My mother’s journey

My journal of my mother dying

No greater compliment 

Today I received the greatest compliment that maybe a writer can receive.

Today had been one of those days where just another leaf of grief floated past me as I prepare to say goodbye to Mum and Dad’s holiday house. There was a knock on the door when I was cooking dinner. A local person who I known enough to say hi to in passing stood in front of me. In her hands was an incredible bunch of flowers. My first thought was that she had mixed me up with the other Meg in Kensington (we are often mixed up) and that I would have to tell her that those flowers weren’t for me.

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Twenty-eight days 

28

Beware. This is a ‘journey’ post.

Twenty-six days ago I was sitting in my psychologist’s office (not something I would have done, or admitted to a couple of years ago, but now I wonder how people survive without brain dumping on someone who can help you sort out all the brain mess). We were talking self care and how it would be good for me to try to incorporate it into my every day (instead of an extraordinary occasion) with the view to chat about it when we caught up again in 28 days. She was concerned that I had stopped writing, that I had given up on the idea of my words making any sense, and that I wouldn’t allowed myself to look at my manuscript I had saved all the way back in November last month.

So, being a listy kind of person I knew it would start with a list.

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2015 in review

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It’s been a long time since I last posted. Life’s been a bit crazy, and there just didn’t seem like there was time, or energy to post here. But, as the year draws to a close (only a matter of hours now), it feels appropriate to wrap up 2015.

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In print

eggshellsIt was such an exciting moment seeing my name in print, even if it is alongside 103 other writers (including Sian Prior).

As my mate Tania Chandler, who just launched her first novel Please Don’t Leave Me Here (a book I highly recommend), said, ‘It’s like a shot in the arm.’

It’s the boost to remind us to keep writing, that it is all worth it.

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A suitable farewell

A letter Mum wrote to her church when she knew she was dying

A letter Mum wrote to her church when she knew she was dying

I am not sure I had realised how popular Mum was (and I am positive she didn’t either). The church at her funeral was packed and overflowing and there were many people who couldn’t even get there. On the day and after, we (my siblings and I) have all been asked for copies of our eulogies and to be able to listen the Mum’s funeral service.

So, without further ado, here are the eulogies in the order they were read, and her service.

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Empty Space

Image courtesy of Helga Weber www.flickr.com/photos/helga/

Image courtesy of Helga Weber

There is so much to do, to catch up on, and so little motivation. I’ve had to resort to my daily to-do lists in my diary to try to encourage myself to at least tick one box off a day. I refuse to give in to inactivity.

On the day I brought Mum home from hospital, the day she found out that she had terminal cancer, she went straight out to the clothes line to hang out some clothes to air. I told her that I could do that and she said, “No, I need to do. Doing is very helpful.”

It’s these words that help me to do when all I want to do is curl up under my doona and let the world pass me by.

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Goodbye Mum

Pattie Morgan 27 July 1940 – 8 April 2015

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A beautiful, brave, smart, playful and loving woman. We’ll miss you.

This is the eighth post in a series about my mother’s journey with terminal cancer.

Peacefully sleeping

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Mum on Good Friday

It’s hard to imagine that this woman, always so full of life, will not be here much longer. In such a short period of time Mum has gone from someone who is running around, with barely a spare moment left in her diary, to someone who now just sleeps.
 

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Cheated

Old people crossing signIt’s the odd little things that catch me: some middle-aged woman helping her old mum cross the road, a man sitting drinking coffee with his elderly mother, an elderly gentleman talking quietly with a teenage grandson. Things I will never get to experience. Mum will never be an old woman. Dad was never an old man.

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Don’t panic

Mum

Mum

I have really struggled with understanding what I need to write about this week. It seems much harder, which is probably a great reflection of the rollercoaster week it’s been. It’s not as though there has been anything too dramatic regarding Mum’s health – I think that we’ve all accepted (including Mum) that it is declining whether we like it or not.

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