She was always on my side
My beautiful darling mother went to heaven on 18 September 2013. She had been diagnosed with COPD a number of years ago as she had been a lifetime smoker. She had never been hospitalized (apart from giving birth) until May 2012 when she suffered an acute attack of COPD. After spending 2 weeks in hospital she was put on medication and home oxygen at night-time. My darling mother gave up cigarettes at this point in time and she improved in leaps and bounds. Along with my father, I took charge of her medication (there was a lot of it) and my mother went on to have a brilliant time. We took her out and about, her quality of life was so much better and she had far less infections than she had previously when she had been a smoker. Even though she had COPD, we thought we were managing fine. Obviously she wasn't as fit as she used to be, but it seemed like she was doing fine and we were pleased with ourselves that we seemed to be getting something right in terms of my mother's care. I adored the ground she walked on. We had our fights, the fights were always about me fussing over her. But we loved each other so much, her love for her family went beyond any normal boundaries. I lived for her, as did all my siblings and my father. She is the life, heart and soul of our home. My whole world and life revolved around her. In my head I saw myself looking after her as she eventually became more feeble. I had absolutely no plans to let go of her for a long number of years until maybe she reached her mid or late nineties. There is a history of longevity in one side of her family and in my subconscious I reassured myself that I would have her for another while. On 4 September 2013, she became ill with what we thought was one of her infrequent chest infections. We took her to A & E and they told us it wasn't a serious infection. We all breathed a sigh of relief. Until that dreaded scan on the Thursday when everything changed forever and my whole world crumbled. The scan revealed that my darling mother had lung cancer with metastases to the brain. There had been absolutely no signs, no coughing up blood - ever. No signs of anything wrong with her brain, no pain, no confusion, no headaches. Against my better judgement, the Pulmonary Consultant convinced us to allow her to do a bronchoscopy on my darling mother. We felt she wasn't able for it, but the damned Consultant insisted she was able. We allowed the bronchoscopy to go ahead and my mother seemed to come out of it ok. The Consultant informed us that they removed a load of "gunk" from my mother's lungs which should help her breathing. The Consultant said she couldn't see any cancer, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. As the days went by my beautiful mother got weaker and they put her on morphine. She slipped away at 1pm on 18 September. My whole adult world has collapsed. I cannot live or function without her. I have tried lots of online forums like this one. I have read about people who even years later cannot move on from the death of their mother. I feel that the rest of my life will be one black hole and that I will not be able to go on without her. I will regret allowing the bronchoscopy for the rest of my life as I feel that it weakened her and shortened her life. I have had her for 45 years of my life and to think that she won't be in it anymore is too much to bear. I wasn't ready for this, I had it all figured out in my mind but God had other ideas. I desperately need to know that she is ok and looking over me, but even though I come from a religious and spiritual background, I am doubting my own faith and feel lost and alone, I cannot talk to anyone about it. My father and siblings are also hurting bad, but we don't seem to be able to console each other. I know what I am supposed to do, i.e. allow myself to grieve and take it one step at a time etc. etc. but I cannot do it. The grief is overwhelming and the pain is too much. I haven't gone back to work yet and I am dreading it. My mother's voice was the last voice I heard at night-time before I went to sleep as I spoke with her by phone every night of my life. It's been 3 weeks now and I cannot go on. I need to see her and talk to her so badly, it physically hurts.