That’s the problem with social networks. They don’t know when someone is dead.
It would have been her 67th birthday today. We would have wrapped our Easter celebrations into a birthday celebration as well, and it all would have gone smoothly.
Instead, it’s been almost three years since she died and there is so much she has missed. How is it fair, to have someone you love, miss some of the biggest milestones in your life?
April 2009, we were moving through the cancer haze. A mess of appointments and treatment and long conversations in cafes. Of learning to read a CT scan report so that the doctors couldn’t gloss over the worst details. Of knowing, in depth, what metastasize meant in a real way, rather than an academic kind of way. Dropping cake crumbs on my new baby’s head, as he was carried to and fro with us.
It’s never pleasant to walk the path with someone dying, and yet, we were honoured to be able to do it.
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Winter is coming.
It sounds trite and ripped from Game of Thrones – and you’re right. It is.
But it’s also how this time of year feels. April heralds the beginning of the dark months, as we move through birthdays and anniversaries. I could read back through my blog and find out what appointments we were attending three years ago, but I don’t want to.
April moves into May, which moves into June – the darkest of the months.
Cancer moved from her lungs, to her lymph nodes, to her bones.
Life moved on to death.
That is how this time of year works.
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Death leaves a hole in your life that is unfillable. It will scab over and eventually scar, but you will always miss them. Sometimes with a deep ache, sometimes with a smile.
And sometimes, with piercing pain.
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Happy Birthday Nan.
I’m sorry you’re not here to watch my children grow up and life continue on – I think you’d be amused at how similar Amy is to Mum.
Amused, yes very. Mum would also adore the fact that Amy is such a girly girl, all pink spangles and sparkles. The girly girl gene skipped both you and I and I know that Mum would be in her element choosing barbies and soft pink nail polishes, Avon scent in little bottles and all the assorted pinkery that Ames adores.
Love to you my gorgeous girl. moment by moment lovely, it is all we can do.
Sending love. I remember doing all of that with my father.Ivy and Noah were just out of the NICU, 12 weeks old when he died. That mixture of loss and circle of life feelings were so strong. Now my uncle has just been diagnosed with primaries in the lungs, and metastisies everywhere. He’s starting chemo. I wish he wasn’t. I wish he could just go and live life to the fullest. Be happy in each moment and then when death came, I wish that it could be peaceful. He’s chosen chemo though. I get why but I don’t at the same time.
Whichever way you look at it, cancer sucks.
I’m sorry that you lost your Nan.
I bet your Nan would be amazed by your kids, amazed by you and all you’ve done, the courage that you and your mum share.
Reminders are everywhere and they have no idea how painful they can be.
Thinking of you all with love
Hugs for you V.
x
Facebook really should have some sort of death clause so loved one if they choose to can remove pages of loved one that have past on.
My Husband lost his Nan last year to emphysema which was sad in itself, but what was worse was his Pop was diagnosed with a brain tumour the day of her burial, he fought for all he could but the outlook was grime so he took his own life before he became a burden to anyone in the family.
Facebook always pops up randomly with his image, smiling happily, almost tauntingly at times, around important events like Christmas and major events in the family 21st, 18th, quiet eerie really.
Thinking of you xxx
I can’t remember my nana’s birthday. She my dear heart. I can’t remember the date she died. Can’t remember the year. I think I had a breakdown. If I ask will that happen again. Afraid to fall into the abyss. When she went, I went too for a long time. Part of me still lost.
This post has made me want to ask, the dates, the year. I remember the funeral. I remember her slow death. I remember her whispering in my ear, when all said she could not speak. I put my ear gently to her. Those words were ours. Nurses dragged me away said it was too distressing. She was not distressed, neither was I. Curtains closed.
I shall ask and then I will write the date on Facebook so that the world will never forget. I have you to thank for this Veronica, a gift I think from your nan to a stranger, too scared until I read your words to ask. I remember more when you write of your nan. Its time I remembered. I have written I so many times it is selfish. But she would have understood, For she knew that I loved her more, more than any other.
All the love, is timeless.
Thinking of you, your mum, thinking. x
Beautiful post. And I write a message on their walls – a remembrance
You never forget, do you? I miss my Gram so terribly and she left us when I was 16 (I’m now 38). For me though, it’s Summer that seems to signal death, because that’s when all our disasters happen and loved ones seem to leave us.
Beautiful post – thank you!
It will be two years in May since my Nan died, taken quickly and abruptly, the cancer having eaten away at her for many years without intervention.
Sending you hugs – it’s a hard time, but also makes you so grateful for what we have now – treasuring the living, remembering the past.
((hugs))
I lost my Great Grandmother Jane about 5 years ago… she practically raised me and was more like a best friend and mother to me than she was a distant great grandma… Her memories are still just a breath away and sometimes bring pain, sometimes laughter/smiles, sometimes both…
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her or miss her in some way or another… but she lives on in my heart and memories and I just keep reminding myself I will see her again someday.
I ache for you, V. I can see how the weather affects the mood and the cycle of seasons also reunites feelings of things lost and gained. A passing in the winter months, and all your babies have (and will be) born in spring and summer months. I’ve lost people primarily through summer and autumn and my daughter was born smack bang in the middle of winter. My perception of the cold changed then from dark and dreary to feelings of warm snuggles by the heater with a newborn or cuddled up on the couch with a blanket.
Big hugs to you sweetie xxxx
Healing is hard when you are constantly being reminded of pain. Facebook can close an account of a person who has passed away. Not sure if this what you want, if you are all ready, but here’s some info: http://voices.yahoo.com/how-close-facebook-account-after-7525776.html
When I go, my account will be deleted. Possibly before.
Stupid internet lost my comment! Anyway, was saying it’s hard to heal when pain is a constant reminder. Here’s some info if you want to close the account, or perhaps memorialise. For me, mine will be deleted entirely when i go, possibly before. I want no lose strings left.
http://voices.yahoo.com/how-close-facebook-account-after-7525776.html
Thinking of you. I never thought of FB doing this when someone has passed on. You bring to light what is easily overlooked and how precious our loved ones are, sorry to hear you went through such a difficult time with young child/ren, never easy.
Very neat blog article. Keep writing.
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