My Blog: a mother dies. a daughter writes

A blog about my mother's death and my journey with it. A journey through chaos and healing. Learning to forgive myself and become a complete human being.

WHY THIS BLOG ?

How do you write about a mother's dying?

 

My mother died on the 8th of July 2013. She was 55.

Only once before, did she come very close to dying, and that was the day i was born.

On that day, she lost a lot of blood, and the blood she received at a hospital in Hamburg carried with it Hep C.

 

Many years later, the Hep C became active, and with it, the risk of developing liver cancer.

In February 2012, my mother found out she had a tumour in her liver.

Having never healed from the trauma surrounding my birth- a hysterectomy, intensive care and 2 months in hospital- my mother decided against the surgical options doctors presented before her.

 

Instead, she chose to live with her tumour. She changed her diet, geared down to a quieter life, and opted for alternative treatment options, both for the Hep C and the tumour.

A week before she died, a blood clot appeared between her liver and her heart.

At about midnight, on the 8th of July 2013, a brain haemorrhage rendered her unconscious, and she slipped away into death.

Had she lived, my mother would have been told the next day that her cancer had just started to spread and she probably had 2 months left to live. Two months of pain and suffering, which was precisely what my mother was not prepared to go through.

 

My mother had been given a prognosis of a year, if she refused treatment. She lived for 18 months.

We were hoping for a little longer than that, but my mother had never been willing to grow old !

She could be very stubborn that way...

 

However, this is not a story about a person's 'fight' with cancer.

This is about a journey.

 

This tumour, and our life with cancer and death closing in on us, eventually gave both me and my mother the chance to embark on a healing path, both together and separately.

 

How i wish the script had turned out differently: my mother would have been granted a long and healthy life; i would have found my purpose and path on my own, and our relationship would have matured into a long-lasting friendship and companionship...

 

But our script was not quite as straightforward. It began with my birth, so intimately woven into my mother's dying. And her death, which brought about the utter chaos i 'needed' in order to fully step back into myself and into living my life.

 

For many months, i have tried again and again to write about this journey.

The first steps -taking notes, going back over email and Skype conversations- have felt like walking into fire.

Revisiting fresh wounds.

Many times, i have started and stopped again, waiting to gather my strength.

Many times, i have asked myself why i felt the need to do this...and i remembered how, during some of the darkest moments, i read other people's accounts of living with the death of a loved one, and the solace i found in the simple fact of not being alone with my pain.

There is also the fact that everything, every little detail and moment with my mother is relevant to me.

Every breath and whisper, and every second of the past couple of years.

And the process of going beyond 'diarizing' towards writing something from within but which i can also share :

i needed time before i was ready to 'edit my life' so to speak.

Revisiting all of these moments whilst writing, stepping back into them and giving them a new shape, a new reality...

that too, was almost impossible at first.

I simply had to wait. Allow my being to take the time it needed.

Understand for myself why i wanted and needed to write this.

A couple of weeks ago, i was sitting in a small cottage in central Sweden, surrounded by fields, and the gentlest forests i have known. Thick pale green moss, ancient rocks, delicate white flowers and carpets of spring-green blueberry bushes with tiny translucent pink berries waiting in the shade to turn dark and juicy. Standing in the midst of the budding trees, feeling the joyous, quiet warmth of life flowing in their sap after a long, dark winter...somehow the words started flowing for me.

It came easily.

There was no pain, only the joy of knowing i was doing what i was meant to do, and feeling my mother's support and embrace throughout.

Soon it will be two years since she left.

 

This is a journey of love and gratitude.

This is what i wish to share today.

 

Arusha

23rd May 2015.