Rachel H’s Story

Christmas Day when your mother has cancer is a heartbreakingly bittersweet affair. There’s a big grey elephant sat on the festively decorated table, amongst the turkey and all of the trimmings that everyone is pretending not to see. This could be the last one we have together.

The Christmas of 2016 was a particularly special one for me. My partner of eight years had bent down on one knee earlier that morning, with tears in his eyes and shaking hands holding a box with a sparkling diamond solitaire ring inside. I could not wait to tell her. Of course, she already knew. He had asked her permission. The elephant reminded me that perhaps she wouldn’t make it to the wedding, but I did my best to keep ignoring him. We’d figure out our timeframe once we had spoken to the doctor. For today, these thoughts could wait.

My mum arrived with my stepdad just after lunchtime, as I was busy in the kitchen preparing dinner, in a sparkly new dress, stopping every so often to admire my new ring. She looked the best I had seen her for a while, her blue eyes sparking, wearing her favourite wig, and dressed smartly for the occasion. A far cry from how I had mostly seen her of late, confined to her favourite fluffy grey dressing gown, wincing in pain, feeling sick from the chemotherapy, with her fluffy short hair that had started growing back which she hated, but I thought was adorable. Seeing that sparkle in her eyes reminded me of the Christmas before, when, after months of breast cancer treatment; chemotherapy, a mastectomy which almost broke her, and then radiotherapy, she got to ring the bell in the cancer hospital. The bell was attached to a plaque with a scene of a sky and a rainbow and ringing it signals the end of your treatment, the ding-ding is the sound of the accolade that everyone going through the hell of the cancer journey dreams of being awarded with. She had beaten it.

It had come back a few months later, had got into her lymph nodes. Our worlds which had just become safe again had split straight back into two when we got her results.

But for now, we were celebrating our Christmas Day together.

I’m an only child and my mum had always spoilt me rotten at Christmas. She had this knack of knowing exactly what I wanted and needed. I’d always have a massive bag of little items like nail files, shower gels and cotton wool which would stock me up with my beauty essentials for months. She’d of course get me big things too, but these are the gifts I remember the most. One of the things she had known I had always wanted was to go to New York, and as I opened her beautifully presented gold gift bag with a huge bow my heart sunk as low as it could possibly go. I pulled out a book with the words ‘To Make a Dream Come True’ on the front cover, with photos of me and her, and scenes of the Empire State Building and Central Park, followed by a bottle of champagne and a pile of dollars. She was getting me and my husband a dream trip to New York.

I’ve never felt guilt like it.

‘Oh mum, I’m so sorry!’ I instantly burst into tears.’ I feel absolutely horrendous!’

I still cry now when I think of it, my heart feels like it’s being wrung out like a wet cloth at the memory. 

She had still felt up to our favourite day of all that year; our early December annual ‘Christmas Shopping Girls’ Day Out’, and over dinner in our favourite Italian restaurant, surrounded by shopping bags, I had broached a subject I had been worrying about, while we sipped red wine from old fashioned wine glasses and nibbled on breadsticks.

‘So mum, I’ve got something to tell you, and I hope it’s ok.’

She looked at me, wondering what I was about to say.

‘We’ve booked to go to New York in September next year. Is that ok? We can always cancel it if we need to as I’m worried about how you’ll be and if I’ll want to go that far away.’

Her face had dropped, she wasn’t angry, she just looked really upset and didn’t say much at all.

‘You should be ok then, shouldn’t you? Like I said we can cancel it if we need to, but you know I’ve always wanted to go. I hope you don’t mind?’

Her mood changed completely for the rest of the meal. I had worried that she might not have been happy about it but had told myself that of course she wouldn’t be angry about it, after all she would want me to continue to live my life and make plans. But now here she was, visibly upset and shaken by the news. I really hadn’t expected it. But when I opened her gift, I understood exactly why that had been her reaction. My heart broke.

I guess this can be the issue with knowing exactly what your grown-up daughter wants. Theres always the risk she will go and get it for herself.

***

After Christmas came the wedding planning. We opted for the February of the following year, giving us just over 12 months and we spoke to the doctor about this before we booked anything, making sure that this was a realistic time frame for my mum to still be here for it. Obviously, no one can make any promises or say these things for certain, but he thought we should be ok. We booked the date and started the wedding planning in earnest. It gave so many opportunities for my mum and I to make more memories.

And the biggest shopping day of all was one of those!

I was torn between two very similar dresses, one was particularly special with a lot more detail, but was twice the price.

‘Which one do you really want?’ she asked me, beaming with pride.

Of course, you can guess which one this only child ended up with courtesy of my amazingly kind mum.

She bought her outfit too, and I beamed with pride right back when she gave me a twirl to show me her beautiful cream jacquard dress with matching jacket. I couldn’t wait to have a photo of the two of us on the Big Day. I would treasure it for the rest of my life.

***

We went for some more oncology appointments in the September of 2017. Things were not looking good, and maybe it was time to think about stopping the treatment as she just couldn’t take any more Chemotherapy. It was starting to do more harm than good for her in terms of her strength and quality of life. We had some agonising thinking to do, although the final decision was of course down to my mum. The heartbreaking choice of stopping the treatment which was keeping her alive to be able to allow her to be able to fully enjoy the time she had left. The better news was that the cancer hadn’t grown too much, at a slightly slower rate than we had expected from the size of the lump she had found in her neck.

