Lung Cancer Killed My Mum.

a story or dying and death

I'd hardly dealt with death before. I'd certainly never seen a dead body. I've been afraid of death and dying my entire life, like most people. Despite this I knew that I wanted to walk the path as far as I could with my Mum, into her valley of death. I felt that it was the least I could do for an incredible and selfless woman such as her. 

From my experiences and study of birth, I knew that a path as sacred as death needed to be dealt with on our own terms. That honoring her dying and ultimate death would be the only way we would escape the experience without being traumatized.

We are heartbroken, missing a piece and we are very, very sad, but we are also calm, grateful, joyful at times and in the midst of new growth. 

My Mum died of respiratory failure due to lung cancer after a 19 month battle. Receiving a terminal diagnosis is like an arrow to the stomach. It doesn't kill you instantly but the road to death is wretched. Impending doom. The grieving of a loved one before they're even dead is a curse and a blessing. For 19 months we cried and envisioned a life without our mum whilst also trying to cram in as much time as we could with her. Constantly thinking "this could be the last time we do this together." I ached for 19 months thinking about the sweet, strong relationship my daughter would lose with her Grammy. I cry as I type this, thinking of all the milestones my Mum will miss. All those moments where her heart would swell with pride over her little granddaughter in the future that she will never get to see. I know mum grieved the future too. I know she was consumed with guilt for leaving us. She has been devoted to us her whole life and she would never have left us by choice. We were her whole world. The four of us were it.

First, we got the "you've got six to twelve months" then, once the chemotherapy stopped working, we got told "you've got months". Three weeks after the oncologist shrugged and said "months," mum died. 

Before lung cancer, mum lived with rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia for 12 years, emphysema and COPD. She was no stranger to chronic pain. I believe that even she didn't know how close she was to death in the end. Because she had a huge pain tolerance, we never really knew just how bad she was.

Her close friends and family were not aware of how much her body hurt when she was in pain, my sister, my husband and I were the only ones who could see it. We were the only ones she would occasionally let her guard down in front of. Mostly she just laughed it off and said, "I'm fine" and "I'll be right." I'm sure my sister wouldn't be able to count the times Mum cried to herself in bed during the day due to fibromyalgia pain.

She suffered a great deal during her life. Her first husband Russel was hit by a train when he was just 23 years old. They had a son together, Dale who was 2 years old at the time. Not long after Russel died, Dale died too. When I was younger mum used to tell me that Dale died due to a hole in his heart, but I got the truth from her a couple of years ago. Dale was actually hurt by his babysitter and died in the hospital after a battle for his life. Not long after all that, Mums mother committed suicide.

After all those deaths, mum ran away for a holiday to China and somehow managed to pull herself together. Then she met my father and decided to have me. Turns out my dad was a drug addict and one night he held her against the wall by the neck because she refused to go out and buy him weed, so she hit him over the head with a frypan and he was knocked out cold for three days. She thought she'd killed him. When he finally woke up, she left him. I was 18 months old. 

When I was five, she married my stepdad and when I was nine years old, gave birth to my sister. Unfortunately, my stepdad is a raving alcoholic, and she gave him this ultimatum a few weeks after she gave birth; "It's me and the kids or beer." He asked if he could have some time to think about that and drove off in his gold ford. Needless to say, she left him too.

Then we moved to Bowraville and boy, there's been some drama with friends and family over the years. Mum was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia a short time after finding one of her best friends dead in his house. She hadn't heard from him for a few days and decided to check up on him. He'd died of a heart attack four days before she found him. That was the start of her downhill ride that led to the fibromyalgia diagnosis.

I didn't see it until now, but I think she was grieving her whole life. I don't think she ever dealt with all the terrible things she endured properly, and I believe it contributed to her illnesses. 

They also say that the people in life who are the most kind, have usually suffered the most. They're kind because they never want anyone to suffer like they have, and that sounds just like my mum. 

