An Anniversary

Six years ago on August 3, at around 5 pm, my mother suffered a massive sub-arachnoid haemorrhage. In simple terms, a blood vessel or vessels in her brain burst and bled.

We lived a long way from the nearest hospital. Both the air ambulance and the Coastguard helicopter were engaged in rescues, and the land ambulance had taken someone else from our village to hospital and hadn't yet got there.

Our GP was called straight away, my father went to pieces so my brother had to call him and then go back to performing CPR on mum. While all this was happening, I was in the pub after work with a colleague and her partner.

It wasn't until around 6.30 pm that my brother had a chance to call to let me know. I was 500 miles away and could do nothing. My colleague's partner gave me a lift part way back to my house and I travelled the rest of the way on the bus.

My partner of the time had gone out on the lash in Leeds and wasn't answering his phone. He got back around 8 o'clock and fell apart when I told him. I can remember comforting him and wondering what the heck I was doing - wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Meanwhile, the ambulance had finally taken mum to hospital, where they put her on life support and scanned her. They had to stabilise her first, in case something could be done. It was 1 am when we heard they could do nothing and that she would more than likely not make any kind of meaningful recovery.

The next few days are sort of a blur of travelling home, to and from the hospital, and long hours in intensive care sitting there. I didn't want her to be alone, even though there was nothing there of my mother by that stage. She lost consciousness within minutes of collapsing and never came round. Still, I couldn't think of anywhere I wanted to be but there.

I'd booked my train ticket home that morning, to surprise her for her birthday a couple of weeks or so later. Around lunchtime, I started to get this feeling of real dread. It worsened during the afternoon...the weather matched my mood, with torrential rain and thunderstorms. I recalled, later, that I'd woken in the middle of the night a few weeks earlier with the thought clear in my mind: 'How am I going to cope when my mother dies?' I can't help but think that deep down, I knew.

I last spoke to her properly on the Wednesday night, and I remember we were both reluctant to end the call, kept saying goodbye and telling the other to stop being silly and hang up. The next evening, my cat did something incredibly sweet and daft, and I wanted to call to tell her about it, but talked myself out of it because we'd only spoken the night before. Of course, I wish I'd called her, now.

I've recounted previously how I remembered the night before she died that she had wanted to be an organ donor if this kind of situation arose. I remember that my heart soared when they confirmed that could happen, I had such a burst of energy at that news.

There are so many things I have chosen not to remember. She died at 10.55 pm on Tuesday 7 August 2001. It took them just short of two and a half hours from when they took her down to theatre.

I'd experienced bereavement before, but never on this scale. I can't describe adequately the emptiness. The fact that someone who was so vital to our lives suddenly no longer being there just took the ground from beneath my feet. Do you suppose they call it 'loss' because you feel so totally lost as a result?

I have an odd kind of belief system. I went down to the chapel and raged at God one night. Lucky for the chaplain that he wasn't there, I suppose. I went back later and apologised, but that's the way I am.

It took me a long time to straighten myself out afterward. I think at times I may still be a work in progress. I still miss her and think of her most days, but the paralysing sense of loss and the rawness of the pain have for the most part gone.

Anniversaries are always difficult. I find that after my birthday - July 9 - I start to dread the passing of the rest of the month. August is not a great month as her birthday is August 23. She would have been 68 this year.

There were over 400 people at the funeral. The church was packed and I believe there were folk standing out in the porch as they couldn't get in.

She touched so many lives, just by being who she was. A funny, kind, generous woman who made you feel your worries and hurts were the most important thing in the world if you were hurting, and who could make you laugh till you cried.

She was very much loved by many. I can't think of a better epitaph.

August Already

This year really seems to be flying by.

I measure time now in terms of how many weeks or days in between trips to Germany or visits from Germany, and not so much in months. We found out pretty early on that 9 weeks in between trips is longer than either of us is happy with, and really since March I think the worst we've had is approaching five weeks. Possibly six.

Sometimes five days feel like an eternity.

August is not my favourite month. I'm glad that I have a trip to look forward to, starting from August 16 when D flies over here for another dental appointment. We'll fly back together on August 20 and I get to stay out there till late on August 27. I don't much mind spending time around the house or walking round the local area while he's at work - the break is restful in itself, knowing I don't have anything to rush around for. And I love to take care of him, do things for him.

August 7 will mark the 6th year since my mother's death. It is never an easy time, and this year I suspect may be all the more difficult as it falls on a Tuesday this year, as did her death. The illness that took her life struck around teatime on Friday 3, so this weekend is likely to be hard also. It's hard not to remember in part the events of that time in 2001 - I count myself lucky that I have blocked out much of the detail.

The really bad time comes to an end after August 23, her birthday. She would have been 68 this year, had she lived.

I miss her constantly. I miss her wit, her insightfulness, her unstinting support of me and her unfailing willingness to let me know in no uncertain terms when I am being a prat. I count myself lucky that I am the sum of the best of both my parents. I feel the loss of all that she was to me more this time of year than any other. I would love to have her opinion on so many things...I think I miss that the most of anything.

I'd love to know what she made of D - my brother thinks both our parents would very much have approved of him, even if there is much that is unusual about our relationship. I tend to agree with that.