I am the youngest of five children, I have four older brothers. My parents separated when I was around 8 years old and my mum did the best she could to provide for us. She sometimes worked 2 jobs just to put food on the table. So growing up I had a very strong female role model.
She had to be strong though because on top of the separation, working 2 jobs and trying to raise us 5 kids, she would also spend as much time as she could at the hospital. One of my brothers had a brain tumor and was an in-patient for almost a year. (He’s OK now)
Needless to say with all that was going on I didn’t really get to see my mum a lot, but she was always there when we needed her.
Us kids all sort of worked together to make sure that we all got up in the morning packed our lunches and went to school. I guess my oldest brother would have felt the burden more than me because I didn’t really know anything else, but he resents my mother for making him take on the responsibility.
When my sick brother got better and things started to get back to normal, my oldest brother was 14 and had developed a drug habit. When my mum found out she flipped her shit and my brother ran away. My mum spent a year trying to convince him to come home and a year in court trying to have the law make him come home but she didn’t win.
One by one the rest of my brothers grew up and moved out till it was just me and mum. I was 16 and oh how the tables had turned. My mum had changed. She wasn’t the same person I had watched do everything she could for her kids. She was broken, tired. She had given up trying and was just existing.
So it was up to me to pay the bills, make sure there was food in the house and that she ate.
I was working more days than I was going to school, but no one noticed. I started smoking and drinking, but no one noticed. As long as the bills got paid it really didn’t seem to matter what I did.
This went on for years and it became a running joke of mine that I would stay at home and wait for my mum to die so I could inherit the house.
After I had my son, my mum came alive again. She would read him stories and show him flash cards. She would also watch him when I was at work. He gave her a reason to live again. I had never seen her so happy.
But as in all good storys, just when it seems your going to get that happy ending, life steps in and says “Fuck You”.
My mum was diagnosed with stage 4 Ovarian cancer. She had 2 tumors with the smalles being 16 cm in diameter. The doctors said it had been present for at least 4 years before they found it.
HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU MISS SOMETHING THAT BIG?????
So she had the operation to remove them and under went chemo and things where looking up. She was looking better and feeling better. But once again life stepped in and a year later the cancer had not only returned but spread.
From the time she was diagnosed to the day she passed away, she fought that cancer with everything she had. 3 years she held on telling it she was not going to let it win. But sadly the disease had the last laugh.
The whole time that she was sick, none of my brothers seemed to care. They never called to see how she was doing and the only one that came to visit only ever stayed a few minutes and that was not very often.
That was 7 years ago.
Her funeral was, like everything else, left up to me to organize and pay for. My brothers did no more that show up on the day. Well most of them did anyway.
My oldest brother (the one who ran away) only showed up to make sure she was really dead and to see if he was going to get anything out of it. “We had different mums” he said to me at the service… what a douche bag.
And the middle son didn’t even bother coming at all. When I called to tell him where and when he said “I’m not going to be there. It would be for you and not for me”… MEGA douche bag.
So that’s about it. My mum was an amazing woman who left us too soon.