My Cherished Mum — We Don’t Have Long, But I Had To Tell You This

I will miss you

You and I have been with one another for quite some time.

I think I was attached to you ferociously as a baby.

Perhaps you showered me with too much attention because I was the youngest and had a more significant age gap than my siblings.

But, on the other hand, I think you wanted to make sure that someone still paid attention to me — and you always did.

We grew up very close.

I never thought I could go anywhere without you, as I would miss you far too much.

Even in my 20’s and 30’s, we would always be close, even more so in my 40's.

When I was bedridden with morning sickness, you would come to my place early to make me breakfast.

After I had horrific surgery, could not walk and was violently ill — you would hold me up and take me to the bathroom, patting my hair and telling me that everything would be ok.

You helped grow up my daughter — so I could go to work and keep up with the rising living costs.

You hugged me through the guilt of leaving her — but she was with you and you became the second mum.

The three of us would hang out at your place, watching finding Nemo hundreds of times and all the Barbie movies that we could get our hands-on.

You never complained because it was us, three girls, together every single day.

I would often pass you on a morning walk, you coming from one end and me from the other.

We would stop and hug, kiss and say good morning like we hadn’t seen each other in days (even though it was only yesterday)

Months later, one day, you stopped your morning walks and found it hard to wake up early anymore — you became exhausted.

We put it down to you getting old, and it was only natural to lose some energy.

Year after year, it would just get worse — and we never knew why.

Suddenly, I’m standing in our office corridor, trying to be discrete as I’m told you have advanced pancreatic cancer. I try not to cry, but the tears can’t stop falling.

I’m going to lose you.

For months, you were in the hospital, and I was by your side. I didn’t think you would make it.

The procedures, blood tests and constant poking made you tired.

You wanted it all to end — no more you said.

Then came the day when the doctors and nurses said they could do no more — life for you is drawing to a close.

Your liver, kidney and vital organs are shutting down.

The news I knew would come about but now reality broke my heart into pieces.

Life at home was good in the beginning — but then the deterioration started to happen.

You stopped being able to have a bath on your own,

And now you can barely walk or get up from your bed.

Then you stopped feeding yourself and being able to hold a bottle of water, a glass or even a tissue.

You tell me you’re so tired — you can’t do it anymore.

The tears well up again in my eyes — and I say to you, “Mum, you’ve done good by us, and now you need to let go and be at peace.”

You look at me and then fall back into sleep again.

My heart tells me you don’t have long to go — and my heart hurts that it’s now come to this.

I know how much you hate other people looking after you — your daughters that you grew into young women.

But I find it a pleasure to sit by your side and be the one you can lean on, the one that will hold you up and be there for you — as you were many times for me.

I know that we’re counting down the days, the hours and moments with you.

This day came sooner than I thought.

Now I pray to God to open up his arms for you — because you are tired, and we don’t want to see you suffer anymore.

It’s hurting us too much.

I want to see you at peace and in paradise with your siblings and parents again — and I wonder if dad will be greeting you at the door too.

Muma, you mean the world to me, but now it’s time for you to go.

I know I will be ok, maybe not for a long time, but I will wake up and remember you without crying one day.

One day I will see your photo on my wall, on my desk and all around me — but I won’t cry. Instead, I will have a smile on my face.

Blessed is the daughter who has a mother like you in her life.

Blessed is the daughter who became your rock when you needed someone to look after you the most.

And blessed is the daughter who could tell the world how much she admired her mum and how proud she is that even when your body tells you no, you keep on fighting.

You have that fighting spirit — I got from you. I learnt that one from one of the best fighters in the world.

Now it’s time to stop fighting and let it go. You did good mum.

I’ll be with you once again my beautiful mother.

I love you.

Your baby daughter.