Coping with the Death of My Mother

I lost my Mum to Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma nearly three years ago after a relatively short battle with the disease. I can still remember the phone call I had received from my Uncle who lives nowhere near my parents. He had been able to deduce from what my Mum had told him that she had cancer. But she did not tell him so and I was left in the dark too until I spoke to him. I know she did not want to worry me, particularly as I was not living in the UK at the time. It would be another 6 months until I was able to be by her side again and give her the support she needed. I felt so guilty and powerless to do anything at that time. If you are in a similar situation, then do not despair. By all means, try to be near your parent or arrange to make brief, but frequent visits to them. This will help them see that you are at least trying to be with them and help them.

My first thoughts as my plane touched down concerned when I would get to see my parents that day and the best time to see them. I planned on calling my Dad to arrange for him to come and pick me up after my husband and I were settled temporarily in a hotel, so I could spend that evening with my Mum and Dad. That's just what I did. He came by and picked me up and took me home with him. I was so eager to see my Mum that I couldn't wait to catch sight of her and see for myself how she was. I walked up the stairs and caught sight of her. I could not help bursting into tears at the sight of her. The relief and joy at seeing her again was intermingled with shock at her altered appearance. My Mum had always been quite a stout woman, although not too overweight that she could not do the things she enjoyed such as taking long walks. She had lost a lot of weight and her hair had fallen out. I don't know why I was so shocked at this. By now I knew she was undergoing chemotherapy to help treat the cancer. But the reality of it scared and shocked me. She also looked older than her years. Even though my parents were about 10 years older that my friends', they had always looked much younger. But now my Mum looked old and worn out.

I put my plan into action and made sure I accompanied my Mum to her next hospital visits. I would sit beside her as she underwent her chemotherapy treatment. The first time was harder than I thought it would be. She knew what to expect and quite happily obliged the nurse. I just sat there choking back the tears as I saw her draw up her sleeve and watched as the needle went into her vein. I wanted to be more supportive. Looking back, I know that my presence was support enough for her. She had received her wish and I was with her. That is what mattered to her. The coming weeks and months would see my Mum's health fluctuate. One day she would feel energetic and well. Other days she could hardly get out of bed. I read up on Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma and did all I could to educate myself on the treatments and procedures she was going through. I also tried to make things easier for her by cooking meals and doing the laundry, while she rested. I even invited her round to my house without my Dad, so that she could concentrate more on resting rather than taking care of him. On one such occasion she was so tired and weak that I led her upstairs and put her into my bed, telling her to sleep and stay put. She needed that more than sitting on the coach chatting to me.

At the back of my mind, I knew that she might not make it through. I succeeded in putting the thought out of my mind and concentrating on getting my Mum better again. The chemotherapy seemed to be working. When the course of treatment was over with I was relieved to be told she was in remission and that her health was improving. But that was short lived. I was ignorant as to the true meaning of remission. To me, it meant she was going to get better and make a full recovery from the cancer. I did not realize that it simply meant the disease was inactive and could return at any time. It was during this time that she caught infection after infection. I was puzzled and could not work out why she appeared even more ill than when she was on chemotherapy. The doctors said it was common. Then one day I heard the doorbell ring. I opened it to find my Dad and brother standing at the door. At once I feared the worst. Why had they come alone? Where was my Mum? Dad said she had been taken back to the hospital and was not well. The cancer had returned, a mere three months after she had come off chemotherapy. When we went to see her, she seemed well enough. We were told she would soon be released and be back on her feet again. I truly believed the doctors. I did not think that they would deliberately keep anything from me. My Dad was not so sure. Ever the pessimist, he suspected that she was dying. I told him that she would get better and to stop fearing the worst . I did not want my Mum to start feeling like this too. She had to know that she was going to get well again. I convinced myself of it. Even when she contracted shingles and had to be put into an isolation ward, I thought she would recover. I used to be so scared of contracting contagious diseases, but with this one, I did not care. I hugged and embraced my Mum as usual and did not consider the risk I was putting myself in. I did not contract the disease. I almost wish I had at the time though. I felt guilty for being young and healthy, while she was ill and in pain. She had to take a cocktail of drugs each day. Anti-sickness drugs, ant-coagulants, diuretics. The list went on. But she faithfully took them all and did not complain.

