My Blog Bubble

I am still numb. Not sure how to feel. Everyone tells me they are sorry for my loss and seem almost more upset from me. I don't understand what is happening.   I am told it will blindside me at some point and I guess I am waiting for that.   It hit me yesterday that maybe the reason I am not yet grieving is that I cannot, in my head, justify the person we are placing in a box is you; Mum.   I saw you diminish before my eyes and life slowly ebb away. That person that was left wasn't you. Not my Mum. My mum is was full of life and optimistic.   The person I wish I hadn't kissed on the head, lying dead on that bed, wasn't you.   Although there is a smile on my face when I think of the party popper in your hand that I had left on your pillow the night before. Go and celebrate that you made it there on your own terms.   Love you Mum x www.justgiving.co.uk/chrisgelling

Here I am wishing your body would give in. I can't believe I am wanting my mum's body to die. And I say your body as I think that is all that is left. Your spirit has moved on already.   Last night it hit me what that means. Wishing my own mother dead. Not being able to speak to you anymore. Not hearing your funny stories or see you smiling face.   Not being able to see the joy in your eyes when you see your grandchildren.   Not being able to walk along the beach with you.   Not watching the tv with you and drinking tea.   No more nonsense conversations where no one can keep up outside of you, Rachel and I.   No more Mum. No more Mum.   www.justgiving.co.uk/chrisgelling

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. 

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.

Can we ask just one thing of you:- Please stop asking me how Mum is.  I know you mean well and you honestly do care; you want to know that she is ok: but we can't tell you that. In fact we are tired of having to repeat ourselves and remind ourselves that Mum isn't going to get better.  That this is it.  That we can't help her but can on;y make her comfortable. Maybe ask how I am, or if there is anything you can do, or just give us a hug.  Maybe just squeeze our shoulder and don't say anyhting.  If we want to talk, I promise, we will.  Sometimes, like my Blog, it is cathartic.  Other times it hurts in a way I cannot explain. The best thing to do is send a message, a text, an email, and if/when we feel like it we will respond.  Forgive us if we see you are calling and cannot take your call.  It is tiring, emotionally, to drag our way through a conversation we do not want to have. We know you care and we don't want to appear rude but...