Mum
Like many people these days my life has been touched by cancer. 9 years ago this week my mother finally succumbed to ovarian cancer after a 2 year battle. We knew it was coming, and as depressing and upsetting as it was watching her wither away before our eyes, we were able to say goodbye and tell her that we loved her before she finally passed away.

I wasn’t there when it happened; I had spent the week before with her at home and decided to go back to work as she seemed to be fairly stable, although highly drugged on morphine. During the first morning back at work, I received “the call” from my Dad. I travelled back to the family home. As my mum had spent the latter stages of her illness at home, she still there whilst the preparations for the funeral were made.

My mother had lost a huge amount of weight in the months before her death, and it was difficult seeing what she had become from the person who had brought me up. It took a lot for me to actually go and say goodbye to her one last time, but I’m glad that I did. I now no longer associate that last image I have of her as the person who was such a huge part of my life, and I do feel that it helped.


On a side note to this, the funeral was a slightly puzzling and even amusing tale. During the priest’s sermon, bearing in mind that I had attended this church with my mother for years while I was growing up and it being a tiny country parish, the priest managed to get my name wrong not once but twice.

I still have the picture in my head, of my dad, sister and me sitting in the front row of the congregation, struggling to hold back tears, as the priest utters the unforgettable words “And at this difficult time our thoughts go out to Mummy Blue’s family, Daddy Blue, Sister Blue and Edmond.” Strangely enough, my name isn’t Edmond; my mother wasn’t that cruel. And as most people in the church knew this, as small uncomfortable ripple went through the congregation. Except from my sister and me, who were by now struggling to hold back the giggles. This would have been fine and we would have managed to keep this under control if he hadn’t repeated the exact same words, barely 3 minutes later. This time my sister and me just looked at each other and laughed out loud. We weren’t the only ones either. I spent the rest of the day being called Edmond by everyone at the wake, or being quizzed on what I thought of my new brother.

So I think that I must thank the priest, who managed to make me laugh on one of the most difficult days of my life. I know that my mum would have found it hilarious too.

Sorry for the length.
(Blue_in_Exile, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 11:20, Reply)