Tuesday 25 March 2014

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.

Monday 17 March 2014

Walking in West Sussex and Realising it's Home.

It's been over two years since I last wrote and a lot has happened in that time (more about that in future posts) but I'm back. And because I'm entertaining the idea of writing a book at some point, I thought writing this blog would be good practice.  Jeremy (now my husband) and I have just spent a glorious week's holiday walking in West Sussex. We hired a cottage in Byworth - which is just outside Petworth - and with the help of Ordnance Survey Maps, went on some amazing walks along rivers, across the South Downs and through pretty West Sussex towns and villages including Burpham (The George is a great pub); West Dean  (where we had a delicious roast beef sandwich at The Dean and Ale Cider House) and Arundel. We saw thousands of wild daffodils in the West Dean Woods; had coffee and cake at the Aero Club Café in the Goodwood airfield whilst watching small planes land and take off into clear blue skies; and gave our muscles a good workout by climbing up to the Beacon Hill vista point.  At some point during the week it suddenly dawned on me that West Sussex is my home.  I always thought Brazil - and Sao Paulo in particular - was home. But the truth is I've lived in England for longer that I lived in Brazil (20 years in Brazil, 26 years in England). And as my parents settled in Sussex (mostly West Sussex) when they moved back here, it's where home has been ever since.  And still is. But I only realised it this week.