Family... :(

I've pretty much come to terms with the fact that my family were not there for me or my Mum when she was so ill. I'm coming to be more accepting that some people just really can't cope with being around a loved one who is dying. I don't understand it but I can accept it.

But it really hurts when someone who should have been there and helped then tries to re-write history to make out things were different than they were. My Aunty has just said that it was my brother who first took my Mum to the doctor (it wasn't, Mum went on her own after I forced her to go and the only reason I wasn't with her was because I was sitting an important exam that day) and that I should have been around then. I wasn't living at home, I wasn't seeing my Mum every day and I didn't know how bad her symptoms were. As soon as I saw the severity of it I made her promise to see a doctor the next day. And as soon as I knew she was going to be diagnosed with cancer I packed all of my belongings and I moved home to be with her.

I wish I could let this wash over me but it still really hurts. I nursed my Mum by myself and I did everything I could for her. But I still feel guilty that the cancer wasn't caught sooner.  I don't need my own family, who weren't even there, making me feel bad by bringing it up again.

My Aunty and the rest of my family spent Mum's last Christmas at my Aunty's playing games and having a laugh while I stayed home and cared for my Mum. I was glad to do it but it was one of the loneliest days I've ever had. And now I'm made to feel bad because I'm not going over there for Christmas this year. They didn't care when it mattered, it's too late to care now.

I'll be spending this Christmas with Paul, the man who has loved me and cared for me through my grief and pain and hurt. The man who makes me laugh every single day, even on my bad days. He is my family and we're having Christmas on our own in our new house and I absolutely refuse to be made to feel guilty about that.

When I Loved Myself Enough...

I'm working through lots of my issues at the moment and it's really hard. I'm supposed to be learning to take better care of myself and I find that difficult.

In the process of moving house I had to pack up all my belongings, which included all my books. During the packing of them I kept spotting books that I had forgotten I owned, including a little book called 'When I Loved Myself Enough' by Kim McMillen. I love little quote books and my Mum often used to buy them to cheer me up. This is one that she had given me and it had got buried on my shelves.

I kept it to hand when we moved and today I spotted it on my bedside table and thought I'd read through it. It's made me cry. It's a little overly sentimental but so much of this little book spoke to me. I don't love myself enough, I'm very hard on myself, I'm overly critical and I think I deserve the bad things that happen in my life. Reading this book has made me understand a little more what people mean when they talk about taking better care. I need to go easier on myself, I'm not a bad person.

I'm going to treasure this gift from my Mum, more than I ever did before, because I think it contains a lot of the answers.

Getting better

I’ve been working really hard on getting over my PTSD in recent weeks and have been pushing myself more and more. I just don’t want to live with it anymore. It’s taken too long out of my life and enough is enough.

I’ve been playing music from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack at times when I’m busy so that my head can get used to it without me overly making associations to the trauma. It’s hard but it’s really starting to work. A couple of times now I’ve heard a song from the film on the radio and instead of having a full-blown panic attack I’ve been able to cope. It’s not easy but the point is that I am coping. A few weeks ago I’d have really not coped at all.

Today I was having an early lunch and I turned the TV on. This Morning was on and they were interviewing someone about his role in the Dirty Dancing stage play. I felt a bit uncomfortable and on edge but I decided to just leave it on and see how I how I coped. Normally I feel panicked and turn anything off that I think might even have a tenuous link to that soundtrack and my traumas.

Not only did I watch the whole interview but I survived the final segment of the show where the dancers performed to ‘(I’ve had) The Time of My Life’ and I was ok. I could feel the adrenaline but it was ok.

I never, ever thought I would get to this point. I was so traumatized by what happened while that film was on and I just didn’t think I’d ever be able to deal with it and get past it.

But I’m learning that while music has the power to bring back memories, to make you remember things so vividly, it can’t actually take you back in time. The terrible things that happened are not going to happen again because I hear particular songs or watch a particular film. My head is beginning to get that now.

I’m psyching myself up to watch Dirty Dancing some time soon. It used to be my all-time favourite comfort movie and now it holds such traumatic associations. But right now I feel like I’m on the verge of claiming it back.

I am absolutely determined to get past this trauma. 

Time to move on

Yesterday Paul and I incinerated all of my Mum’s paperwork. All the bills, all the bank statements, all the receipts and all the hospital letters. It’s all gone.

And I don’t feel guilty. I actually feel a huge sense of relief.

I think even when you think that it doesn’t bother you hanging on to that stuff, it actually festers away in your subconscious. It eats away at you without you realising and it’s only when it’s gone that you see just how much it was eating away at you.

My Mum was not her paperwork.

Today it feels like there’s so much more space in my head to deal with other things.

So right now, this very second, I am listening to (I’ve Had) The Time of my Life and I feel sick and on edge and nervous and I’m crying. But I’m not running away, I’m not freaking out. I’m working through it.

