the plain-speaking honesty that was her trademark.  My mum was very "matter-of-fact" and in the letter she went on to leave me a lot of helpful instructions and advice, not just for now but for the longer term. I have read this letter numerous times over the past 2 days, and it never fails to comfort me.  

Today I began the process of arranging the funeral, although for various bureaucratic reasons the arrangements won't be confirmed until Monday.  Tomorrow I will make some more phone calls to update friends and family, but tonight I'm ensuring that I'm having a night of "me time", catching up with my telly backlog, having a couple of glasses of wine and then watching some YouTube clips later on.  The way Saturday night always was.....

Dark days

Out of the blue, and unexpectedly, my mum was admitted to hospital again yesterday. There's a number of different things wrong with her, but all I will say is that she is very ill at the moment.  In that situation, every little glimmer of hope is grabbed with both hands; whether it's tiny improvements in a blood test, or little moves of the arm and leg, or the tiniest little bit of mumbling....every one is an achievement.

During my visit to hospital earlier today, she suddenly became conscious, opened her eyes and said hello to me, and that was probably one of the happiest moments of my life.  She is very weak and frail, but she is also one hell of a fighter, as previous illnesses have proved.

She has received terrific care from everyone in the hospital since she arrived, which gives me great hope for her recovery.  I am going back to visit her tonight and can't wait to see her again.  This house is such an empty (and quieter) place without her around :(

EDIT: I visited tonight, and there was no change....if anything, there was more cause for concern than this afternoon, but at least she did become more conscious towards the end of our visit and there were even a couple of funny moments.  But my heart feels so heavy right now as she is not getting any better....