In 1997 at the age of 12 my mother (aged 36) was diagnosed with cervical cancer that was terminal.
Watching mum wither away physically and mentally, hardened every aspect of me for years to come. Life was arduous once she had gone, and my adolescence suffered dramatically because of my loss.
I knew no better though, and I became accustomed to not having a mother, it was very much my norm to cope with life on my own. In my early twenties I suffered from a nervous breakdown and that triggered me to face all of my emotions that I had kept in my subconscious; determined not to let them reach the forefront of my mind.
It was during my years of recovering from the breakdown that I began to recognise that not having a mother was particularly abnormal. I pine for her now in my thirties, more than I did in my teens. Each year Mother’s Day comes and goes and I am relatively unaffected by them, but there are defining moments in everybody’s lives that need to be shared, and I am incessantly deafened by the silent loneliness of her absence.
In December of 1997 the doctor gave her 12 months to live, in January of 1998 she passed. These are the diary entries that spanned over the final month of my mother’s life as her health rapidly declined before my eyes.
12-12-97
Dear diary,
The 12th of the 12th in the year 1997 at the time of about 7:15pm, was the worst moment of my life.
My mum has terminal cancer, it has spread everywhere and they can’t seem to control it with radiotherapy.
