Page 11 of A Mother’s Last Wish
11
LOUISA
Do the things you want to now . That was the advice Mr Whitelaw gave me, which feels impossible to follow, but I know I have to try to find a way to make the most of every day I have left with the people I love. So much of my time is taken up with thoughts of the future, and of trying to safeguard the children once I’m gone, but what Tom said yesterday made me realise I’m letting the here and now drift right past me as a result. Although it took another row about the future for us to finally make some plans for the present.
‘I want to talk to you about what happens when I’m gone.’ It was a subject I’d tried broaching before but Tom has always refused to acknowledge that I’m dying. As if saying it out loud is what makes it real, rather than the results of the tests and scans I’ve had, all that hard evidence that my impending death is now a certainty. I was more determined than ever not to let him shut me down, psyching myself up in an attempt to follow the advice I’d been given online to be open and honest with Tom about my concerns for the children.
‘Lou, please, I don’t want…’ He stopped then, left unable to finish his sentence as he has so often been lately and that’s when I lost it.
‘Do you think I want to talk about this? Do you think I don’t wish I could pretend it wasn’t happening? But it is, Tom, and you need to fucking well get it into your head that I’m dying.’ He flinched then, because I never swear like that. At least not since having the kids. They were out with Holly; she’d taken them down to the park for Flo to practise riding her bike, and for Stan to try out his new scooter. So I knew they wouldn’t overhear anything, and if I wanted to use every swear word I could think of I would, because if what we’re facing doesn’t deserve every expletive under the sun, I don’t know what does.
‘You need to put your energy into the treatment.’
‘The treatment is not going to work though, is it?’ I said the words slowly and deliberately, as if I was speaking to someone with only a limited grasp of English, but there was a vicious edge to my tone too, because I was losing my patience. I was directing all of my anger at my husband, even though I knew that wasn’t where it belonged. I was angry at the situation and frustrated as hell that I couldn’t seem to make him understand how important planning for the future was to me, even though I wouldn’t be here to see it. He knows me, and he should understand that, but all he wanted to do was keep grasping at the straws Mr Whitelaw had already set fire to. There is no cure, I’m not going to survive this, but for some reason Tom was still trying to pretend that I am. I wasn’t going to give up on the conversation again, though. ‘The treatment will buy me a few more months, a year or so at best. I haven’t got time to waste, putting off conversations about the future. I need to have them now, no matter how difficult they might be.’
‘But you are wasting time, because all you want to focus on is what happens afterwards. How many more days have you got with the kids? With me and Holly? Are you going to do something to make the most of that time, or do you want to spend all of it talking about what happens when it’s too late for us all to be together?’ There was a flash of anger in Tom’s eyes too, but it wasn’t the look he gave me that made me gasp, it was the fact he was finally acknowledging how quickly time is running out. And it was the first time I understood the danger of focusing too much on what happens after I die, instead of making the most of the time I have left. But I knew there had to be a compromise.
‘You’re right.’ My words clearly took Tom by surprise, and his shoulders dropped in response. ‘Time is running out, and I do need to make the most of it, but it also means we’ve got to have those difficult conversations while we still can. How about we talk while the kids aren’t here, and then tomorrow we do something fun together and we don’t have to talk about anything to do with me dying?’
‘I can’t bear it, Lou.’ Tom bit his lip, but he didn’t walk away, like he did the last time I raised the subject, when he ended up slamming out of the room.
‘Neither can I, but we’ve got no choice.’
He nodded and straightened his shoulders, but I could tell he was trying not to cry, because I was too. ‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘I want to talk about everything, from where the kids will go to secondary school, to whether it might be a good time to finally consider getting them a dog to help them through their grief. I want to talk about my funeral too.’ There was something else huge I wanted to talk about, but I knew I needed to bide my time to avoid Tom shutting down again. Now that he’s finally started to open up, I’ve got to take this at a pace he can cope with, and that particular subject will have to wait.
Tom flinched for a second time in response to my mention of the funeral, before he nodded. ‘Okay, we can talk, but for every difficult conversation we have, I want us to plan at least one fun thing in return. They don’t all need to happen straight away, we can spread them over weeks, months even.’ He gave me a hopeful look then and I knew what he was doing, mapping out a future to give us both hope. If I had things planned with the children, it would give me all the more reason to strive to be here. I understood his logic, but I’ve known from the moment I was diagnosed that I’ll do whatever it takes to be here for as long as possible for my children’s sake, and for Tom and Holly too. The difference between us, is that I’ve already accepted I have no control over how long I’ll get to stick around, but Tom isn’t there yet and it wasn’t a battle I needed to fight right at that moment. We’d made enough progress for one day and the energy I had to stand my ground was already flagging.
‘You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr Forbes. We’d better shake on it.’ I felt my shoulders relax just a tiny bit, as I held out my hand and Tom smiled, rolling his eyes at me. We might not be at a place of total honesty yet, but it was a step in the right direction, towards trying to have the most important conversations of all. I’ve just got to pick the right moment, but it wasn’t yesterday, and it won’t be today either. Today is all about the fun things we agreed to plan and they’re starting right now.
‘Are you ready?’ Tom plants a kiss on the top of my head as he comes into the room and I nod. We’re setting off on a mini adventure, just the four of us, and for once I’m determined to focus on the moment and not let the chance of making special memories pass any of us by.
