Today is the 3rd anniversary of the death of my son. Sorry, need to wail.

[Gypsybell]

Today is the day I never want to remember, but always, there is someone who goes out of their way to ensure I do not forget. I hate them for it! And that messes with my brain, because it is usually my nearest and dearest, and with their very best intentions behind it. This time I almost escaped it by being out of town and busy (They couldn’t visit and have at least learned not to phone ) I never read the obituaries and had actually managed to forget what the date was. Until late afternoon when I clicked on to Facebook. There it all was , in graphic horror, pictures of his skeletal last days and oozing embellishments of his brave misery, ripping my guts out with a blunt saw!
I cannot decide whether to shriek my anguish at them and make them all shut the F**k up, or just keep graciously accepting their words and enduring. Words that, to most of them, mean less as the years fade their grief. They wax ever more lyrical as, apparently, they think my grief has faded too.
Maybe it would if I didn’t have to face this yearly re-newel of it, which seems to have set into a memorial ritual to rival Anzac day. I am powerless to stop it without breaking all the rules of propriety and consideration for those others entitled to show respect as they see fit. We are talking of a wife and two children, the extended family and literally hundreds of friends and fans. My son was 44 when he died of lung cancer (not a smoker) He was a musician and a popular man. A hall had to be hired to hold his funeral and it was televised . His obituaries take up half a page in more than one newspaper and I am just his mother. I shouldn’t be here for this. Parents are not supposed to survive their children. And when they do, then their duty must be to comfort those he loved and left, shattered by their loss.
I understand this, mostly, and it even keeps me going, because he was a wonderful husband and father and it is my one solace that his life was well lived, that he earned the love and respect of the people who publicly mourn his passing with such fervour (to the point of memorial wakes involving all his musician friends and hundreds of people). Meanwhile I know I am internalizing pain that needs to be expressed. But there is no one I can bear to hurt with the reality of what they bring to the surface , every year, from the depths where I hide it. I only have one other son and his grief is equal to mine. I am grateful he does not have the memory of that final, torturous hour of his brother’s life, I cannot burden him with it to lighten my own misery.
How do I fade the horror of the 8th of October 2008, at 7PM, when the cancer finally ate through his spine and his neck snapped in my hands? Only my hands held his head still attached to an unbroken spinal cord and his final chance of life. My baby, my beautiful son. I would have held him together with my bare hands forever, if I could. But his leg was eaten off with metastatic bone cancer. His pain was beyond imagining. The doctors stood around and just waited, they could do nothing. He needed to die, it was all he had left to beg of me.
“Let me go, Mum,” he said. And Idid. I had to. I watched the light of awareness fade from his eyes as cord compression stole his voice, his mind and his love, from me. I could not fault his medics as they ensured he had enough morphine on board to obliterate any chance of pain remaining, as he continued to breathe for that long, horrible hour. The rest of the family was called to share it. And they needed my care then.
I didn’t cry. I packed it down in my guts and just helped make sure his last senses had the essence of my presence, that Mum was there for him and his kids. I held a sachet of tissues with the perfume I always wear under his nostrils. He always gave me that perfume every birthday, the first from pocket money he saved. He loved the smell of it and kept that sachet under his pillow when I couldn’t be with him in the last days of his illness.
He knew I was there. I cling to small comforts like that. His wife is a beautiful girl and she still hasn’t cleared his clothes out of her wardrobe. I am not the only griever. I do not begrudge her need to express her loss via memorial and share the comfort their friends gathering to remember him. I just need to find a way to manage my lonely memory of this lousy day
The irony is, I’m a cancer nurse, with all my skills I failed him. I’m also a grief counsellor, myself, and know I have to get it out and let it go, so that I too, can smile when I recall the beautiful boy who grew to be the man I was so proud of.
My son, Born in my seventeenth year, my best friend. We grew up together. He was my reason to strive when we were left to fend for ourselves . He was the person I laughed and cried with in the best and worst moments of 44 years. And I miss him so, I cannot bear it. Not at this moment. Not with this horror in my head. Damn them all! How do they think a mother feels when their child dies an excruciating death, inch by inch, being eaten away from the inside? How can I forget? Do they realize that my only solace is that he was cremated and so I cannot still picture him rotting in a box beneath the earth?
Some comfort. The flames were quick, I tell myself, and now he is just out there, Ashes on the wind, free of pain, a part of my universe still. That works, mostly, plus the knowledge that at least I don’t have to worry about what might happen to my kid, as parents do. The worst has happened. It’s done and I won’t make him sad when I die, that’s a bonus. God, I wouldn’t want him to watch me die! But he would have held me in his arms and made sure I wasn’t alone, I know that. It would have broken his heart . That doesn’t have to happen now. Yes, there’s always an upside.
So let us face this bloody hour and finally, shriek and wail to cyber persons, any audience will do. They won’t lose any sleep over it, probably won’t even read it, but I can imagine they do; That I have lessened my burden by sharing it. God knows I really appreciate now, what all those mother’s who lost their son’s to war went through. Did Anzac parades make them feel better?
Will I feel better next year after spilling my guts to strangers? Hope so. It’s gone midnight now, so I do feel better. The day is over. Thanks for listening if you did. The Gypsy.

[asdfg789]

I lost a sister to cancer and a nephew died in an accident. I saw first hand how very painful it is for parents to have their children pass on before them.

My condolences.

[Wakeup]

That was beautifully written, Gypsy. I'm terribly sorry for your loss.
I lost my brother to lung cancer that spread to his brain, I grieved of course but as he slowly deteriorated, I watched my Dad, helpless to help his son, you just gave a little bit of insight as to how he felt, how he still feels I suppose as it's only been two years but Dad, like you soldiers on.

