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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2016387-Mums-Final-Year
Rated: ASR · Non-fiction · Biographical · #2016387
It's not meant to be well written but it's written straight off my head and from the heart
Thursday 1st April 2010

I remember this day really clearly, like it happened only yesterday. I don't intend for this to be the most descriptive or most interesting piece of writing ever written, but I intend for it to be therapeutic for me to share my experiences of this year as I remember them, so it will not be well written but it will be written exactly how I felt at the time and how I feel now, over 4 and a half years later. I was 16 years old when this happened, I'm 20 years old now. I should mention that Mum had Cystic Fibrosis, as do I.

I was in my bedroom, preparing to have a relaxing day doing nothing. Mum was in Bristol Royal Infirmary, having a routine few days as an inpatient to sort out her 'button', as I called it. Me and my dad generally went down to visit every other day as it was quite a trek from where we lived to Bristol, especially to go every day. Little did I know, today would be the day my life got turned upside down and inside out.

I heard the phone ring, but I decided to let my dad answer it (one of the wisest decisions I've ever made!). A few minutes later, he told me that we were going down to Bristol to see the doctors, who apparently wanted to talk face to face about medication and possible changes to them. I got changed and headed downstairs, which is when I realised that things weren't quite right.

My dad turned to me and told me that he'd thought things weren't right so he had rung my mum. She cried down the phone, telling him that the doctor had told her that she wouldn't be coming home. After a good cry and hug, we went to pick up my nan, who had agreed to come down with us. That 40 minute drive was the longest drive of my life! To make things worse, we couldn't park in the tiny hospital car park (some things never change!) so we had to park in a NCP multi story about 15 minutes walk away.

When we arrived, we went to see mum, and naturally we all had a good long cry together. Nan stayed with her whilst me and dad went to see the doctor. He took us to a small office and explained it as he saw it at the time: her health was deteriorating and he didn't expect her to last past the weekend, which came as a huge shock to us both. The doctor was outwardly upset, having had to break such devastating news to us.

We went back to spend some time with Mum. She was never one to fear death but she didn't know how long she had left in the eyes of the doctor, which is something we kept quiet for a while so as not to worry her even more.

My nan took me to the café for a while to allow my parents some alone time. She tried her best to et me to eat a sandwich and packet of jaffa cakes but I felt so sick I just couldn't manage anything. Even now, I can't explain how I felt. I didn't feel scared, I think it was still a tough thing to get my head around.

After spending most of the day telling friends and relatives, as well as spending a lot of time with Mum, we had to leave her to drive back, due to a Maundy Thursday church service that evening. Leaving Mum alone there was one of the hardest things I've had to do.

The drive home was not any easier than the drive down. We dropped my nan back home and went to tell my godparents and friends (Mum's best friend) the bad news, and then explained the situation to the church vicar, whom had known us for 7 years by that point. I still remember that we met him early in the church and as he walked over to hug us, he tripped over, which lightened the mood a little.

I sang in the church choir for that service, but I just couldn't make it through the service, so I had to leave early with my dad. On the way home, I couldn't stop dry heaving. In retrospect, that was probably the time it finally started to sink in that my mum had been given days to live.

We got home and had a long talk about things, during which I wasn't thinking and said the words “We'll live” which wasn't the most appropriate thing to say. I spent most of the night talking to one of my friends, whom I was going to church with the next day and whom I'm still close to now.

I remember clearly my dad coming into my room some when in the night and saying that he had a dream Mum was at a racetrack, but that was all. Strange things! Mum did it, though! She lived to survive another day!

End of 1/04/10
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2016387-Mums-Final-Year