In all stories, it's always best to start from the beginning. But with my story I'm not sure where to begin.
I was born in a town in South-East Kent called Margate in September 1991, to my mum Helen and dad Dean. I grew up in a 2 bed council house with 4 cats and a dog. I say I was a normal child growing up, but is every kid ever normal?
We had holidays to Spain, where my Nan had a villa in La-Marina with a pool up the road.
I used to spend countless amounts of my time at my Granddads house, where I've been told many times, I used to walk straight through the front door and proceed to strip my clothes heading for the bathroom to sit in (a usually) empty bathtub until someone filled it up. (I was about 5 guys, give me some slack) Most of my memories (the ones I can remember anyway) are at my Granddads house or in my bedroom.
My parents split when I was 12, me and my mum went to live with my Grandma in her 2 bedroom house about 10 minute walk away from my school. At that time, mum found out she had Crohns Disease, and had started her medication to relieve some of the symptoms. We then moved to mums boyfriends house - who later on became my Step-dad and father of my younger brother and sister - and begun proceeding her divorce from my dad when I was 15. When I was 14, I went on holiday with my dad, his partner and her family, I was told by my dad at dinner in Croatia, that my mum had an operation in an attempt to relieve some of her Crohns. Being miles away from my mum and being told that I wanted the holiday to be over. And fast. The last week of the holiday went by really slowly. I got back and didn't ever want to leave her again.
When I turned 15 I was in my first "serious" relationship (for now I will call him C) and by Christmas I was engaged to him. I know. 15, and engaged with my first serious relationship. I lost my virginity to him a month before his birthday, and we split up 2 weeks before my mums wedding. Needless to say, I was heartbroken. But looking back now, I do cringe.
At that time my mum was pregnant with my brother Sebastian and married my Step-dad 6 weeks after my brother was born. I left school at 16 with plenty of GCSE's under my belt, in a new relationship: which was slowly becoming more and more serious as time went on, even while my newborn brother was crying and I helped to look after him while my mum had constant flare ups from her Crohns.
With that, I went to the best Grammar Sixth Form in Thanet/Kent. I didn't go straight to university, as I didn't feel that I was quite ready and during my final year at sixth form my little sister was born.Yes, there is a large age gap between
us. Yes, I am well aware that I am young enough to be their mum. But
anyway, lets not get distracted.
At this point, my mum was in and out of hospital, due to constant flare ups from her Crohns. I tried to help out with looking after my brother and sister as much as I could. Between working 3 jobs, being in a serious relationship and being at college, it took its toll.
While at college I began applying for university. I never once thought that I would be heading off to university, let alone getting the grades to go!
Now this is where it gets tough. I found out I was going to university in June, and during this time, my mums health started to slowly deteriorate.
In August, my mum was admitted into hospital. As usual we thought it was something to do with her Crohns. But mum being mum, didn't let anyone on to what was happening. She'd been having headaches since before her birthday in May and they had slowly become unbearable.
After going to the doctors they told her to go to hospital as a precaution. When she was in the hospital I was at one of my three jobs, and joined her along with my step-dad after work. While I was there I was told that she had a brain scan to see what was going on, and a doctor began performing some simple tests to see if there were any problems with her reflexes and grip.
To our amazement, there was. It meant something was very wrong.
The doctor began his calls and told her that she needed to go to a hospital 20miles away.
I went back home to be with my brother and sister, while my step-dad took my mum to the hospital. While the kids were in bed, I sat down and began to think. Something that is probably the worst thing to do while you're on your own. Countless things went through my head. But I had to keep level-headed, for not only my own sake but for mum, my step-dad, my brother and sister, and for the rest of my family.
I had to start sorting myself out for uni, I had to be selfish for my mums sake. I knew how proud she was of me not only applying, but actually heading off to uni. So I did what I could. I began to pack. 5 weeks before I was due to leave, I began to pack. I started writing my letters of resignation so I could go up to uni and begin my new start.