Big E-hug.

[vashti]

The irony is, I’m a cancer nurse

It's the "nurse curse".

I am quite moved by your pain. I hope your memories bring you some comfort.

[cathy22]

most people don't know what to say, (me included). They know they should say something, but they're just not sure. -I'm sorry.

[Gypsybell]

It's the "nurse curse".

I am quite moved by your pain. I hope your memories bring you some comfort.

Nailed in one, Vashti! 'The Nurse Curse' means that I knew every step of hell that was coming from the 'too late' diagnosis (mets already insitu, a rock singer/ guitarist he couldn't get the highnotes, GP gave him 3 courses af AB"S brfore finally xray) I was actually working in the oncology unit where he was treated (by all my friends and colleagues) so though no stone was unturned by all, It unfolded as I lived the nightmare, pretending hope for his sake til he came to
terms with it. Then allowing him all the steps of denial, anger etc(Yes, we both blamed me for not picking it up sooner, but he got past that, I never will) I lived in my 'cardiac arrest' mode (stiff upper lip, panic later)for the 5 months it took.

Gets deep evil the more It becomes laid bare. And I have never let it all out in one go, just bits, and I need to, so thank you all for being brave enough to listen. Of all things, I know how hard that is, Cathy 22, you're a gem!

And WAKEUP, thank u. I felt so selfish inflicting this, but if it helps one other parent to be understood, I feel better. Try celebrating your brother's memory on his birhtday and let the funeral go unles your Dad adheres to it. NEVER assume he is 'over' it. Do you think he would stop loving you in his life time? Parents just don't stop caring, love. Partners move on, siblings grow up, Oldies fade away naturally, and children deify the memory of a lost parent. Not easy for anyone, they were all heros and have done him proud (His daughter has chosen to do medicine and will no doubt be a fierce healer). I do well, except for the 'dark hour' I am learning to dread, even planning for. That has to stop, and this is the only way I know how to exorcise it. ( I am too well known in the local health service to have impartial counselling, The old 'Bulldozer' who whipped young doc's into shape can now still browbeat them as consultants, my damn pride WILL NOT crack before them! For sometime, it was all I had holding me together.)
So the evil tale continues just a little longer, then it is done and I will wallow no more.(the following is the dregs of the deep, feel free to turn off at this point)

I got the first red flag on Mother's Day. (yes, I hate that day too, but not as much as Father's day for his kids!) He was also a TV camera/journalist and was on a documentary Shoot out of town, so rang me for Mother's day. In the course of the conversation he mentioned that his 'sciatica' was giving him curry. And since I had had a spinal cyst recently removed, I reminded him that he was only 17 years off being bloody old too, and he should trot up to the ED and have it checked out. 2 days later he did. result, lung primary, ergo, cough (no, I didn't shoot the GP, he did a good job of punnishing himself, shit happens) bony mets were everywhere. He was not a complainer, too damn busy to be 'sick'! The world grew dark quickly as 3 days later (awaiting palliative rdiation to hopefully'shrink' a few tumours) his femur bone snapped in two in the family bathroom. Took 3 hours to get ambos and stabilize the fracture enough to get him to hospital. Yes, it was me holding manual traction as his only 'pain relief' til they got there. Tore all the muscles in my arms, closed my mind to his screams and just did it. All I really remember as the highlight was one scream of my own and a vicious order to the household to, 'Get an ambulance! Get those kids our of here! And some body kill that F****g dog!".

To my never ending regret, a little later, I took it upon myself to have the family pet, an aging, ailing old golden labradore, destroyed. Because in my madness, I had to blame something, and it slept under his patting hand where ever he was, leaving great swathes of moulting hair that he 'breathed in' I reckoned. that did it, a dog hair probably stared the primary cancer, Ha!. Yeah, That got dark, too. I told the family I had found a good home for the Lab and they agreed it was too dangerous for him to have the dog constantly trying to crawl into his lap for comfort as we proceeded to home nurse what was left of my big, srtong son over the dwindling months. But I had the dog taken straight to the vet and put down. Trouble is, they took it to the family vet and those idiots proceeded to send a 'sympathy' card for the 'sad loss of their dear dog!" WTF! When you're screwed, you're screwed.

Yes! I know I did wrong! I stole control of my boy's options for a mad mother moment. One should never remove the right to make the hard choices from anyone.The dog was suffering and needed to be put down, he couldn't do it because he loved the dog. But he was a man. I diminished him by taking away the steel he needed for the hard yards, and then I was left with my llittle boy crying for his dog, and Mummy couldn't fix a damn thing. I pray he forgave me. he said he did. And no, I didn't 'put him down' too. The team had to prise my fingers from holding his head. All I had to do was dig up the steel to ask them to 'help me let go, because HE made the choice. God knows what it cost me. Now you do too.

That's pretty much done. If I can do anything for you in return, let me know. Thanku all. Regards, Gypsy.

[HeartIsAching]

Maybe you didn't cry Gypsy - but I did. I am, as I type. I have two sons, one 21 and one 7, and I can't imagine losing either of them... but I came damned close reading your missive.

Hug your other son, hug your daughter-in-law, hug your grandkids. I hope it helps.

[vashti]

Gypseybell, I believe your son knew how much he meant to you, and that was the most important gift you could give him: love. It's the one thing everyone wants when their time is coming to an end, and no one can love you like your mother can.

I hope in time you can forgive yourself for your imagined shortfalls.

[Gypsybell]

Thanks everybody, Guess I opened up a few cracks and had a cry. Damn awful, think there was rust in the pipes! You're a bunch of real troupers. I'll get back to counting my blessings now. Good on you.