She was SO kind. She gave blood a million times. She volunteered for meals on wheels. She won Australian of the Year in our local area for her work with a dog rescue group. She won That's Life Magazines 'Mother of the year' in 2013. She was continually donating to guide dogs and all those wildlife organizations where you get the stuffed teddies when you donate. She would cook people yummy food and cakes and give people gifts just for the hell of it. She was always there for a coffee and a chat when someone needed one. She was the most reliable friend. She put everyone before herself. Even on her death bed, she told her brother not to worry about her, to go to the Philippines and propose to his girlfriend. At a time when she needed her family close, she still put them first.

The cancer battle started in April 2021. We were at a friend's wedding in Newcastle and mum coughed up a little bit of blood. Just once. She immediately quit smoking and booked into the doctor. The doctor stuffed us around a little, as they usually do, and we pushed to see the lung specialist even when the doctor didn't seem too concerned. I shudder to think of the outcome if we had not pushed to see the specialist, I image our time would have been cut even more short and shocking than it was.

The CT scans and lung specialist confirmed the worst. There was one large spot on her right lung with secondary lumps in her lymph nodes on her neck and possibly in her groin. She said "oh well, I did it to myself. I'll fight it with everything I've got, I'm not ready to die." It was a terrible situation. 

Mum's sister Sue was very unwell with scleroderma and in her last couple of months of life. Mum was too upset to call and break the news to her family, so I did it. The silence on the other end of the phone after you break some bad news to people is hard, but not quite so hard as listening to the first things they say after that silence, which is usually a grappling for hope.

Mum took on chemo like a boss. The first round was a strong dose, and included immunotherapy as well. She had treatment every three weeks. She lost her hair, had some tummy trouble and was tired, but thankfully she could function fairly well and didn't puke once. The loss of her hair was a huge deal for her. We thought it would take a while to fall out, but from the first time she had chemo, it took about two weeks. I could see she was stricken, but as usual, she put on a brave face and laughed her way through it. I ended up just chopping it all off for her.

Like I said, the first round of chemo was strong, so strong it shrunk the tumors (hooray!). She had a break from the chemo and just had immunotherapy treatment for a while. Unfortunately, the immunotherapy or a delayed reaction to chemo fucked up her liver (oh shit!) and because her liver was having such a hard time, she needed a break from treatment and had to be dosed up on steroids to fix her liver health.

It's during this stage that I wish we had lived a little. Said fuck money, fuck the world, lets holiday and have fun! We didn't though, you always think there will be more time. 

Once her liver perked up it was time for a new round of chemo. What I didn't know about chemo is that there are hundreds of chemo drugs and they cycle you through them. Once you've reached your maximum allowed dosage of one, they move you on to another. So mums next round was more "gentle" but more frequent, weekly. 

This weekly treatment meant that she was always tired and throughout that treatment she still had a lot of liver trouble. She was on and off steroids as well as losing thyroid function, developing fluid around her heart and becoming diabetic. We were juggling blood appointments, chemo, doctors' appointments, heart specialists, a new diet as well as my two jobs and Phoebe. Mum couldn't really drive herself anywhere anymore, so I went with her everywhere. When I absolutely couldn't, Natty would take time off work to do it. 

Our lives revolved around one another for the entire 19 months that she was sick. 

Due to all the inflammation cause by absolutely every drug she was taking, she formed a fistula. A fistula is an opening between the bowel and the bladder, caused by the rubbing between both the bowel and the bladder walls due to inflammation. To fix that she needed to go in and have a stoma created. This horrified her. having her butthole on her stomach. Never farting again. Worrying about leaking poop in public.

What did she do? Took it in her stride of course. She healed very well but had a couple of stints in hospital (almost an entire month) due to very bad breathlessness, which was a reaction to the anesthesia. Phoebe named mums stoma "Spotty", and we made jokes like "hey mum, you'll never have to worry about nervous pooping again" and "now you can poop wherever you want". Shit like that (a shitty pun, but necessary, Haha).