‘Is it nearly midnight?’ Stan widens his eyes as he asks the question, and I have to smile as Tom shoots me a look. These past couple of months we’ve had to do battle with Stan at bed time, when it’s still light outside, and for a while he kept coming downstairs long after we’d said good night. One evening in late May, at about nine o’clock, when the sun was just setting, he came down and announced that he was ‘not at all tired, not even a little bit’. Tom responded by telling him it was very late, and that the setting sun meant it was nearly midnight. He’s clearly taken this as fact and I wonder how Tom is going to handle his question.
‘Not quite, darling, but sometimes it’s way past bedtime by the time the sun sets. In the summer the sun doesn’t set until very late, but it will be autumn soon and by then the sun will almost be setting when you get home from school.’ It’s a simple explanation that Stan should be able to grasp, yet it hits me like a physical blow. It will be autumn soon. I’ve always loved the changing of the seasons, the shift from one to the next, but it suddenly terrifies me because there’s a chance I won’t be here by the time autumn comes. Forcing myself to push the thought away, I don’t allow it to take up residence in my head. I promised myself and Tom that this day would be all about the present, not the future.
‘Can I open the new paints?’ Until a moment ago, Flo had her head leant against my shoulder, but she looks up at me now, her eyes shining with excitement.
‘Of course you can, sweetheart, we need to start painting if we’re going to capture the sunset.’ I help her open the lids of the paints, tipping some into each of the four plastic paint trays Tom carried up the hill with the rest of the art supplies. There are four blank canvases too, which can be slotted together and displayed on the wall once the artwork is complete. The idea came courtesy of Holly, but when I asked her if she wanted to come with us, she insisted this should be a moment for just the four of us. When I tried to argue, she joked that she’d only show me up if our work was displayed side by side, and I stuck out my tongue in response, both of us laughing. It felt so good to be teasing one another the way we always used to, and I’m determined to cling on to those moments of normality whenever I can.
‘The sky looks like fire.’ Flo is smiling, the light creating a kind of orange glow around her. I love the way she looks at things, and I’m thrilled that the sunset is as spectacular as it is tonight. It’s stunning, and the chances are that Flo will remember it, even without the aid of our artwork to give her a nudge. Tom is busy snapping photographs, capturing me and the children against the sunset, and the two of them sitting next to me as we start to paint.
‘I think Stan could do with your help, Daddy,’ I call over to him, spotting the signs of our son getting frustrated that the paint won’t stay on his brush, which is hardly surprising given how much he’s overloaded it.
‘I’m coming.’ Tom heads over and sits down, squeezing Stan between us, with Flo on my other side, and within minutes the three of them are concentrating on their paintings, but I don’t start mine straight away. Instead, I watch them all, wanting to soak in the moment, as the glorious light of the sunset dances on their cheeks. These are my beloveds, the family I always wanted and I’m so grateful I got the chance to create it, even if the idea of leaving them is breaking my heart into a million pieces. Taking a deep breath, I finally take hold of my paintbrush and apply the first slick of paint to the canvas, because that’s why we’re here, to make memories they can all hold on to, when I’m finally forced to let them go.
Watching the sunset with the children was even more wonderful than I’d hoped it would be, and for a precious few moments I was completely absorbed by the present, but I was jolted back to the horrors that are just around the corner when I checked my phone on the way home. There was confirmation of an appointment to choose a wig, for when the chemo makes me lose my hair, as it almost certainly will. I’m acutely aware of time running out again, but for a different reason this time. I need to tell the children and my parents what is going on, because there’s no way I’ll be able to hide it and I want the news to come from me. As soon as I get home and the children are in bed, I go back online, posting a message in The Grapevine forum asking for advice about how to break the news to loved ones.
I haven’t felt ready to tell my parents or my children yet that I have incurable cancer. I’ve been told I could have as little as a couple of months, depending on how I respond to treatment. I know I’m going to have to break the news to the people I love once I start the chemo, as I won’t be able to hide it, so any advice you have on how you approached it would be very gratefully received.
I re-read my post, amazed at how normal I’ve made it sound, as if this is something everyone has to go through, when it’s anything but. Scrolling back to my previous posts, I check whether there are any new responses, hoping that someone will have some incredible advice about how to ensure my children aren’t ruined by my death, but all the new messages are variations on a theme, and the one from @melanomawarrior66 sums it up.
The only answer to this is to talk to your husband and tell him how much it worries you. If you trust him, and he can make you promises about what he’ll do if and when he gets a new partner, it might help you to feel less panicked. You need your strength for the treatment and focusing on this might drain that. Speak to him and take care of yourself, it all sounds very tough xx
It’s a lovely thoughtful comment; some of the others aren’t nearly so gently worded, but they all have the same message. I need to talk to Tom, and for a moment, I’m tempted to do it now, despite the fact that it’s only been a day since my last attempt to talk to him ended in an argument. But I know I need to pick my moment, so that he doesn’t refuse to discuss even the possibility of him one day finding someone else. It was hard enough getting him to discuss anything to do with me no longer being around, and I don’t want us to go straight back to square one by rushing it. I’ll bide my time, but not for long, as I can’t risk even the tiniest chance of leaving it too late to have the most important conversation we’ll ever have to have.