Way back in the mists of time, when my dad died from MS complications, aged 35, I knew I would always have my mum.
Now she is seriously ill in hospital, and has been for four months.
There’s always that hope, isn’t there, that our mums will shrug any illness off, put the kettle on and give us our full attention.
They’ll bustle around the kitchen, nurturing plant cuttings, swapping local gossip and making us feel like we are the most important person in the world.
Not any more.
For me, it really hit home yesterday. I had been at a wonderful MS Society Council meeting (as a fully-fledged member!), and as soon as the train pulled into the station, I thought, ‘ah, I’ll give mum a call, let her know I’m home safe’. I felt safe just thinking it.
Except I can’t. She’s too ill to really understand.
She knows I’ve been away and now she knows I got back safely but the nuances remain left unsaid. I am floundering. My safety net, that generation above me, has disappeared. It’s me at the top of the tree.
You’d think, that after four months, I would be used to it. Not a bit. It still stuns me every single day. There have been brief glimmers of hope but they have been cruelly dashed.
Next week, I’m off to London, as a finalist for an MS Society award. I’m wholly unprepared – a recycled outfit, untrimmed hair, red face and snagged nails. I’m a mess. It’s been four months of non-stop angst.
I’m absurdly worried that I won’t be wearing a dress – but after my attempts, which have come to nothing, I’m resigned to my black trousers and top. It will be a miracle just to attend the ceremony.
However, in the midst of all the gloom, all the decisions, drama, horror, it meant the world to get away for 24 hours and be amongst an inspiring group of people who just understand.
Perhaps I do feel safe: just in some different, new form.
Oh, how the feeling of the safety net above you being gone resonates! I remember so well how I felt when I could no longer call my mum. Like you, mine had been quite ill for some time and even now, 18 years since she died, I will still run into that feeling of wanting to call her every once in a while. But it does get better – and you do find new safety nets. I salute you, you are doing so much during what is undoubtedly a very, very difficult time.
Thank you so much!
It’s strange, isn’t it – I’ll often think, oh, I’ll just pop in for coffee, or something. Then realise I can’t. The Teenager said a similar thing yesterday, that he couldn’t just pop up to see his nana any more.
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Thinking of you. No pain hits as hard as losing a mother.. x
Thank you 🙂
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I’m so sorry to hear about your mum, you feel they will always be there for you even when they’re ill.
We all need an outlet, mine is skiing it’s an amazing feeling. I hope you are able to have a good time at the awards, that you are fortunate to receive one. I will be travelling to Leeds on 7th May for the #IceBall a super night out.
Prayers for your mom and hugs for you, xx
You’re right – we really do! Takes a while to get used to a new way of living.
Thank you for your lovely thoughts.
The awards should be great fun and it’ll be good to be away with The Teenager 🙂 Have a wonderful time at the Ball!!
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Don’t worry about your outfit you always look nice. Have a lovely time at the awards. Xx
That’s such a lovely thing to say, thank you so much!
X