It was just before this operation that we found out her prognostication for the first time. Six to twelve months. The oncologist told her over the phone while she was home alone. I walked into her house to her bawling her eyes out and had to pry the information from her. I went home and collapsed while doing my dishes. The anxiety I experienced from that news was the worst anxiety I have ever experienced. 

She wasn't going to tell anyone about her life expectancy, but I did. If I hadn't, she would not have gotten to see her brother and two of her nieces for the last time. I also believe that sharing the load, lessens it, and if you have a relationship with anyone, you have no right to keep anything from them they may affect their lives. That might hinder them from doing or saying something they want to. I know mum didn't want to cause a fuss, or worry or hurt anyone, but I wanted her to come first for once in her life. 

Of course, she couldn't have treatment while preparing for, or after, her stoma operation. She needed to heal first and during this time, the cancer spread significantly. After her stoma op, she moved in with me so that she had help at hand if she needed it during the night.

She then developed a tumor so close to her spinal cord it was compressing it, which was incredibly painful. She found out about this tumor during one of her hospital stints. A doctor woke her up from a deep sleep at midnight to tell her. How fucked up is that. Telling her immediately did nothing except cause her stress and anxiety. She didn't sleep for the rest of the night or call to tell me until the morning. Some doctors have a lot to answer for. She had radiotherapy to shrink that tumor and reduce the pain, which it did. The radiotherapy side effects were much worse than the chemo though, so much so that she said she would never have it again, even if she needed it. 

She had to have a break from chemo to have the radiotheraphy. Then at the next round of Chemo she got a feeling of impending doom and had to stop treatment, receiving only part of the dose. 

Then her tongue swelled up. Apparently, no one could do anything about this because it was mostly ignored by both the oncologist and the GP. She was just given some strong antihistamines.

She had a CT scan and at the following appointment with the oncologist, we were told the cancer had spread significantly again and that the chemo had stopped working. Her choice was to try another chemo or focus on quality of life. I remember the sound of the oncologist's voice, her demeanor, she had lost hope. Mum cried and asked, "how long"? The oncologist shrugged and just said "months". Mum said she wanted to try chemo again and I could see the oncologist was willing but thought it was a waste of time.

When we got home, I asked mum if she was sure that's what she wanted. If she wanted to live the last months of her life sick and tired from chemo, trapped at home for fear of catching cold or needing to feel secure, close to the hospital. Maybe she could stop chemo and we could adjust our lifestyles for a while, live, have fun. She cried and said she wanted to stop chemo.

I have no words to describe that feeling. none. She asked me if I was going to put her in a hospice when the time came. She said she didn't want to die at my place, she was worried about Phoebe. I told her I would never put her in a hospice. That I'd care for her till the end at home and that witnessing a dignified death at home would be a better experience for Phoebe than a mysterious death in a hospice.

We planned a summer holiday to Dreamworld because mum had never been, and she was so excited singing "we're all going on a summer holiday" all over the place. A couple of days later her breathlessness and pain were out of control. She was admitted to hospital and given antibiotics which seemed to clear everything up. She came home. At this point she started to become a little forgetful and confused.

We went to Phoebe's preschool graduation, and everything seemed to be looking up, until mum woke up a couple of days later feeling just as bad as she had been when she went into hospital a few days earlier.

She didn't want to go to hospital again. Didn't want to go to the doctors. After talking with her and trying to persuade her, she said she didn't want to go because she didn't think she'd be capable of waiting in emergency. I said we'd call an ambulance, so she'd get a bed before she even got to the hospital.

She was admitted again, and the doctors couldn't find anything "wrong". The breathlessness wasn't subsiding, and her pain was getting worse. We'd already filled in an end-of-life care plan and so the palliative care team came to talk to us about our options. There was nothing left to be done except go home, manage her symptoms and wait for the inevitable. 

She didn't want to go to hospital again. Didn't want to go to the doctors. After talking with her and trying to persuade her, she said she didn't want to go because she didn't think she'd be capable of waiting in emergency. I said we'd call an ambulance, so she'd get a bed before she even got to the hospital.

