Hi, I am so sorry that you are about to embark on the journey that so many have taken unwilingly and helplessly, knowing you are heading to a destination that doesn't have beautiful sunsets and breath taking views. 

I lost my mother to blood cancer on 6th January after a 5 year battle and every step of the way, we were kept afloat with new treatments and optimism until the sad day last October when we were told nothing more could be done. And so the horrendous journey started but I knew that this would be a different journey for me. You see I lost my father to suicide when he was 59 and even though I found him, I still couldn't take in the fact that he was gone and indeed that he was the master of his own fate. The emotional rollercoaster was extreme and whilst trying to protect the people around us from the pain [and some would say shame] by saying he had a heart attack and then having his funeral, our chance to say goodbye, robbed from us my our aunts, I can only say that 22 years on, I don't think I have actually properly grieved for him. The anger, frustration, guilt, sadness exploded and I took on everyone and anything to vent this, from funeral directors who messed up the service by wheeling my fathers coffin in on a trolley [!] and not pallbearers to writing to Cardinal Basil Hume complaining about the priest who went to play golf and left my aunts to hijack the service we had planned.  I also needed to support my mum at the time who had to move house and start a new life, thankfully near me.  

And then comparing this with my mother's death and the months leading up to it, at the very least I knew I could have some control, not in saving her or making the forthcoming pain go away but by ensuring I had no regrets. I became a little guard dog, a rottweiler when it came to medical/pallative support whether it was telling the palliative nurse that SHE had to make me appointments with the GP to get more meds for mum when I was caring for her at home and not just leave me to fire fight with a switchboard through to insisting that Hospice at Home nurses came out to assess my mum regularly.  I knew, being the closest to her how she was coping with pain, appetite, sleep, confusion, etc. and I also knew that this was not a dress rehearsal - mum was not going to be another number or appointment, she was a person who deserved attention and care. And if I made myself unpopular then at least I knew I had done my best. I also knew that, despite not being a lovvy dovvy family, I wanted my mum to know that I loved her and so said it all the time. I talked openly about the 'elephant in the room' as so many skirt the issue and if I was having trouble processing it, how was she coping?  After further badgering from me, mum was eventually admitted to the local Hospice [more by luck as a bed came up on Christmas Day] and there she was given such support, care and dignity in her final days, as was I. They made sure she was painfree and comfortable and this time around, I was able to holda parents hand as they slipped away. What I am trying to say is that the destination is set, the road ahead is a long, painful one, there will be falls along the way, obstacles to contend with and as the journey picks up pace, so too does the need to rest, sleep, eat, talk, cry, scream as you navigate your way through. Yu will come out the other end, albeit battered and bruised and despite anyone saying 'well at least they are out of pain and not suffering' it doesn't take away the fact that you miss them with all your heart. I send you hugs and strength all the way. Ann x