Catalyst
On 24th January 2003, my mother died. I feel that in some way I inherited her strength that day. I grew up and those changes made the next couple of years turn out the way they did.
I think we had underestimated how unwell she was in the time running up. Mum had diabetes, she had it for about 15-20 years and it was taking its toll. Her body was under too much strain and the obvious effects it was having on her eyesight were mirrored by less obvious effects on her internal organs.
During the summer of 2003 Mum had undergone eye surgery. She spent a couple of weeks recuperating in a home near where I lived, at my eldest sister's expense, and the extra care she received there brought her back to us a bit. We realised that we hadn't seen how unwell she was becoming. She obviously had been having trouble looking after herself, she hadn't been eating properly and now she was building her strength up again. Being so close to my home also meant I was able to see her more often and, more importantly, she was able to see my children every day.
She had seen my daughter, B, grow from a baby into a little person and I hoped this surgery and regained strength would mean she could see my son, G, do the same. She didn't.
Mum returned home and for a while seemed better. Her eyes didn't appear to be improving that much, and sadly it seemed the surgery hadn't had the results we had hoped for. But at least she had regained some strength. As the year moved on though, she became weak again.
Test after test, hospital visit after hospital visit, it took forever to diagnose thyroid problems and medicate. Again, this diagnosis brought some hope that she would get better. In fact the treatment had the opposite effect.
In November 2002 we went up to London for our traditional week of pre-Christmas shopping. This could be our last week long trip, we thought, as B would soon be starting school. It was during that week that I started to think it might be the last time for a different reason.
Mum hadn't been well, the medication was making her ill, upsetting her stomach. I realised there were marks on the carpet and floor where she hadn't been able to make it to the bathroom in time. I cleared up as best I could and started to worry. Mum was a strong, proud woman though. She wouldn't have admitted how ill she was. Plus, with her failing eyesight, she probably didn't even realise that she was in such a state.
Christmas came and, as always, we were going to stay with my ex-wife's parents up north. Mum didn't want to come with us, nor did she want to go to my sister's, her usual alternative. When we arrived at my in-laws on Christmas Eve I cried. It dawned on me, this was going to be Mum's last Christmas and I wasn't going to be with her.
I think we had underestimated how unwell she was in the time running up. Mum had diabetes, she had it for about 15-20 years and it was taking its toll. Her body was under too much strain and the obvious effects it was having on her eyesight were mirrored by less obvious effects on her internal organs.
During the summer of 2003 Mum had undergone eye surgery. She spent a couple of weeks recuperating in a home near where I lived, at my eldest sister's expense, and the extra care she received there brought her back to us a bit. We realised that we hadn't seen how unwell she was becoming. She obviously had been having trouble looking after herself, she hadn't been eating properly and now she was building her strength up again. Being so close to my home also meant I was able to see her more often and, more importantly, she was able to see my children every day.
She had seen my daughter, B, grow from a baby into a little person and I hoped this surgery and regained strength would mean she could see my son, G, do the same. She didn't.
Mum returned home and for a while seemed better. Her eyes didn't appear to be improving that much, and sadly it seemed the surgery hadn't had the results we had hoped for. But at least she had regained some strength. As the year moved on though, she became weak again.
Test after test, hospital visit after hospital visit, it took forever to diagnose thyroid problems and medicate. Again, this diagnosis brought some hope that she would get better. In fact the treatment had the opposite effect.
In November 2002 we went up to London for our traditional week of pre-Christmas shopping. This could be our last week long trip, we thought, as B would soon be starting school. It was during that week that I started to think it might be the last time for a different reason.
Mum hadn't been well, the medication was making her ill, upsetting her stomach. I realised there were marks on the carpet and floor where she hadn't been able to make it to the bathroom in time. I cleared up as best I could and started to worry. Mum was a strong, proud woman though. She wouldn't have admitted how ill she was. Plus, with her failing eyesight, she probably didn't even realise that she was in such a state.
Christmas came and, as always, we were going to stay with my ex-wife's parents up north. Mum didn't want to come with us, nor did she want to go to my sister's, her usual alternative. When we arrived at my in-laws on Christmas Eve I cried. It dawned on me, this was going to be Mum's last Christmas and I wasn't going to be with her.
posted by Anonymous at 09:23
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home