Strange Anniversary

Today is a weird day - it's my anniversary, but not one that I want to celebrate. One year ago today my mother succumbed to a very nasty metastatic cancer after an almost-two-year struggle.

She was surrounded by family for her last hours and it was very peaceful. She went out under heavy morphine sedation, her brain destroyed by a lung cancer.

It was, for me, the most profound experience of my life. To be able to sit with her, hold her hand and ask to see what she saw. As she passed I closed my eyes and saw blinding whiteness. It was so gentle that it brought a huge smile to my face. After being her primary caregiver for two years I felt as if two elephants that I hadn't even known were there dissolved from my shoulders. I felt tonnes lighter.

If you are currently a caregiver my heart goes out to you - I understand the burden you carry. Hopefully this blog will help to ease the burden. One year later I am still exploring life after caregiving. I can only promise that it does get better. I still cry at seemingly small things and I can't yet talk about it without tearing up but it *is* better. The world has much more light in it now.

To my mother: You were a total pain in the butt and I love you so much. I miss you dearly and not a day goes by that I don't think of you.

Mwa.