Two years ago today, as I pulled out of school my phone rang. It was my mum. She’d been in hospital for a few days because she was jaundiced. As I said hello, she told me to pull over. Stop the car.
She had cancer.
By 8pm we knew it was terminal.
We didn’t realise then that the cancer would take our mum from us in just ten weeks.
It was, quite simply, the worst phone call of my life. I can’t even begin to think how my mum must have felt, phoning each her children to tell them she was dying. She was brave, she was strong, for us.
The next ten weeks were horrific. Watching my strong, powerful mum become sicker and smaller. Trying to keep life “normal” for the Ms when my world was falling apart.
Mum was 62.
She should have had years left to play with her grandchildren, take well earned holidays, retire.