Page 20 of A Mother’s Last Wish

20

LOUISA

I assumed that the nagging nausea would stop once the chemo did, but it hasn’t fully lifted and I’m still finding it hard to face food. Since the weekend of all the excitement, I’ve barely had any energy and I don’t suppose that’s helped by the fact that I’m barely eating. All the positivity I had about making memories with the children seems to have ebbed away too, I feel like I’m existing rather than living, but I can’t seem to summon up the strength to do anything about it. I suspect I’m depressed and that the sickness in the pit of my stomach is dread as much as anything else and I’m not sure what can lift that. Ever since my diagnosis I’ve told myself that if I can’t be cured, I only want one thing, to know that my children won’t suffer from missing having a mother around in the way Holly and I did. When I posted on The Grapevine forum that I might have found a solution to ensuring the children don’t end up with a replacement mother who’s nowhere near up to the job, once I’m gone, the responses were mixed to say the least.

I got comments from some people telling me that they understood and asking me more about who this woman was. I didn’t want to give too much away, because telling them that it was my sister would make most people feel uncomfortable. I’d have felt the same way myself until very recently. So I told them that she was someone I loved, and who the children and Tom already knew and loved too, and that she was single and already involved in all of our lives. A few of them suggested I talk to this ‘friend’ about my idea, to see if she might be on board, but a lot more of them told me this was a step too far and that I just needed to ask this friend to make sure she remains a part of my family’s life, come what may. One post from @itsnotalloveryet2 really hit home:

Oh @worrriedmum1982, I’m so sorry that you are facing this and I understand why you want to feel that you aren’t leaving any ‘loose ends’ behind, but there are some things you just can’t fix. Even if this woman really is the best person you know, as you’ve said in your post, she won’t be able to take your place, because she’s not you. She can be part of the support network that helps your children to eventually move forward without you, though. There’s a saying, isn’t there, about it taking a village to raise a child? I think that’s even more likely to be the case with a child who has lost a parent. Talk to this friend, and to your husband, and tell them that you want her to be a part of that village, and to make sure that there are other good people who become a part of it too. That’s all you can do, because there’s only one you and you’re irreplaceable to those who love you xx

It was such a kind message and it really made me think. Most of the other posters were kind too, although they didn’t shy away from being honest, and a few of them suggested I was focusing on trying to find my children a new mother rather than facing the fact I was dying. I tried to dismiss it, but it’s true. I’m starting to realise that no matter how hard I try to line things up for the children, in an attempt to make sure the gap is filled for them, I’ll still be gone.

I want to pause every moment and make it last a hundred times longer than it does, because they’re all passing far too quickly, and yet at the same time it’s getting harder to be present. I feel too ill to build on the momentum of the weekend that Holly and Tom pulled off so brilliantly. All I can do is keep showing up while I can and simply try to be a part of the minutiae of the children’s lives. That’s why I’m in the kitchen attempting to make them breakfast. It’s just the usual mum stuff I’ve done hundreds of times before, but suddenly even that feels precious and fragile, every small action magnified in significance because I might be doing it for the final time.

‘What do you want for breakfast?’ I ruffle Stan’s hair as I speak, and he looks up from the iPad he’s been glued to for the past ten minutes. There was a time when I’d have been really strict about screen use, especially around the table, but I don’t have the same kind of energy these days and I have to pick my battles.

‘Pancakes!’ Stan puts down the iPad, such is his excitement, and Flo is nodding with enthusiasm too.