She was admitted again, and the doctors couldn't find anything "wrong". The breathlessness wasn't subsiding, and her pain was getting worse. We'd already filled in an end-of-life care plan and so the palliative care team came to talk to us about our options. There was nothing left to be done except go home, manage her symptoms and wait for the inevitable. 

At this point I was still helping her to the loo, but she was barely eating. She couldn't really talk anymore, having almost lost her voice completely. She didn't want to see or talk to any of her friends or family.

I left her for half an hour on Christmas eve to have my dinner and she fell out of bed. We'd gotten a baby monitor so she could call out if she needed me, but she'd lost her voice. I freaked. I took her passcode off her phone and set my number to her favorites so all she had to do was press one button. I asked if she wanted some of the anxiety drug and she said yes. After I gave it to her, she went to sleep quickly. I slept in bed with her that night. I was freezing. She was so hot she had to have the fan on, and I hate sleeping with a fan. Fans are also very effective at reducing breathlessness apparently.

Her cold sweat, the struggle and erratic breathing, the noise of the oxygen machine, her unresponsiveness. I've never been so scared to fall asleep. By that point I'd not been sleeping much anyway but trying to sleep next to your mum while knowing she could die at any moment was scary/difficult/horrifying/traumatic.

The next day was Christmas. I thought we'd at least have one more Christmas with her when we were given the "months" prognostication and we did, but not really. We had been looking forward to spending Christmas day at Natty's house for the first time ever and leaving her a mess to clean up! Instead, mum was bed bound, barely able to speak or move, drugged up to her eyeballs and opening presents she would never get to use.  

Phoebe and I ended up going to Nats for lunch, while Gaz stayed at home with Mum. Mum made us go because she didn't want to ruin Phoebe's Christmas. Phoebe had a swim in the pool, we ate and left. It was hard.

That afternoon I asked mum if she wanted to see or talk to any of her friends and family again. I'd been asking intermittently in the days prior in case she changed her mind. This time she said yes, and we called four or five people. She spoke to them all briefly, saying 'I love you" in the quietest whisper that looked like it took the most enormous toll on her.

On Christmas night mum had a big anxiety attack. She was sitting up on the edge of the bed and couldn't breathe. I tried to talk her down, but it was no use. I asked if she wanted some of the anxiety meds and she said yes. I gave her the midazolam through the port but she was just getting more restless and wouldn't lie down, I had to support her from falling by kneeling in front of her so she could lean on my shoulder. Then her eyes rolled back and she passed out on my neck. I burst into tears and screamed for Gaz, I thought she was dying in my arms.

I laid her down on her pillow and took a moment to check myself and calm down. She was still breathing but just completely out of it. Zonked. The nurse had told me she'd pass out once I gave her the midaz, and I had seen her go to sleep with it the previous night, but I wasn't really prepared for what that could possibly look like. Mum would have hated being out of it like that.

At this point I noticed that almost all of the top up drugs that the nurse had drawn up for that day were gone. If mum woke up and needed them, I wouldn't have enough for her. 

I called the Palliative nurse and while I was on the phone to her, heart still beating out of my chest from mum passing out on my shoulder, one of the flying fox pups I'd been caring for decided to take his first flight around our living room. He was frightened of everyone but me and was screaming at Gaz because it was his dinner time! Poor Gaz had to wrap him in a sheet, get him to his airer and hang some curtains until I could get off the phone to deal with him. It felt like chaos.

While I was on the phone the nurse was talking me through how to draw up more meds for mum. Searching through her big green box full of needles, syringes and hard drugs. Little glass viles of hydromorphone and midazolam who's neck you have to snap to open. She commended me for being so composed but I had no choice. I certainly knew she wasn't coming to do it for me after a few dinks on Christmas night. Anyway, it turns out I didn't need any of them, the Midaz knocked mum out for the entire night.