I never thought I would get here.

I can honestly say that I am getting better.

Finally, I am getting better.

I will not let this steal any more of my life and my happiness. Life is too short.

It stops here. It’s time to move on.

Baggage

Paul and I are hoping the house purchase will complete this week. It’s looking like it will. So as and when I can be bothered I’m trying to sort through a few things. The other day it was paperwork. Today it’s my clothes.

When I moved in with Paul I got rid of lots of my clothes, it was a chance for a new start. A new me. So I got rid of all those clothes I was going to slim into (but never quite managed to) and all my fat clothes (in case I ever gained weight again but actually never wore again regardless). I got rid of all my bridesmaid dresses.

Now I’m about to move again and thought I’d have another clear out. I started with my jumper/cardigan cupboard. As soon as I pulled them all out onto the bed I realised something.

During the very cold winter we had I’d barely worn any of these jumpers. I’d simply rotated the same few.

The ones I didn’t wear are the ones I no longer like but they were, at one time, things that my Mum liked me in. Things that at one stage I liked me in. But I don’t like them anymore. My taste has changed.

But I feel bad because my Mum liked me in these jumpers. She’d bought me some of these jumpers. I’d worn these jumpers during the winter in the last stage of her life. They were some of the last things I’d worn when she was alive.

Mum and I spent a lot of time mooching around the shops, having lovely girlie days out. And I really, really miss that. More than I can even say. Now I mainly shop on my own and buy what I need. It’s not so enjoyable when you don’t have someone to giggle in the fitting room with.

Holding onto these clothes won’t change my wonderful memories of when I bought them, when I wore them. It doesn’t change how much I love my Mum.

It just means I will have more space in my wardrobe. It means I can replace them with new things, in time, that I’ll enjoy wearing.

I think that’s what my Mum would want for me. It’s what I want for me.

So tomorrow, when Paul and I go to the bank to transfer the money for the house to our solicitor. We’ll also be going to the charity shop where I can leave some more of my baggage.

It’s time to start moving on. 

Letting go of Mum's paperwork

I still have all of my Mum's hospital letters from when she was ill and the notebook I wrote the details of her chemo etc in the day we were told her diagnosis was terminal.

I don’t know why it’s so hard to let it go. I’m really struggling with the idea of throwing it out. I think it feels like I’m just dismissing what was such a terrible time. I still haven’t come to terms with what my Mum went through but maybe holding onto this paperwork isn’t helping. I have to learn to let go. I want the new house to be a new start and it’s a good chance to let this stuff go.

When it comes down to it I don’t want to let my Mum go. I want her here. Yet I know that keeping hospital letters won’t change anything. It won’t bring her back.

Maybe I want proof of what we went through during her illness. I was on my own caring for her and it was bloody hard. But I live with it every single day. Who’s the proof for? I think there comes a time when you come to realise you’re torturing yourself. I have to let this go. My Mum wouldn’t want this for me. I don’t want this for me.

My Mum died of cancer. It was indescribably awful. But nothing will change how much I loved her. Or how much she loved me. And that is the bit that’s important.

I’m going to put these letters in a separate bin bag and I’m going to try to allow myself to throw the bag in the wheelie bin.

Guilt

I’m someone who easily ends up feeling guilty over things even when I logically know I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m working on this because it’s not good for me.

I carry guilt from being my Mum’s sole carer. I know I looked after her the absolute best I could and better than anyone else could have but I feel guilty because I couldn’t make her better.

I feel guilty because two days before she had a series of massive seizures, which led to us finding out that the cancer had spread to her brain, I thought something was wrong and I couldn’t do anything about it.

It was Friday afternoon and I planned to call Mum’s consultant first thing Monday morning. But Sunday night it all happened. On the Friday afternoon I had realised she could no longer either write or remember how to write her own name. I realised that occasionally she was saying the opposite of what she meant.

I’ve wondered ever since if I could have made events different than they were. I’ve wondered if I could have noticed things sooner. I’ve felt such guilt.

Today I’ve been sorting through a few bits of paperwork I found of Mum’s that were mixed in with my stuff. I found a form she’d signed on the Friday morning and, although her handwriting was a bit shaky, everything was filled in perfectly.

It’s funny how you can carry guilt that you know you don’t need to carry but you carry it anyway. If Mum could write ok on the Friday morning it means the symptoms were either not there before then or they were so intermittent it would have been near impossible to notice them.

I knew deep down I wouldn’t have missed it but I doubted myself. I questioned myself. It all comes down to the fact that when you put everything you have, and then some, into nursing someone but then they die because sometimes all the care and all the love in the world just can’t make people better, it's heartbreaking. There is no answer, it's no one's fault, it's life and it's hard and it isn't fair.

I couldn’t make any of it any different than what it was. I think I need to learn to go easier on myself. I think I need to start letting go of this guilt.