One in a million


Sometimes, the people who have passed, are the very people you could really do with talking to. My brother contracted lung cancer and passed away in October 2013 (R.I.P. Rod, we miss you). Mum was diagnosed last year. This is a letter/conversation with my brother.

I never really thought about this time coming, or of facing it, without you being around. Maybe you wouldn’t have shouldered the burden, or maybe you would, as the eldest. I know you had problems of your own. Drugs and alcohol, all the harsh things that come with that.

Life twisted and turned in ways we never expected. I think we would get terribly drunk. We probably would. And often.

Watching mums decline is a terrible thing.

Its eases a bit when I am busy. Work, life, going up and down, not knowing what to say or do for her. How does anyone watch their mum slowly slip away? What do you say when she is tearing herself up inside with stress, worry, tension and god knows what? How do you ease her pain?

She watched and nursed you through this very same thing. She knows the stages. The symptoms. Every twist and turn. That is a double edged sword.

Easing other peoples pain is her thing. She doesn’t deal so well with her own. Now she has no  choice. I’ve gotta tell you, it is not sitting well for her.

I guess this is why you need to savour the good. To see you through the bad.

She will be with you soon. Wherever that might be. At peace. Take good care of her. She is one in a million.

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