‘Can we have syrup please? Lots of it.’ She adds the last part of the instruction with a heavy emphasis on the word lots . She always wants a little bit of pancake with her maple syrup, rather than the other way around, and it’s something else I would have stood firm on in the past, but not now that everything feels like it could be the last chance to make a lasting memory. I want to be remembered as the mum who made the best-tasting pancakes, so that every time they have them in the future they remember me. That’s the thing, you see, ever since I realised that some of the posters on the forum were right, and that I was focusing on finding my children a replacement mother, so I didn’t have to face the fact I wouldn’t be here, I can’t get the idea out of my head that they might not remember me at all. Despite everything Tom and Holly have done to help capture lasting memories, I still haven’t been able to stop the fear from creeping back in that it won’t actually be me they miss, but a second-hand recollection, from videos and photos, and the testimony of others, an abstract idea of who I was, not the mother who loved them with the whole of her heart. It kills me that they might not know just how much I love them, or ever understand how devastating it’s been to know I’m going to be ripped from their sides, when I would have given anything to stay and continue being their mum.

‘I want bananas too!’ Stan claps his little hands together, drawing me back to the moment, and I smile broadly, despite another wave of nausea surging up inside me as I pick up a banana from the fruit bowl. I can smell its aroma even through the skin and it turns my stomach, but I’m determined to deliver on my promise.

‘Coming right up, my darlings.’

I used to be able to do this kind of thing with my eyes closed. It was a breeze, knocking up a batch of home-made scotch pancakes, or drop scones as my nan always called them when she taught me to make them. She insisted they tasted better than the shop bought ones, and she was right. Except not this time, because the mixture won’t seem to go right and they keep sticking to the pan. I’ve already binned two batches, and the third lot don’t look great either. I’m just hoping if I smother them in enough syrup that the children might not notice.

‘This tastes yucky.’ Stan wrinkles his nose almost before the first bite touches his tongue.

‘My pancakes are burnt.’ Flo lifts up the edge of hers with a fork, then pushes the plate away. As desperate as I am not to cry, I burst into noisy tears.

‘I’m sorry, I tried, I really did.’ I can barely get the words out between the sobs, and Flo gets to her feet and wraps her arms around my waist.

‘Mummy, don’t cry, it’s okay.’ Her words just make the tears come all the faster, and both she and Stan are crying now too.

‘Hey, what’s going on in here?’ Holly comes through the door carrying a box, and Tom is right behind her carrying more stuff. I asked them to give me some time on my own with the kids and Tom said that they’d only be gone for half an hour or so, and they were. I desperately wanted that time with my children without feeling like I had to be babysat, but I couldn’t even manage that, and I can’t answer Holly’s question because I’m crying so hard.

‘Mummy burnt the pancakes.’ Flo’s chin is wobbling and she starts crying again as Holly folds her into her arms.

‘Don’t get upset, darling, we can easily make some more.’ When Holly says we , I know she means her. She knows they’re the children’s favourite thing to eat, and she knows how to make them just the way they like them, because our grandmother taught her to do it the same way she taught me. An irrational stab of anger hits me at the thought and I realise how envious I am that she might step into my place when I’m gone. I’ve spent so much energy trying to control who will be there for my children, but deep down all I want is for that person to be me, and it breaks my heart that I won’t get the chance.

‘I said mine was yucky and it made Mummy cry.’ Stan hurls himself towards Tom and I feel like a spare part in my own family. Holly and Tom are comforting my children, the children who I upset because I’m useless. I can’t do anything for them any more, not even make their favourite breakfast. I feel left out and jealous – horribly jealous – that Stan and Flo are seeking comfort elsewhere. Anyone looking at the scene would think they were the children’s parents, and it hurts so much, but I wanted this. Or at least I thought I did, until I saw for myself what my family will look like without me in it. But I don’t want it, I don’t want any of this. Holly taking my place won’t make things any better, because the truth is I’m desperate to stay and I’d do anything – anything – to make that happen. Now I’m terrified that my fear about the children not missing me is already coming true and I’m crying even harder, because I know how selfish that is, but I still can’t bear the thought that I might be right. If there is anything after this life, I’m going to miss them so much, but it feels like I’m already being forgotten by the people I love most.

