Monday, 1 October 2018

Last Times and Turning Points

The other day Dad and I tried to work out the last time mum played netball.  We couldn't pinpoint exactly when but we agreed that it was for the best that at the time, she wouldn't have known that it was going to be her last game of netball; if she did it would have made it a lot less enjoyable for her.

In contrast to that, at the end of my birthday this year, June 4th, I knew it was going to be the last one with mum. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't so enjoyable.

I decided to take a bit of the morning off work to go on a walk with mum down to La Saie with the dogs. She could still walk, but she got tired easily.  She was due to start chemo the next day.

We got to the bottom of the path and were about to walk onto the beach when she stopped and made a point of showing me that she hid a tennis ball in a tree stump - Jessie likes to chase a ball on the beach, and it meant she didn't always have to carry one with her.

It wasn't the act of showing me the ball that stood out, but the way in which she did it.  She didn't pick up the ball and keep walking, but stopped to turn and tell me face to face.

At the start of that day I still believed that there was some hope as regards her getting better, but she clearly knew that the writing was on the wall with regards to her prognosis.  She was making sure i knew about the ball so I could carry on when she wasn't there.  She didn't have to tell me explicitly, I just knew that was how she felt.

Such a tiny interaction was a turning point for me: It marked the time at which I started grieving. Up until that point I had been positive, and, perhaps, naively optimistic, but seeing her finally accepting the reality meant I too had to adjust my frame of mind. I cried every day for about 3 weeks.

During this time I made sure I told mum all those unspoken things I felt but had never said.  I was so emotional that I couldn't say the words and had to send her a message on WhatsApp.

I made a whole list of questions that I asked her to answer.  Things about her childhood, things about mine, questions about her legacy, and questions about parenting. 

I was incredibly fortunate that I was able to discuss most everything I wanted with her before she passed - I know a lot of others don't have that same privilege.

I also have no doubt that being able to go through that anticipatory grief whilst she was still with us has helped a great deal in the two weeks since her passing.  I think the only way I was able to speak at the funeral was because I had dealt with some of the pain months ago.

Reading back some of her answers to my questions, I realise that I asked her what she wanted to happen to the blog.  This was her response:
"Re the blog... The last Post... I do not want all that drivel about fighting a battle courageously borne, I've not done that, I just had cancer and was unlucky, but my life has been full and enriched by my friends and family, and unlike most people I have had the the time to be able to say goodbye to ones I love, and be overwhelmed and  humbled by their messages, texts and emails saying such beautiful  and kind words .. That's truly a privilege few folks get."
It's nice to put some of her actual words on here.

8 comments:

  1. Thanks Tom. I watched her play netball last November. She really enjoyed it. Xx

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  2. Thanks for sharing and continuing the blog with your own experience Tom,I know Jill would approve, your mum was special in the most important and “ordinary “ way by being a great wife mum and friend xx

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  3. You're awesome Tom.... You'll no doubt go over and over this kind of stuff on a regular basis. I hope that you find it cathartic and manage to smile..... Lots... Your words make perfect sense..... Jill Yaxley x

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  5. Constantly astounded by your courage, humour and beautiful words in the wake of such an awful loss.

    All of my very best wishes,
    Eve x

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  6. I only knew Jill for the short time I was on attachment to Channel tv last summer . She was so positive and kind and upbeat ... lovely to read your message tonight - Alison Mackenzie

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  7. Thank you Tom. Every time i opened the blog I prayed it would say she was going to get better. She was so positive, I’m not sure how she did it, but that was the person she was and thats why we loved her. Thinking of you every day xx

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  8. This is a really insightful and moving piece. I can so clearly remember digesting and processing those emotions of acceptance, the enormous sadness and the 'turning point ' you so eloquently refer to, with my own parental loss. I too felt that I grieved for the loss of my father in the lead up to his death. You feel somewhat prepared, and as you say quite blessed to be able to have special conversations. Although nothing I think can prepare you for the void. Thank you for expressing your experience so candidly. I loved your Mum's response to the question regarding the blog. Further evidence of why she had so many admirers. The service of remembrance was a beautiful occasion. I hope you are all doing ok. Lindsay xo
    (I used to 'try' and run your Mother about on squash court)

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