I Miss My Mother

Mum died last July, aged 82, and I really, really miss her.  She'd had 5 breast cancer lumpectomies over the past 20 years and had always refused chemo and radiotherapy.  She was lucky that her cancer wasn't aggressive. But it got her in the end. Unbeknown to us, it metastasized and went to her spine. We found out last February and hoped she'd beat it again. So much so that I didn't change my September wedding date. But she complained of a sore rib after a weekend with one of my sisters, went into hospital and died two weeks later. It was completely unexpected. One day I was told mum could leave the hospital at the end of the week. A few days later I was told she wouldn't survive the weekend. My dad, sisters and I were with her until the end. We set up a rota, camped out in her hospital room, talked of where we'd lived in Brazil and sang her favourite Abba songs when she woke up in the middle of the night. We didn't discuss what was happening (to be honest I don't know if mum knew what was happening) and kept praying she'd prove the doctors wrong and get through it.  So when my sister texted us first thing on Monday morning to say that mum's blood pressure and oxygen levels were up and that she'd managed to eat something, we thought she had.  But at lunchtime, as I was getting ready to go to Worthing to take over the rota, she called to tell me that mum had slipped away whilst holding her and my father's hands. I've never loss anyone really close to me before (I'd never even been to a funeral before mum's) so I was totally unprepared  for the pain, the grief, the sadness, the confusion and the overwhelming and all-consuming sense of loss. And still am, to be honest. One minute life's ok. The next I  hear, read or see something that makes me think of mum and the tears are back. Like now. I'd give anything to be able to buy mum an overpriced bunch of flowers on Mother's Day or send her a montage of silly photos on a Moonpig Mother's Day card. But all I can do on Sunday is remember mum, be the daughter she'd like me to be (happy above everything else)  and take care of dad.