My Blog Bubble

It seems amazing to me that I am writing another post.   As I rounded the corner at the hospice this morning, walking towards the bay you are in, I held my breath.  I was greeted by smiles and there you were. More amazingly I said hello and you spoke back!  Mum you are incredible, amazing, an inspiration. Lying there listening, with Alex and I, to some Graham Kendrick.  We have moved you to your own room to give you some peace and the freedom to leave us when it feels right for you. In the meantime I am in awe, as a Biologist, that you are still here.  All of the staff are amazed and all we are pleased able to offer you respite.  You aren't in pain, at least we don't think so, and we know you can hear us. I think you are just catching up on all the sleep you have missed over the years.  All of those early mornings; all of those sleepless nights due to your "hot legs". We thought we would lose you to the MS but we were wrong. ...

Today I went to church and I cried.  Alex came with me and just held me.  Everyone at church sends their love and support. I got down to see you and share some time with you. I read prayers and Readings.  And I read hymns - in fact Sarah and I sung a couple to you (with a beautiful dance from Sarah too).  I put your cross in your hand and you held on tight. I even said you should stand and join in with us and you whipped back the cover as if to stand - making me smile! I stayed for the memorial service and cried there too.  There were a couple of readings and prayers that were beautiful. Yesterday it was music - a bit of Olivia Newton John and the Messiah.  Today it was just me - but you didn't tell me to stop so that is always a bonus. Mum I don't know why you are staying but your heart is as strong as it is true and I love you.

I sit and stroke your hair.  I laugh and I joke. Yesterday we listened to the Sound of Music and a bit of the Messiah.  I asked for the Last Rites to be read and for prayers to be said.  Today Rachel and I moisturised your hands and face. I searched and searched to find "Why Me" by Olivia Newton John and have now played that to death.  You laughed at the idea of Terry using an iPad or iPhone.  Now you lay there and I wonder what I can do to help you.  You have our permission to go Mum. We promise to look after each other and Terry (of course).  And I am sure Winnie will be treasured as much by Terry as she is by you.  Whatever you are waiting for I would make happen in a heartbeat if only I knew.  In death, as in life, you are strong and beautiful. 

I saw you the other day and I knew it was close. So frail. So yellow.   But all your own teeth - and the yellow makes them look so white. And mum - your hair looks so thick as it frames your tiny face. Your warm eyes and ski-slope nose.   I am going to miss you. I don't know how it is going to feel. I am not one of those daughters that calls every day - or even every week. But you are never far from my thoughts and always in my prayers.   It wasn't that our lives were too busy just that we knew the other was there and that we loved them. Would I have more moments if I could?   Yes!   Of course. More memories and laughs. Time with just you. Time with Eliza and you. You.   But I want that time when you were well and able to enjoy the walks by the sea.   Thank you for the memories and for making me into the person I am.   I love you forever and think of you always.   Mum x

I'm running out of time.   I know that all we are guaranteed in this life, other than taxes, is death. But I am not ready for yours.   There are so many more moments I wasn't to share with you, I want to experience with you, rejoice in with you.   The sands of time slip through our hands without us noticing. Then we find ourselves grappling with the few tiniest grains that we can find. The type that would have just passed us by, like walking across a soft sandy beach with no shoes on. I find myself trying to hold on to those specks and feel their warmth.   As life ebbs out of your weakened body my heart grows ever prouder that you are my mum.   Kind and funny and loving. My mum: Christine Gelling; I love you; for always: and I thank you; forever.  

We have always been open and talked about death and funerals.   I think one of the first things we spoke about after your diagnosis was about your funeral and the scattering of your ashes.   Some people think it's macabre but I do it to prepare myself. The more I do now the less I HAVE to do later.   We know your wishes and we have the addresses. I have your scatter tube and soon your order of service.   I know what I will read and that Rachel won't be able to. But I don't want them; I want you. The promise of you, not forever, just for longer.   Don't go yet Mum, please, stay a while x  

So we have discussed the ins and outs of your funeral.   We have spoken about the type of coffin you want (you said willow originally and now seem happy with a cardboard one).  In fact Googling them became quite a fun thing to do - so many to choose from.  I have even chosen my own and Alex his (I wonder if there is a bulk option or maybe we can buy flat-packed and store for later use)?  I know you want to be scattered so I am ready to order your scatter tube. I have even looked at Ashes in to Glass - so that we can each have a special "something" to remember you by. We have spoken of readings and hymns.  And ministers.  We haven't spoken flowers or donations but I am sure that is yet to come. We have spoken about how I can let people know of your death and how I am NOT to use the word passed or passing at any point as you really don't like that. I don't like the phrase "lost their fight" or "given up their fight". ...

Every time that blasted phone rings or I get a message from my sister or my aunt I swallow hard, I hold my breath and then I proceed. Mum I know you are in pain and I know you want to give in to it.  I also know you have nothing to fear.  You have your faith and it will guide you into the arms of the Lord where you will be able to rest in peace. Last night I had a bath and I sobbed and sobbed.  I really don't know how to deal with this and what I am going to feel when you eventually die (I am not allowed to day pass now am I?).   I do want you to know that we are going to be fine.  We will miss you incredibly but we will stick together and laugh at your memories.  I find myself smiling as I think of the funny tales you have told and your smile and laugh. Last year when we heard about your diagnosis I can remember feeling utterly bereft.  And still I am.  However I also remember being sad that you might not see me find my happy. ...

Last night I sat and read you a bedtime story - your favourite book from your childhood: The Velveteen Rabbit. I then sat and stroked your hair and your forehead as you drifted off to sleep. It felt so right to be there, to comfort you.  We didn't really speak but just being there gave me a peace. Yes you are back at the hospice, but you are in the best place, where they can take care of you. Today I have spent hours here, perched on the windowsill (obviously not a tiny one) as you dozed.  We spoke about the family and religion and your friends came and went.  Terry and Winnie came to visit and the nursing staff greeted you like an old friend. I love you Mum and I will be here as often as I can.  It isnt about the memories now, it is about the connection, the comfort; for both of us.