After I spoke to the nurse, I called Natty and told her I wasn't sure mum would make it through the night. That maybe she should come over. She did, with her longtime friend Tiarne who is basically family. When they arrived, the self-administering pump connected to mum's arm started alarming. It was running low. I had to take it out, press a heap of buttons until it was right to go again.

The three of us, plus Timmy, sat on mums' bed with her until well past midnight. We just chatted about some memories of mum as well as things about death and dying and the experience we were going through at the moment. Gaz had told us that we shouldn't talk about certain things in front of mum, because she was probably listening, but Mum, Natty and are so close that we would talk about everything together. We told Gaz we weren't talking about anything we wouldn't speak with mum about. 

It was therapeutic to be able to do that. Sit on the bed until well into the night, talking with them. It certainly helped calm my nerves. I slept in my own bed that night because I was confident she wouldn't wake up due to the midaz.

On Boxing day, I had to arrange for the flying fox pups to be cared for by someone else. I simply could not give them enough of my time whilst also caring for mum. This was the first year that I've been able to care for bats again and giving them away broke both mine and Phoebes hearts. My friend Jody came over to help coordinate that for me and just make me coffee. She was a huge help throughout the whole process.

When I went in to check on mum on boxing day morning, she woke up a bit groggy. The first thing she did was ask to see Phoebe. I called Phoebe in, and they said good morning and 'I love you' to each other and had a little snuggle. It was hard for both of them. Then Mum needed to pee. We had a commode by in her room by that point and she insisted I try to help her onto the commode. We got her to sitting at the edge of the bed, but she just didn't have the energy to stand. She started getting anxious again I told her it was ok, she could pee in her nappy. I said, "I love you" and "you know we're going to be ok right?" She said, "I love you too" and 'You will". Then I laid her down and gave her some of the pain medicine. 

A few weeks earlier Mum had asked me what I sang to phoebe when I put her to bed and I just said "a made-up song" I didn't sing it to her because I can't sing and how embarrassing. I said to her after I laid her back down on boxing day, "remember you asked what I sang to Phoebe when I put her to bed? I'll sing it to you now.' I sang her the made-up song that I sing to phoebe overnight and she went still and quiet while I sang it. She then went to sleep on her own without the anxiety meds. 

The nurse came and we washed her and changed her stoma bag again. She was awake, but just barely. I was in and out of her room a lot that day. I'd go in and hold her hand, wipe the sweat off her face, roll her to her other side. She was asleep in the middle of the bed and so I couldn't sleep with her that night.

On the Morning of the 27th when I went in to check on her, foam was coming out of her mouth. I got some of the little sponges on a stick that were in the nurse's pack and wiped out her mouth. She bit down on it a little and had a tiny bit of water too. When the nurse arrived, she said that mum would likely not wake up again. She didn't need to tell me that, I already knew it. She told me to keep doing a "great job" and to call her when death occurred. She also said if I felt up to if, to roll her on her back after she died. 

I kept thinking it was ridiculous that voluntary assisted dying wasn't yet legal in NSW. What a joke, no one should have to go through this much suffering and heartache when there is a better option.

I went through an entire box of tissues wiping foam and phlegm from her mouth that day. Occasionally I checked her pulse. It was a strong pulse the entire day.

I set her room up with candles and fairy lights and put on a play list with all of mum's favorite artists. John Farnham, Jimmy Barnes, Elton John and Elvis. I'd already surrounded her with photos of us all a few days earlier so her room was beautiful. She has a teddy bear that is dressed up as Elvis and when you press his foot he sings "Can't help falling in love". Phoebe and I spent the afternoon in her room, pressing the bears foot, singing and dancing and looking through mums' photos on her phone. We sat next to her, held and patted her hand, kissed her head and talked. 

