Through the eyes of a child…..

Today I’m reflecting. I’m reflecting on times long gone and events slowly drifting away from me in the passage of time. Drawing out old memories and rebuilding them like a long forgotten jigsaw. Recollections flood back as I remember them through the eyes of myself as a child.

My thoughts travel back to when I was a small girl of 5 years old, returning to school after the Christmas holidays in January 1981. I had no tales of what Father Christmas had delivered. I only carried with me grief. The overwhelming grief of having lost my Mummy.

I knew my Mum was poorly but I had no idea to what extent. She first became ill in the summer of 1979. I remember the day well when the doctor delivered the news. We were all packed to go on a family holiday to Morcambe. Out of the blue, my Dad picked me and my brother up from school early. I remember skipping out thinking we were setting off on our trip. My Dad met my gaze at the gate, knelt down and said we couldn’t go because Mummy was poorly.

When you are five and someone says your mummy is sick the worst you imagine is a cold or a tummy bug. I just thought she’d be better by the end of the week and we’d go on holiday then.

That day my mum had been diagnosed with acute myeloid leukaemia. When our family doctor received the results he drove around the town centre looking for her. He knew it was important to begin treatment as soon as possible.

The odd thing is, although she was in and out of hospital and nurses visited regularly it just never occurred to me that she wouldn’t get better. Not once. She’d go to hospital, for what I now know was chemotherapy. I guess thankfully for her and us, she never lost her hair. To look at her you wouldn’t have known how ill she was.

I remember her being tired, but I also remember her being utterly determined. She’d arrive to pick us up from school when we were expecting the neighbour to walk us home. I now realise that she was fighting with all the strength she could muster not to miss out on just being with her children. Every single second mattered.

I remember the night well. It was Sunday 21st December 1980. My Mum was in hospital as she’d contracted pneumonia. We’d visited her a couple of days previously. That afternoon we’d been watching the Blue Peter Christmas Special. I suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that my Mummy was going to die. I ran to my Dad in tears saying, “Mummy’s going to die isn’t she?!” I remember him having to hold me in the tightest bear hug and take me upstairs. I was hysterical and he didn’t want my brother to see. He never said she wasn’t going to die. He just held me, calmed me down, then went to visit my Mum while my Grandma babysat.

I was woken in the early hours of the following morning by my Dad carrying me gently down the stairs in his arms. He sat me on the sofa in the dark living room, held my hands and looked me directly in the eyes. I could see he’d been crying. He took a breath and said, “Your Mum died tonight, you can cry if you want.” Then he hugged me so so tightly and we sobbed. We sobbed ourselves to sleep on our old brown sofa.

Christmas passed in a blur. I remember visitors trying to make the best they could of it for me and my brother. I also remember Christmas cards being delivered. Posted by relatives and friends before my Mum had gone. Each one that landed on the doormat addressed to my Mum and Dad filled with joyful wishes was another cruel, yet unintentional blow.

To this day I don’t know anything about the funeral. My brother and I didn’t go and I have no recollection of the day itself. I know my mum was cremated but I don’t know where her ashes were scattered or even if there is a memorial stone for her. We don’t speak of it. I have no idea why, and the passage of time has made questions like these hard to ask.

The one thing I do know is that I grew up that day. I felt like Eve taking a bite of the apple and suddenly the knowledge of how cruel the real world can be filled my soul. Gone was the innocence of my childhood.

Now I’m a mother myself I cannot even begin to imagine how her world was torn apart when she knew she would never see her children grow up. I pray that my children never have to go through that pain and that I will be able to watch them grow.

Please forgive me the indulgence of such a sad post. I’ve been holding much of this inside for 29 years.