It took a good ten minutes for everyone to gather themselves together after my meltdown and for Holly to begin remaking the children’s breakfasts. Despite Tom and Holly urging me to stay, I made my excuses to leave, saying that I needed to lie down, but the truth is I couldn’t bear to watch them all playing happy families for another moment. As Holly started to prepare the pancakes, she and Tom began listing all the things they’d bought for the children to play with. Stan and Flo were getting more and more excited, their tears already forgotten while mine still burned in my eyes. I slipped away and the children didn’t even notice. I tried to lie down, so that my excuse to leave didn’t become yet another twisting of the truth, but about fifteen minutes later I heard the sound of laughter start to drift up from the garden.

I’m standing at the window now, looking out as Flo and Stan gleefully run through the new garden sprinkler that criss-crosses through an inflatable rainbow arch. They’re urging their father and aunt to join in, but no one is asking for me. There isn’t even a glance up to the window where I’m standing, and I know now what I need to do.

As I make my way back down the stairs, I struggle to catch my breath. This is hard going, but it’s got to be done. As I reach the final step, I haul my suitcase off it and on to the hallway floor, just as Tom comes through the kitchen door, his hair dripping wet and a look of joy on his face that slides off when he spots my suitcase.

‘Oh my God, Lou, what’s wrong? Do you need to go to the hospital?’ It’s the only reason he can think of for me leaving and even that makes me sad. I’m such a shell of a person, that in his mind the only place I can possibly be going to is the hospital. Except this time I’m not.

‘I’m leaving.’

‘What do you mean you’re leaving?’

‘I don’t want to be here any more; you and Holly have got it all covered and the children prefer being with her than with me. I’m just in the way.’ Somehow, I get the words out without crying again. Tom isn’t nearly so successful, but I can’t tell whether his tears are driven by anger or sadness.

‘Of course you’re not in the way, we all love you and Holly has just been doing what you asked her to do.’

‘Of course she has, because she’s just fucking perfect, isn’t she?’ I can’t stop the bitterness from exploding out of me and it’s so ugly, but everything about this is ugly.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, we’re all just trying to make the best of a terrible situation.’

‘Well, it’s my terrible situation and I get to call the shots.’ The sound of a car pulling on to the gravel outside makes Tom’s head jolt back. ‘That’ll be my ride.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To my parents’ flat.’ Part of me hadn’t wanted to tell him, but that really wouldn’t be fair on anyone. I’m sad, angry and hurt, but I’m putting everyone through enough worry already, they don’t deserve me to pile on more.

‘Why the hell would you want to go there?’ Tom looks incredulous. ‘They can’t even look after themselves, let alone you.’

‘I think they need this chance to put things right.’ It’s a blatant lie, but I don’t care if Tom can see right through it. I’ve got to get out of here and I can’t think of anywhere else to go.

‘Lou, it’s a crazy idea, you can’t really think that’s the place to?—’

I raise my voice, cutting him off. ‘Stop trying to control every fucking thing I do! It’s my life and I’ve got the right to do what I want with the time I’ve got left!’

I never swear this much and I loathe myself for the things I’m saying, but anger and jealousy are swirling inside me. I hate the situation too, I hate everything, but it’s Tom who’s taking the brunt of my rage and I can’t seem to stop myself from lashing out. Just days ago, I was thanking him from the bottom of my heart for such a special weekend with the children, but it’s like bitterness has poisoned the memory of that and I can’t seem to find my way back to the place where I finally felt as though I’d found a bit of peace.

‘If that’s what you want.’ Tom sounds exhausted, but he doesn’t argue back, his tone still reasonable. He’s accepted my decision far more easily than I expected him to and I don’t know how to feel. ‘At least let me drive you.’

‘The taxi’s already here. You get back to Holly and the children.’ I do my best to mirror his even tone, but I have to turn away before he sees me cry. If he reaches out to me again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to go and I need to leave because it’s killing me staying and feeling like the third wheel in my own life. The worst thing is the only person to blame is me, because I put all my energy into replacing myself before I was even gone and now it feels like there’s no going back.