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Yesterday it was exactly 7 months since my mum died on 25th July 2003. She developed a pain in her shoulder in late May, but was only visibly ill for 6 weeks. She spent a good deal of that time in hospital whilst they were trying to diagnose her, where I visited her every day, taking her photographs and flowers and anything I could think of to make her more comfortable. She was finally diagnosed two weeks before her death with inoperable pancreatic cancer.

They sent her home for a week to get her strength up before starting chemotherapy, and my sister and I cared for her around the clock as she was no longer able to do things like shower or walk around, and she had a strict daily timetable of protein shakes and pills to take.

Mum was always a keen gardener and loved the outdoors, so we tried to get her out in the garden whenever we could. It was a warm summer so she could sit by the pond to feed the goldfish and look at the frogs, which she loved to do.

Mum died the day before she was due to start chemotherapy. I think she knew she was going to die, because three days before it happened, we were watching television and I remember mentioning something or other that I was having trouble with, and she made a simple suggestion that solved the problem. I wish I could remember what it was. I remember saying to her 'see, I need you around here because I'd never think of things like that by myself!'. I meant it as a joke, but she suddenly looked sad, and it worried me.

The morning before she died, she demanded to be taken to hospital, even though she could barely sit up let alone get into an ambulance. She couldnt hold down any of her medicine and she had been put on morphine because the pain was keeping her awake.
I remember the morphine had made her delirous, and it's fondly that my sister and I remember she thought she saw our pet cat hiding in one of her drawers!

I wasn't expecting her to die. We had only found out a few days previously that she had cancer, and had no idea just how badly it had progressed.
By the end, she was no longer able to eat, and my once gorgeously cuddly mummy looked starved- I remember thinking she looked like one of the children in the Oxfam adverts because she was so thin but her tummy was swollen.

I was petrified that morning. Even though I didn't know she was going to die, I had never seen her look so frail and be in so much pain, and I felt helpless, I didn't know what to do.
We got an ambulance to come and take her to hospital, and they had to strap her to a wheelchair just to get her the ten feet to the ambulance.
I remember the last time I saw her like it was yesterday. I cannot remember what the last thing I said to her was- and I'm glad of that, because I know that even if it had been 'I love you', I would still be unhappy about it.

As they carried her out of the front door to the ambulance, she looked at me once, and it may sound funny, but I remember thinking she looked like a sparrow, she was so tiny and thin. I could tell from her face that she was in agony, but even then I knew she didnt want to look at me because she knew seeing her like that would upset me.
I remember that the thought of telling her I loved her crossed my mind, but I pushed it away because that meant realising that she wasn't coming back.
To this day I regret not doing it.

I was supposed to go and see her the next morning with my grandparents, but vividly I remember being woken in the middle of the night by my dad and my sister. I remember looking at the clock and seeing it was exactly 2 am, and I was confused, thinking 'is it time to get up already?'.

My dad said it to me as plainly as he could. He's not one for emotions but I appreciate that he broke the news the way he did, because it meant I didnt get that awful sense of dread before he told me.
He said 'your mother died this morning in hospital' and my older sister sat on my bed and started crying.

It was as if time stopped. I didnt say anything- I didnt know what I was expected to say. So I just sat there looking at my sister until my dad left. Then we both cried, solidly for two hours. My dad brought us a cup of tea and then left to go and tell my grandparents.
My sister went back to bed eventually but neither of us could stop crying so she came back to my room and we sat talking for a while until the sun came up.

It was such a surreal feeling the next day, it was really as if time didnt exist anymore, there was nothing to do- I didnt feel either want nor need to wake up, get out of bed, talk to or see anybody, I just wanted to stop. That feeling lasted for a long time.
I don't know if it was pain, I suppose it was shock- all my senses just felt numb.

The next few days were a blur. My dad, my grandma and my mum's sister organised the funeral, and for that I am eternally grateful to them, especially my aunty who did a great deal of the work.
I had some input into the affair like choosing a bouquet of beautiful white lilies to put on the coffin- lilies from my sister and me, white roses from my grandparents and aunty and carnations from my dad.
I wrote a little message to put in with the lilies as did my sister, I can't remember what I wrote, but I know it seemed so ridiculous saying goodbye to the lynchpin of my universe on such a tiny piece of white card.

The funeral happened about a week after my mum's death, it was in the obituaries of the local newspaper and I kept copies of it. I remember the second day after her death I went round the house picking up just little things of significance that reminded me of her- photos, ornaments, one of her scarves and her perfume, and I've kept them all in a box, along with the card from her funeral and some other things.

The service was difficult. My sister and I had chosen two songs for it- Everything I Do (I Do It for You) by Bryan Adams and Dancing Queen by ABBA. Two of my mum's favourite songs. I know she would have laughed at us choosing Dancing Queen.
Arriving at the chapel, everybody was there, dressed in black at my request. My sister wanted people to dress normally, but it was something I felt very strongly about, and in the end she agreed.

There were so many people- lots of my dad's relatives, some of my sister's friends, my mum's childhood friends, my grandparents and aunty and uncle and my cousins, many people from the church my mum attended as a child, many of her work colleagues even from years ago- she worked for ten years at a primary school and as she was such a caring, hardworking, lovely person, she made many friends there. I know it's easy to say things like that after death but my mother genuinely was the kindest, most affectionate and gentle person I ever knew.

After the service she was cremated, and even now I find that very hard to think about, so I don't. I know she wanted to be cremated because she often told us. She often gave blood, and she wanted to be an organ donor but her body was so ravaged by cancer that it was impossible. I know that would have saddened her.
Two days after the funeral, my dad, my sister and I travelled to a place on the coast that my mother holidayed at as a child, and where we had holidayed as a family many times in the past. We knew she loved it there, and so that's where we decided to scatter her ashes.

My sister and I found a completely deserted cove, waited until the sun began to set, and then walked up to where the light meets the water making a path along the sea.
We said our goodbyes there as we scattered the ashes, and when we it was dark we left.

For the first three weeks afterwards, I slept in my mum's hat and her scarf, I don't know why, it just helped, I could still smell her perfume on them.
I asked my grandma if I could keep my mum's 'dearest' ring- its a gold ring with seven precious stones in a row- the first letter of each spelling out 'dearest'. It was a gift to my mother from my grandparents when she was 21- as a child I always admired it and now I intend to keep it to pass on to a daughter I may have in the future (I also intend to give her the middle name Margaret, after my beautiful mother). I love the ring very much and wear it often. Sadly I feel it is my only real link to my mother now- except of course for my family.

You must forgive me if I still sound very upset here, it was not my intention when I began writing- but this is the first time I have ever written about the experience of losing my mother, and I feel a duty to tell it fully.
Her death truly broke my heart, for a long time it felt as if my world had been ripped out from under my feet. I know that it's a pain that will never go away- but I can testify that it does get better.

Whilst sometimes I still have trouble accepting that the woman I loved and still love more than anything on earth isnt coming back, I don't cry anymore. I feel that, slowly, life is beginning to be purposeful again. I look forward to getting married someday and having children, even grandchildren. I will make sure that any children I do have know as much as possible about the amazing person that my mother was, and how much she gave back to the world.

After her death, I cried every day for many weeks, but now I can look back at the precious time I did have with her and remember the happy times, and how wonderful she made me feel. I can use my memories of her to help me through life- and in that way, she will always be with me.

I now intend to start a psychology degree at University in September, and perhaps, somewhere, mum is cheering me on.

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