In the summer and into September, my mum was constantly in and out of hospital. The days she came home, was spent in bed trying not to move or even be sick. During this time, I had to keep my siblings entertained and try not to let them bother mum too much. They understood, as most of their lives, mum had been in about of hospital. Not always the best memories for them, but the best ones were on holidays to Disneyland Paris or the days mum was able to be up and about with them.
For my 21st birthday mum was in bed, but I didn't mind. I knew she was ill, and it was something she couldn't help. So instead, me and my little sister went out and we got the last few things that I needed to take with me to uni. Admittedly it was an experience shopping with a 2 year old in a push chair while everyone looked at me thinking "Oh look. Another teen mum". But I didn't care. We had fun.
A few days before I was due to leave, mum set up a family get together to celebrate both my birthday and me leaving to go to university. It was amazing. I saw everyone, my mum seemed to be healthy, even though I know it drained every bit of energy out of her to be with everyone, but she never once complained.
So 23rd September I moved out of my home in Kent, and travelled 170+ miles to Norwich, to start my university life and to start living with a bunch of strangers who would eventually turn out to be the most best, and beautiful supporting friends a girl could ever ask for.
From September to November, I saw more of Kent than I did my university. I somehow managed to pass each unit, even though I wasn't ever there. My student loans covered my rent, and the majority of my travel. Half the time I ate pasta that I had in my cupboards mostly because it was something that was always in my cupboards. That or cereal. If I was at home, it was either take-away that my step-dad had picked up on his way home from the hospital, or something that was in the freezer at home. But one phone call was going to change my life for the good.
So 2nd of November, day straight after my boyfriends birthday, I got a call from my mum. She called to tell me the latest news of what the doctors had decided what was wrong with her. Cancer. I asked her if she wanted me to come home, and I had a very tearful reply "yes". So I hung up, and as soon as I did I howled. I didn't know what to do or even say. Me and my boyfriend had only just woken up. I didn't have to say anything. He just sat there and hugged me. I'm pretty sure he cried too. So I had to get home, but the one thing I didn't have was money. After all the constant travelling, I'd made myself broke. So my boyfriend booked my train ticket and paid for it all, while I packed and got myself dressed. As soon as I was ready, we went round to the train station and said our goodbyes. The next time we'd see each other would be Christmas. I spent about 2 weeks at home. And in that time we had countless amount of diagnoses from Lymes disease to MS. They weren't 100% that it was cancer. So I went back to Norwich, very, VERY reluctantly, and attempted to carry on. So for 3 weeks I had to try and carry on like normal.
So a few days before we were due to break up for Christmas at uni, I had a call from my mum. She told me that she and my step-dad arranged for me to meet them halfway at London as my mum had a appointment there.
So on 9th December 2012, I travelled down to London from Norwich, and met them at Kings College Hospital, and with that we were dealt the biggest blow, my family had ever had. My mum had brain cancer.
So while travelling down I had spoken to my old manager and asked her if she needed any help and that I was going to be back for about a month.
In that time, I helped look after the kids by trying to keep it all as normal as possible. But they didn't care, they were happy that I had come home and that I was looking after them. It wasn't the same. We all knew that with Christmas around the corner, we needed mum and her magic touch. She came back for an overnight visit a few days before Christmas, and it was the first time I'd seen her since the beginning of December, that I was in so much shock, I packed an overnight bag, and went to my boyfriends. As soon as I got there, I didn't know what to do, so I just cried. Looking back, it was the most stupid thing to do, but when you hadn't seen your mum in such a long time, and not seeing the changes happening to her, it does come as a shock. That morning she went back to hospital, and I wish I stayed. Regardless of how scared and shocked I was with the whole situation.
I did however start to wrap the kids Christmas presents, in the way mum always did: Christmas music and Christmas films on. Although it wasn't the same, as mum should have been there to decorate the tree, wrap the presents and do all the things that make it all magic and special. Things I now realise that I took for granted.