After I put phoebe to bed I went back into mum and talked to her some more. Cried. Candles and playlist in the background. I got some cream and gave her a good full body massage on one side. I sat for a while again. Then I said "I'll roll you over and massage the other side" After I put phoebe to bed I went back into mum and talked to her some more. Cried. Candles and playlist in the background. I got some cream and gave her a good full body massage on one side. I sat for a while again. Then I said "I'll roll you over and massage the other side"

Elvis was singing “I’ll do it my way”. I rolled her over and was massaging her side when she took her last breath and “I’ll do it my way” was coming to its crescendo at the end. I stopped. It was evident she was dead. She went from looking like she was in pain and struggling really hard, to quiet and peaceful. I checked her pulse again and couldn't find it. I looked out of her room and saw Gaz had just gotten into the shower. I went and got the stethoscope from the nurse's bag and listened for her heartbeat. She was dead.

I called natty and told her mum was gone. She got in her car straight away and drove over. 

I turned off the playlist, took some videos, then packed up the oxygen machine and took the self-administering machine out of mum's arm. Gaz got out of the shower, and I told him mum was dead. He didn't believe me. He gave her a kiss and went to get his son Tyler who had arrived a couple of days earlier to help out. 

I was sitting on a side table I'd set up next to mums' bed, it was quite comfortable actually, holding her hand. I turned her playlist back on and it had changed. The first song that came on was "i love you always forever" by Betty Who. I laughed and said that was mum.

Natty arrived at the end of the song and I hit pause. we hugged and Nat gave mum a kiss. We sat back down and I said, "wonder what song will come on next?" It was 'Somebody that I used to know' by Gotye. Natty and I lost it. We were laughing so hard Gaz and Tyler thought we had gone nuts. That was mum. 

We sat with her for a while, then decided we should probably dress her and clean her up ready for phoebe in the morning. We dressed her in the care bear pj's Natty had bought for her for Christmas, rolled her to the other side so she was facing the more accessible side of the bed, brushed her hair. She just looked like she was asleep. I texted the palliative care nurse to let her know and to ask if I needed to do anything specific. She told me to remove the self-administering machine, which I had already done and to lay her on her back. I told the nurse we'd already dressed her and positioned her on her side, so she looked nice for phoebe in the morning. She texted back saying it would probably be easier for the funeral director if her legs were straight. I didn't text back, but I did think "fuck you, she's staying how she is, I'm sure the funeral director has dealt with worse." 

Mum was the first death and first dead body both myself and my sister had seen and dealt with. We felt the warmth drain from her body and noticed it stiffening. Natty kept poking her foot and saying, "it's so morbid."

We decided to text Mums closest friends and family that night so that we didnt have to do it in the morning. We threw around the idea of just saying "hey, mum just carked it" or leaving a voice message from mum's phone saying "hi, it's Deb calling from the afterlife, I'm dead." but we didn't.

Instead, we wrote: Just letting you know that Mum died peacefully tonight whilst sarah was giving her a massage and Elvis was singing "My Way". Sarah and I are both here with her now and we are relieved she is no longer suffering, and we are at peace ourselves. If you live close by, you're welcome to pop round to Sarah’s place after 8am tomorrow morning to say goodbye to her. Just text me on this number if you would like to do that. We will not be having a funeral as per mums wishes, so no need to rush up if you're far away. We are well supported and will be having a cocktail party in her honour in the new year and will contact you all to let you know. If you're receiving this message tonight it's because I know Mum loved you very much. Don't be sad, think of the happiest memory she gave you and go to sleep to that. Lots of Love, Sarah and Natty. 

Then we turned off the light, Natty went home and I went to bed thinking about how Phoebe would react when I told her in the morning.

Telling Phoebe was the first thing we did when we woke up. She had been sleeping in our bed with us anyway because her brother was sleeping in her bed. She cried and I asked if she wanted to go see Grammy. She did.

We went into mums' room and mum still just looked like she was sleeping peacefully. Phoebe cried and patted mums' hand, commented on how cold she was. 

Then for the first time in days I went outside and took phoebe for a walk down to her cubby house. Before we left, I was putting on my gumboots and didn't know where phoebe had gotten too. She was in mums' room again, by herself, saying "I love you Grammy" and putting the little Tigger toy next to her hand.

