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Nothing prepared me for facing the death of my mum. Death of a loved one is hard even when it is expected, but saying goodbye to your mum is one of the hardest things you will ever do.
My mum was an angel in disguise. She always told me that she "picked me out of the cabbage patch". Out of all the other babies in the cabbage patch, she fell in love with my sparkly brown eyes and my chubby cheeks. As I was adopted by Mum and Dad at six weeks old when I reached adulthood this was, I thought, the loveliest way of describing my arrival into the family.
As a child, it resonated with me too because we actually had a cabbage patch in the garden.
Mum was my rock. She was always dependable and loved me unconditionally. She was my biggest fan and through life’s journeys, she always was there for me when I needed her the most. My pride in how she was, who she was, and how much she loved me always makes me smile.
In her 80th year, my dad passed away unexpectedly from a brain aneurysm, and mum was left totally lost. Not only did she lose the love of her life but she lost her purpose and her drive. She grieved for him for the rest of her life.
She changed and so did our relationship. I became the carer and she relied on me like she had when dad was alive.
Our conversations changed and I relished spending time with her and listening to her stories. They had changed over the years, she was more expansive on her marriage and her journey through life. Imagine my surprise when often the conversations would veer towards sex, and mum and dad’s love life before dad went off to war. It was an eye-opener.
In her 90th year, she had enough; and her body and mind were failing due to her self-imposed geriatric malnutrition. It was a sad year for us both. Her level of consciousness changed and she was seeing my Dad sitting at the end of her bed every day. Her mobility was compromised after frequent falling, she lost her common sense and often put herself at risk. Finally she caught influenza that had been running through the residents of the nursing home where she lived. With her emaciated body, she had nothing in reserve to fight this off so I was allowed to stay with her despite the centre in lockdown.
I spent the last week of her life with her in her room. We talked, we laughed, we reminisced, we told stories, we rang everyone who mattered so Mum could say her goodbyes.
It was very special to have this time together. As I’m writing this with tears running down my face, these memories are still raw after eight years now that she has been gone.
It was such a privilege to hold her, comfort her, love her, and express my thanks, for all that she had done for me over the years. It was a week that held some lovely moments and I will treasure them for the rest of my life. When Mum faded in and out of consciousness I continued to hold her, look after her, and talk to her. She was frightened to leave and I was able to remind her that Dad was waiting for her. Longing to be with him comforted her and she slowly drifted away.
Grief is often hard to bear and each of us holds it in our hearts in many different ways. My experience of facing my mum’s death taught me a few life lessons:
Life goes on regardless of our feelings.
It really is a privilege to be with someone as they pass.
It’s the perfect way to show your love for someone as they prepare to die.
It soothes your soul to share their last hours on earth. It’s almost like a full circle moment especially if they gave birth to you.
It’s a great time to remember memories, share stories, and show your gratitude.
Those memories will remain with you forever.
RIP Mum – you are now my shining star.
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