We did try and make Christmas day a big spectacle, by taking lots of pictures and videos to show mum.
New Years came and went, with calls and texts coming from mum less often than it used to. Mostly because her sight was deteriorating and her speech became slurred. It almost sounded as though she was drunk. But it was amazing to hear her voice, even if it didn't sound like her.
I went back to uni, trying to start the new year afresh, and within a few days I had another phone call.
One no-one would ever want to receive. My mum was possibly dying and I needed to go to London to say my goodbyes.
That same night, I called my boyfriend to tell him that I was too scared to go, but I am eternally grateful that he told me to go.
So, 9th of January, being in Norwich for less than a few days, I was already leaving again. So I packed my suitcase again, and headed to London again, this time to say goodbye to my mum. I didn't tell my housemates that I was leaving again, but early the next morning I left Norwich, to go to Cambridge to meet my boyfriend and there we both travelled together to London, to Kings College hospital. All over again.
I still see her laying in the hospital bed, covered in tubes and wires, with small piles of hair that had fallen out on her pillow and shoulders. I really didn't know what to do. So I just started talking to her. I told her, if she woke up right now to prove everyone wrong, I would buy her the best ticket I could to any concert she wanted. I also said to her, that I would leave uni and come back home if that is what she wanted. But obviously she didn't want that.
We were pulled into a side room with a nurse and a doctor and there, I can still hear the doctor telling us the that her body, despite her having Crohns, was healthy and active, it was just her brain that wasn't responding. She was classed as brain dead. The cancer had won. The phrase in the hospital dramas you hear? "The best thing to do is to turn the life support machine off" that, that is what we were told. It still is so clear in my head 2 years on. Exactly one month after being told my mum had cancer, she was already dying from it. I remember looking to my left and seeing my Granddad, a once strong man, crumble right in front of me. I'd never once seen him cry. I just sat in the side room, crying. Not being able to stop. The nurse went and got my boyfriend for me and he came into the side room and I managed to partly tell him what was happening, but the nurse took over for me. Telling him that we were about to say our last goodbyes to my mum.
I didn't want to leave. But we said our goodbyes and I collapsed sobbing on our way out of the ward. We sat outside opposite the doors, waiting. Waiting for the news that she was gone. We'd been outside for 2&1/2 hours when my step-dad came out and said, "She hasn't gone yet. Go home and I'll stay with her until she does." That glimmer of hope. She was still breathing and going.
I wish that I said no, and told him I was staying. But I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. So we went back to the train station, where my boyfriend went back to Cambridge and me and my Granddad went back to Margate. The journey home was silent. We didn't know what to say to each other.
We got back at 11pm and I was dropped off at home. Greeted by my Step-Grandma and Granddad, they didn't have to say anything. They already knew. They let me cry, they cried. We didn't know what to do. 1am my Step-dad came home. She was still breathing. Not letting go. I prayed, I prayed so hard that I actually had hope that she would just wake up and prove the doctors wrong. So we went to bed, but at 4am it was short lived. She had gone. It took 12 hours for her to go. But she was gone. No longer suffering. No longer in pain. My brother and sister were already up, and we all had hugs. They were to young to understand. I tried not to cry in front of them. But the thought of her being alone in London, made me feel even more upset. She hated going to London, let alone being in a hospital.
From then the next few weeks were a blur of planning her funeral. I was in Margate for 6 weeks. A week before her funeral was mine and my boyfriends anniversary. Needless to say I didn't feel like celebrating. He knew that. But he tried his damned hardest to make me smile, and to make me try and forget the pain I was feeling. It worked for a little while. But I then had to face reality and go back to Margate. I briefly went back to Norwich, literally overnight, to grab some new clothes, and went back to Margate the next day. I stayed after the funeral, and went back to university at the beginning of February. I don't know how, but I somehow kept going.
And this year I will be graduating, and moving back home. Something I know my mum would've been so proud of. Me, graduating university, and finally coming back home. Back to my roots. Back to my family and back to where it all began.
