By anyone's standards my year wouldn't be rated as brilliant. 2012 which dawned with such excitement and promise ended up being one of the hardest I've ever had to face.
{January 1st 2012}
I late February I ignored my phone ringing in a Parent Council meeting, but it kept ringing. I should have known then that this wouldn't be a good thing. Mum had taken unwell, but not to worry, initial thoughts were that it was something simple, an infection. An infection that quickly changed to scans, x-rays, and more emergency admissions to hospital. Then the appointment where we heard those words that make me want to be sick, palliative care. The optimism, the belief that this could be beaten, at least for a short while started to die. And so we spent the next weeks hugging, holding, talking, just being together.
Even if being together meant sitting quietly while mum slept. Even if it meant holding her weight as we slowly walked around the duck pond. Even if it meant sitting in reception for hours on end to give everyone time.Even if it meant saying goodbye one last time.
But this isn't meant to be a post that is about the deep, heart wrenching, gut punch grief that has scarred this year, because I think you all know how much my mama is loved and missed, every single day.
This is a post about living life. I want to remember the good things that happened this year.
I've had more hugs this year than any other year in my life. Hugs from my mum, growing ever weaker but still with determination. Great big hugs from my brothers, reminding me that they might be my little brothers in age but they are really my protectors. Hugs from Papa Nash, something we never really did before. Squeezy cuddles from my girls, curled up in my lap. Hugs from neighbours and friends. Hugs from people I hadn't seen in years. This year I've realised how very, very lucky I am to be so loved and to have so many people around me and my family.
And I found myself telling my girls that when granny died, she gave them and everyone she loved all her hugs, whenever they missed her they could have a granny hug- simply by hugging someone who loved their granny. It made them feel better, and in a funny way, it made me feel better. Hugs are clever like that.
This year has been full of experiences that have made me cry. Usually with a hint of sadness but with a lot of humour too. I have opened seemingly endless emails, facebook messages, letters, cards, text messages telling me something funny, touching, outrageous, unknown to me and always heartfelt. I revisit these messages from time to time, sometimes deliberately, sometimes by accident. And though they usually result in a tear, it's a strangely comforting feeling. The feeling of not being along, of my so-precious-to-me mama hasn't been forgotten. The memories, the thoughts that come unbidden to mind when you least expect it- when driving home or trying to recall something from childhood, a smell of her perfume, passing a lone cyclist in the rain. And then the events that just made me cry anyway- the Olympics, birthdays, films, exhaustion!
I'm lucky to have friends who are unbelievably wonderful, the loss of a parent isn't something many of my friends have experienced (thankfully) let alone their only parent. They've been figuring this out alongside me. Kateri has been there for the crazy, we need to go to London with the girls plan, the tears on the London Eye and the dark reality of raw emotions and not to forget the endless post. Those at work have been there and coped with my outrageous black humour, shocked they may have been but still they kept me sane. They let me have a cry or two at my desk without making a fuss, instead helping me laugh. Emma, who knows grief all too well, being there with a text, an email, the full delight that is a hug of baby Rory (who is officially the cuddliest baby, ever) and of course- cake.
I've always known that I'm lucky that I have the most perfect husband I could wish for but this year I've been more grateful than ever for his steadfastness. His ability to let me laugh, to let me sleep, to let me cry. To hold the girls close, to keep me upright on the hardest days. I've had the time and space to breathe and to think, to miss mum and make some sort of new normal. The girls have astounded me with their maturity and understanding. The way they can articulate how they feel and how it's okay to be sad, and okay to be happy.
This year will always be a milestone, a marker in my life. A pause in the busy course of living where things change direction slightly. But it will also be a year of living life fully, of love, of family, of friends, of laughing. I might not be able to see my mama anymore but I can still feel her gently helping us over the rough spots with the friends and family she surrounded us all with. It wasn't the year I imagined it would be. It will always be my mama's year.