While we were at the cubby phoebe made a little stick and leaf offering for mum. When we came back up after the nurses had arrived, she put it on the bed with Tigger too.

The nurses were quite clinical. Packing up all the drugs and letting us know that all we had to do was take the drugs back to the chemist, take the oxygen machine back somewhere and call the funeral home and they would walk us through the next steps. I guess I was expecting a little more support from them, but who was I kidding, I know that's not how the system works. They left a few things behind, including syringes full of medication in my fridge. Natty arrived around the same time.

We called Leonie from Barefoot Funerals in Bellingen, and I was ok until she asked me what time I would like her to come and collect mum. I was not ready for that question at all. Luckily, she read my mind and helped me out. We had an hour and a half to say our goodbyes.

I took Phoebe into mums' room and told her that this was it, we had to say goodbye now. I explained the process to her and what she could expect to happen next. That was the hardest conversation I've ever had to have with anyone. I'm crying again now just writing about it.

By this stage Jody and Tiarne had come over to help where we needed them too. Jody made coffee again. We waited for Barefoot funerals to arrive.

Leonie made the paperwork process very easy. She was calm and relaxed and patient. I'm very thankful we chose her for mum's final journey.

When it came time to put mum in the bag and into the back of the van, which was painted mums favorite colour purple, Gaz and Tyler helped carry her out, with all of us girls watching on. It was heartbreaking and beautiful. I gave mum one last kiss and Natty took Timmy to mum so he could say his final goodbye too. Then they drive down our driveway and were gone.

Later that day a parcel arrived in the mailbox for phoebe. It was a cushion from Grammy that she had ordered a couple of weeks beforehand. My heart.

The next couple of days were just filled with sorting out mums' insurance and pension payments. She owned nothing, just a few special knickknacks that Natty and I have kept to remind us of her. 

We went to the funeral parlor to decorate mums coffin, which was cardboard. I felt that I needed to be a part of the process before mum was cremated. I needed to see the coffin. So Nat, Gaz, Phoebe, Tyler, Amber and I went and drew pictures and words of love all over her coffin. It took us about an hour, and it was nice. We smiled and laughed. We left a book that I had made full of photos of mum's life and kind words from her friends and family that I had made her for Christmas, an old poem that She used to have hanging on the wall, some letters from her friends and some Dahlia flowers to stay in her coffin and be cremated with her. Dahlia is Phoebes middle name.

On the 3rd of January, she was cremated. I picked her up a few days later. A heavy little blue plastic box. 

Now all we have is memories, and we have plenty of those. For the past 19 months I made sure I recorded as much as I could, even getting a hand cast made of Mum and Phoebe holding hands. 

But we have been walking around, lost, experiencing all the 'firsts' again. First time I've done a painting that mum hasn't seen, things like that. Realizing that all the little things you took for granted, are never going to happen again. Who's going to be so unconditionally proud of us again, for little things like looking good in a new shirt? Who's going to tell me what I can replace egg in a recipe with? Who's going to tell me how to spell a word I'm having trouble remembering?

We've done a few things to honour her already. Gone out and had Chinese for dinner, gotten tattoos, laid on her bed and thought about her. We'll still be going on our summer holiday next week, going to dreamworld for her... maybe sprinkling some of her ashes while we're on a roller coaster.

It's hard. It's weird. 

It took me at least 12 hours to write this. I know some people will think it's too private to share but I'm a birth photographer, I share intimate details for a living and what I do know at my core is that sharing moments like this can truly help others to live differently, as well as being therapeutic for me. If I had not done doula training, or known about death doulas, I would not have realized that we could do mums death in this way.

It was hard and horrifying but it was also beautiful. If I had to do it again, I don't think I would do anything differently. My hope is that more people can find peace at the end of their lives and the lives of their loved ones. To share everything together as a family, honour and love each other to the very end and beyond.

Thanks for reading.

Lots of Love,

Sarah xx