That Friday morning I woke up in my own bed. I had left my mother’s bedside at the hospice on Wednesday evening, even though I knew she was on borrowed time. My mum had some old friends, whom she had not seen in 10 years, coming to visit her on Thursday and there would be too many people around the bed. Also I had an appointment with the health visitor to refer Marie for speech therapy assessment on Thursday afternoon. I could have deferred it but a few months earlier my Mum told me that when her needs conflicted with those of my children, I had to choose my children. It was what she wanted. It was the way of life, she told me.

When I spoke to my father Thursday evening he reported that that Mum had been sitting up and chatting and laughing with her old friends. This surprised me because on Wednesday she had mainly been sleeping all day. I took it as a good sign and decided to wait until Saturday before returning to the hospice, in the hope of spending a rare normal day at home with my children. I believed that my mother’s strong will power would keep her alive until my eldest sister returned from her holiday on Sunday, even though the doctors told us it would be unlikely. My eldest sister was at my parents’ villa in Spain. A holiday she had booked six months earlier and they had both hoped my Mum would be with her. When we were told, just after my sister left for Spain, that Mum had at most two weeks to live my mother decided she didn’t want my sister to know just how bad it was. My sister knew though. I had told her as I had promised to do. My Mum loved receiving the telephone calls everyday from my sister telling her about the familiar places she had visited that day and which of Mum’s friends she had met. My Mum would close her eyes and I believe she was there in Spain with my sister in her mind, a real tonic to the reality of what was happening to her.

I was in town, about midday, with my daughter then two, when my brother called. He had been to the hospice with Dad that morning and had been told that they didn’t expect my Mum to survive the day. This was such a shock after she seemed so “well” the day before. I told my brother that I was on my way. I phoned my husband and told him as I walked back home, trying to work out logistics of childcare. He immediately came home and whilst I trying to eat a sandwich (and failing) we discussed whether he should come with me, whether we should pick Charlie up from school early. I wanted him to come with me. He could stay at my parents’ house with the children but would be there when… well… when I returned from the hospice. I also wanted him to drive. I was scared to drive on my own. So many times in the last 20 months I had driven up and down the M3 in floods of tears, playing the music loud to try and drown out the thoughts in my head, until the sobering thought that the only thing worse than what I was going through, would be if my children (then just 5 and 2) lost their mother due to my own stupidity and lack of care.

In the end we decided that it would be too hard on Charlie to be at my parents’ house when we all returned from the hospice. So I set off on my own. I don’t remember the journey but I remember arriving and walking into the room in the hospice, my father, brother, sister (the one not in Spain) and niece were there already, just sitting. My mother still alive but sleeping. I gave her a kiss and she opened her eyes and looked at me quite confused. I felt that she thought I was my eldest sister (the one in Spain) but then given the amount of morphine she was on she probably could have “seen” anything.

My family and I talked, knowing that whilst my mother’s eyes were shut she could probably hear snippets of our conversation. I left the room to speak to my sister in Spain to tell her that our mother’s death was imminent. She was asking whether she could get a flight home and on my smart phone I tried to look for flights but it was hopeless. It was too late, so she just asked that I told our mother that she loved her. At this big tears came spilling out of my eyes whilst I tried to keep my voice calm, saying of course I would, but knowing that I couldn’t, just couldn’t. It was not something that my mother and I ever really said to each other and I knew my Mum did not want any big “goodbyes”. She didn’t want what was happening acknowledged.

At around 7pm the nurses said that if my father wanted to stay the night he could so my brother went back to my parents’ house to pick up some things for him. By 8pm my sister, niece and I started thinking about whether we should go back to my parents’ house. My sister suggested that we waited until after EastEnders and Coronation Street finished which was on quietly in the corner of the room.

At 8:15pm my mother started being sick. This had been very common in the previous two weeks as her bowel was blocked and in the last few days it was obvious that she was bleeding into her stomach. The wonderful nurses at the hospice came immediately and my sister (a nurse) jumped up to help but Mum was too weak to properly bring up what she needed to do. I left the room too upset to cope with it and all the commotion. My niece followed me out and sat and talked with me trying to calm me down. A short while later my sister came out saying the nurse had said that Mum would probably die in the next 30 minutes. My sister went outside to call my brother to tell him to come back. I went back into the room with my niece and the nurse was sat with my father and they were holding Mum’s hand (in fact I think she was discreetly taking my mother’s pulse). My niece and I sat the other side and held my mother’s other hand. The nurse said that this was it. I panicked. My sister was outside and my brother would not get there in time. Another nurse went to go and find my sister and she came back in saying “have I missed it?”, “no” I said but I was not so sure as I hadn’t seen my mother move or breath in a few minutes. A few minutes after my sister sat down the nurse gently told us that Mum no longer had a pulse and had passed away. It was 8:50pm, Coronation Street was still on the telly.

The nurse asked that we left the room for a short while so they could  ”tidy up”. All my family went outside into the garden but I just sat outside the room and when they were done I went back into my mother’s room and sat down and held her hand, having a few minutes on my own with her and saying “I love you Mum”. Everyone came back in and I left to make the calls to my brother, then to my sister in Spain, to my mother’s brother and finally to my husband. After I got off the phone the nurse came up to me to chat. She said what a lovely lady my Mum was and how she was honoured that she got to know her. We talked about how my Mum was determined to not be a burden on the nursing staff, even suggesting a few days earlier that if they needed the bed she could go home. My Mum was a nurse. She used to work in a nursing home and had looked after many terminally ill people. Then the nurse told me that when she was clearing my Mum up after she had been sick earlier, that she heard my Mum say in just a whisper “Sorry”. This was my mother’s last word.

My family and I eventually left and drove to my parents’ house in our various cars. As I drove on my own I realised I was really hungry so stopped at a Chinese take away. How could I now eat? I couldn’t understand myself. I took the take away home and after offering it around, quietly ate my dinner. I went up to bed, in my old childhood room, and as I got undressed I heard my mother’s voice in my head “Did I disgrace myself?”, “No Mum you were fine” I replied and her presence was gone. I don’t believe in ghosts. I can’t explain what this was.

I got into bed, phoned my husband again and went to sleep, ending the worse day of my life, the last day of my mother’s life.