The last time my Mum was lucid was four days before she died. I had taken a friend with me to see her and I had jumped onto her bed and read to her from the Bible. Other than a cough, she seemed fine to me. My friend though, saw something else. She had been a nurse at one time and told me much later on that she knew my Mum was dying. When it was time to go, I got up to leave and my Mum asked me to stay with her a little longer. I did stay longer, but when I got up again she said the same thing. She did not want to be left alone. I know now that she knew she was dying and was afraid to do so on her own. We never mentioned the possibility to her. But I do remember her doctor saying she would soon be returning home and her eyes revealed her disbelief. I did not know at the time that she knew what would shortly happen. She probably wondered why the doctor was talking of going home and recovering when she knew differently.
My Dad received an urgent phone call from the hospital four days later and he then contacted me and told me we had to get over to the hospital straightaway. When we got there, there seemed to be so much confusion. We were led into a room full of doctors who calmly explained that my Mum was in a coma and that she would probably die that day or sometime later in the night. I didn't believe it. She had seemed so well earlier that week and had even been able to walk around her room! All along, I realized that the doctors had not been entirely truthful with me and I resented them for it. They had tried to sugar coat the extent of my Mum's illness, only revealing the truth to my Dad. So it seemed my Dad's apparent pessimism was grounded in fact after all. My Mum really was dying. I had just been blind to the fact. I left the room as soon as I could and walked across into my Mum's room. I could not believe how altered she looked. She was hooked up to wires and machines and lay in bed unconscious. We sat with her and tried to talk to her. I found it hard, but I had a feeling she could hear what we were saying, so whenever Dad expressed feelings of hopelessness, I reminded him that she could probably hear us, so we should try to be positive. She went into cardiac arrest twice and each time I insisted that she be resuscitated. I was so desperate for her to live. I did not want her to die, so I clung onto this thread. While she breathed there was hope. That is how I felt. But since then, I have wondered whether it would have been better to let her die in her sleep. Some children like to be with their parents at the moment of death. I was not one of them. About twenty minutes or so before she died, my brother and I left, leaving our Dad with our Mum. It was a hard decision to make. The nurses tried to force us to stay, which made it even harder. We had watched her dying. We did not want to see her die too. We said our goodbyes, knowing full well that with the passing of each hour that we were there she was getting steadily worse. I would say to anyone else in that situation to just do what feels right for you. Not everyone can stay to watch their parent die. It does not mean you are hardhearted or unfeeling. It is a personal preference.

Dad called shortly after my brother and I got home to tell us Mum had died. He stayed with her and did not leave her side for some hours. Before daybreak the following day my brother and I set off for the hospital to pick up my Dad. He was in a terrible state and could not fully take in what had happened. He had been married to my Mum for over 34 years and this was the first time in all these years that he had been on his own. We asked to view the body. I think that I expected it to be easier to cope with, but it wasn't. If you have never seen a dead body before, as we had not prior to that time, then it can come as a real shock to you. My Mum's features had changed. I hardly recognized her.

Everyone deals with death differently. I cannot say with any certainty that losing a parent as an adult is any easier to cope with than losing them in childhood because I had been fortunate enough to have both of mine with me as a child. The only advantage I could think of was that you tend to know them better and have more vivid memories of them, rather than the faded memories children may struggle to recollect as they grow older. But other than that, grief is grief, whether the deceased was 30 or 85 when they died. My Mum was 66. I did not expect to lose my Mum in my 20's. I cannot emphasize enough how much the surviving children and spouse need support.

Those first few days, weeks and months were emotionally and physically crippling. Sometimes it seems that you will never stop crying or grieving over the death of your parent. You may even have to cope with irrational thoughts such as wishing that you had died in place of your parent. Do not be troubled by such feelings. They are normal. I made sure I rallied my family around me. My husband, Dad, brother and I drew closer together and helped each other through this difficult time. My Dad and brother spent a lot of time round our house, sometimes spending the night with us. I was surprised at the depth of my Dad's grief. Up until this point I had never seen my Dad cry, not even when both of his parents had died. But following our loss, he cried buckets and was inconsolable for a long time. Men are often conditioned as children to conceal their emotions and their vulnerable side. But they should be allowed to cry and grieve the same as anyone else, if they feel like it. Do not try to hinder them and make them feel that this is a sign of weakness. Realize that grief is a very individual feeling. I could not compare my grief with my Dad's. He had known her for much longer than I had been alive and in a different capacity. Also, try to avoid those who offer advice that makes you feel worse. A grieving person cannot "pull themselves together" or overcome their intense feelings overnight. So even after the well wishers have left the funeral, you will still be left with your feelings for a long time afterwards. Work colleagues, friends and acquaintances will need to be sensitive to your feelings and know that you will not be your usual, functional self again for quite some time. My Dad was fortunate. He was given weeks off from work at full pay. I returned to work within days and wished I was anywhere but there.

The intense pain and grief that I felt at my Mum's death has subsided somewhat, but I still miss her and long to have her here with me. Or to ask her advice and receive her motherly wisdom. When I experience or see new things I think of how much my Mum would have appreciated or liked them too. One stage in the grieving process is letting go of the guilt you may feel in finding enjoyment in life again, laughing or sharing a joke with someone. Do not deny yourself these things. After all, if your parent was still alive would they approve of your prolonged misery? I could not have coped so well if it had not been for the unfailing support of my husband, friends and for my faith. Make sure that you avail yourself of every possible means of support. You may never feel whole again, but you can begin to gradually feel stable and secure within yourself once more.