We went back to discuss this all further a week later, to get a clearer view of the options and to make that awful final decision on the plan for her next steps. I was the only one brave enough to ask the question no one ever wants to have to ask.

‘How long do you think we have?’

I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to answer or not.

 The doctor had a very kind face, and it looked even kinder as he broke it to us. She had six to nine months.

Whilst it was exactly what we had all been expecting it made it no less of a shock for it to be said out loud by him. There’s always that little bit of hope that your own estimates are way off the mark or that some kind of miracle might happen. Our hearts broke in two at the prospect, at the word ‘months’. The wedding was still five months away, less than the worst-case scenario we had just been presented with, we might just be able to make it. It was all anyone could focus on. I think somehow it was a distraction from the enormity of the situation, a goal to aim towards, a milestone to make it to.

***

We were flying to New York on 26th September, and the day before we had my mum and my stepdad over for a family meal, along with my mum’s auntie and her husband. They were up to visit from the South Coast to stay with them for a few days. Everyone was in a good mood, happy to be part of the rare occasion that we were all together as a family, as I pottered about in our kitchen, listening to a playlist I had made of my mum’s favourite Motown songs, the meaty aromas of the food filling the air as everyone sat around the dining table sipping red wine. I made a dinner of slow cooked lamb with rosemary and garlic. The lamb was cooked slowly for hours on top of the potatoes, all soaked in gravy so that they soaked up all of the meaty juices and herbs and turned ever so slightly mushy. It was my mum’s favourite meal to cook, and all of our favourite to eat. ‘Pam’s Lamb.’

‘This is the best I’ve seen you in ages, mum.’ I told her over dinner, and everyone else agreed.

She was in high spirits and excited for me going away, dressed glamorously as she loved to be, wearing her wig and make up, just like she had the Christmas before.

‘I haven’t seen you eat this much for a long time !’ I said delightedly as she polished off her plate and asked for seconds. Someone eating well is always a good sign.

‘I’m going to miss you so much.’ I told her as they were leaving after the meal. ‘I still feel so bad going away, are you definitely sure it’s ok?’

‘Of course, I can’t wait for you to go. Send me photos of EVERYTHING. I want to see you at all the sights from the book!’

She felt so tiny and frail in my arms when I hugged her, and it made me cry. I was always emotional leaving her during those days, but this trip was so big and so important to her, as it was to me.

***

We landed in New York quite late in the afternoon and we walked the High Line then spent a wonderful evening exploring Greenwich Village, eating and drinking and seeing the very first bits of the sights. We spent hours in a cool little hipster bar that proclaimed it was Taco Tuesday and we sampled them all as we worked our way through the cocktail menu. I was worried about my mum and kept checking in, but all seemed to be fine. Only two weeks earlier we had been given the 6-9 months news and been told that the cancer wasn’t growing too quickly. With the assistance of the cocktails, I started to relax a bit.

We were woken by a phone call the next morning, at around 7am New York Time. Bleary eyed and disorientated from the drinks the night before, adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings of the hotel room on Times Square. Hotel rooms are always so dark, it’s one of my favourite things about them. The thick glazing on the windows blocked out the sounds of the city to a mere muffle but I could just about hear them, reminding me of where I was.

It was my uncle. He opened with the line ‘Your mum is still with us but…’

‘But.’

The hotel room started spinning and I felt as though I was paralysed. I felt sick. I didn’t know what to do, we were so far away. She’d had seemed so good the night before and it dawned on me that perhaps she had been putting on a good show. A final act of selfless motherly love for the daughter she adored. We had to get back, the ‘but’ on the end of the sentence was ringing in my ears over and over again. I needed the powers of teleportation, I wanted to be there by her side immediately. I could never forgive myself if I wasn’t there with her for her final moments. I had no idea what to do, I was stuck in my panic and the prison of an unfamiliar hotel room on Times Square.

We spent a torturously long day in the city waiting for the next available flight back which was at 10pm. We walked around looking like any other tourists after deciding we should take the photos at the sights my mum had asked for, so I could show her when we got back to her at the hospital. My sunglasses hid the tears that were streaming from my eyes. Thankfully I slept the whole flight home, my ankles were swollen for days afterwards from not moving, I was jetlagged and disorientated when I got to her bedside.

***

My mum was unconscious when we got there, and never woke up. I barely left her side for almost a week until she took her final breath. I only hoped she knew I was there, could hear her daughter’s familiar voice talking to her about our ‘trip’. Telling her just how much I loved her. How lost I was going to be without her support and guidance. How I was so sorry she wasn’t going to be by my side at my wedding.

She wore her new wedding outfit for her funeral, there was no question at all about what to dress her in for that day. She looked beautiful. My heart was broken beyond repair at my new reality of facing the rest of my life without her, without my wonderful mum. The keeper of my whole history, from the second I opened my eyes for the first time. And now she had closed hers for the last. There really is nothing like the love of a mother, it is completely irreplaceable, and you’re sent straight back to feeling like a child without it. Vulnerable, helpless and completely dependent on the love and support that is no longer there.