Wednesday, 7 August 2013

Feel the Summer Storm

It is late afternoon and both children are hot, sweaty and irritable. My dad seems to be equally annoyed with the heat as with the childrens' crying. We are hopefully inspecting the clouds slowly creeping from behind the hills. 

'We really need some rain!' exclaims my dad, sadly looking at the vegetables, which in past years were carefully tended by my mum. Her terminal illness has been lingering above us for months and I know that these words mean a lot more to him. He needs this cleansing effect of a summer storm, we all do...

An then, all of a sudden, almost unexpectedly dark clouds close the sky and the heaven opens, with thunder and a heavy downpour... 

Mr A strips himself naked and runs off into the rain, jumping madly and laughing. The expression on his face tells me that he loves the experience, loud thunder, heavy drops of rain on his body and puddles under his feet. Miss R seems intrigued by her brother and crawls into the rain, but quickly retreats back and is happy to play with a bucket of water.

I observe the children in their pure joy of feeling the summer storm. I long to join them, but I just sit there... Tears are pouring down my cheeks... The burden of my mum's illness is too heavy...

Saturday, 3 August 2013


A heavy burden fell off my shoulders. We managed to transfer my mum to a hospice

My heart was broken every time I visited her at the hospital. I don't even want to talk about it... I desperately wanted her to come home, yet she trusted that only the hospital can deal with her pain and nausea.  

Yes, she might be under the influence of high doses of morphine and yes, she is dying, but she is still a human being, who deserves all the kindness, love and warmth than anyone can spare. When welcomed to the hospice, her first words were: 'Here it feels like they haven't given up on me yet.'  Bless her heart.

I have been taking Miss R to all the visits. The little one  is always so blissfully engrossed in playing with whatever she finds around her; crawling in the grass in front of the hospital, playing with soil, picking up cigarette buds (yuck!), peeling off bark and putting pebbles in her mouth. 

My mum likes to see her even for those short minutes of consciousness, although the morphine is really taking all the emotions away. It saddens me that she will never be able to see my children grow up... Their giggles... Their cuddles... Their bumps and bruises... Their hand painted Christmas cards... 

Watching her grandchildren grow up was my mum's biggest dream and this has been brutally taken away.