Jevita’s Story

I became a motherless mother in June 2018 when my mum, Joanne, died at the age of 60. I was 31 years old and was on maternity leave looking after my two young children. Her death was not unexpected, she had been unwell for many years. But you can never prepare yourself for the moment someone leaves your world, suddenly not having her positive presence in my life was devastating. She was the rock of our family, the glue that held everything together, and suddenly she wasn't there anymore and the prospect of moving through life without her was too much to bear.

I was very blessed to have a childhood filled with unconditional love from both my parents. I idolised my mum. She was so intelligent and kind. I was also very blessed to have a best friend in my mum. She was the person I could count on always - for love, care, advice and a helping hand.

As I got older, I remember mum having a lot of health problems. In 2011, the year I was getting married, I remember mum and dad coming over for dinner one night and they told us that mum had a rare autoimmune condition called Churg-Strauss Syndrome. The condition was well advanced and incurable.  The doctors couldn't give her any definitive answers, but her life expectancy would be significantly reduced, and there was the possibility she would die within 12 months.

My world came crashing down at that moment, and if I'm honest, I started to grieve her death from that moment on. The life I had imagined with my mum would no longer be a possibility. After my wedding that year, she was hospitalised for a severe infection and was put on permanent oxygen, which she was on until the day she died.

We nearly lost her a few times over the next 7 years, but she was so strong and she fought as long as she could. We had so many wonderful times together during those 7 years, she tried to live life to the fullest, despite her condition, and she was always so grateful for the blessings in her life.

Her health declined dramatically in December 2017 and within a few months she was unable to leave the house. The last few months of her life were cruel. She was in so much pain and discomfort and she struggled with the fact that she wanted the pain and suffering to be over, but at the same time she wasn't ready to leave this world. She died at home on June 12, 2018 with my dad and brother at her side. I had seen her that day but wasn't there when she passed away.

In the weeks and months after mum died, I found writing to be therapeutic. About six weeks after her death I got this awful feeling that someday I might forget what happened, and what I felt, around the time she died. Probably a lot of people would wish to forget such details, but I felt it my duty to remember.

And so I wrote...memories, thoughts, poems. Then I had an idea to write a children's book as a dedication to my mum and a way for my children to remember their Nana. The book is called Happy Hearts and it is about my son and his quest to discover where his Nana has gone after her death. The story is designed to help young children explore the concept of the afterlife in a sensitive and magical way, whilst touching on the range of emotions a child may experience when a loved one passes away. I poured so much love into this book and I can only hope it brings others comfort and peace in a time of great sadness.

I'll finish with a piece I wrote about grief called Save Space.

 Save Space

Once you know grief, it never leaves you.

Grief is not finite - it has a beginning, but it has no end.

It may come and go in waves and change in intensity, consuming you one minute, hovering quietly behind you the next.

But it is always there. It is embedded inside you.

There is no shame in saying you hold grief in your heart, for it is evidence that you loved deeply.

You do not need to get over it or move on. Grief is now a part of you.

But grief is not who you are, it should not be how you define yourself.

You must make room in your heart, in your life, for the higher powers of love, joy, excitement, gratitude, peace.

Making room does not mean pushing grief aside or diminishing it's worth. It does not mean you've forgotten your loved one.

Making room means acknowledging the presence and the purpose of grief, and allowing it to coexist with love, joy, excitement, gratitude, peace.

These won't rid you of your grief, but they'll soften it, they'll make it bearable, and they'll pull you back into the light when grief covers you in darkness.

Save space for grief, it serves a purpose, but make room for other things too.