Part Two.

At the end of part one I told you I was going on holiday to Ibiza for my best friend 𝑩𝒆𝒄𝒄𝒂’s wedding, a holiday we had counted down to for two years. A venue I had visited with her before even her husband had. They probably don’t know this but I had spent nearly two years scribbling down the speech, I hoped she would ask me to make in my notes in my phone … if that doesn’t tell you a lot about the importance of this day to me then I don’t know what will.

My mam was also aware that every inch of this wedding excited me , not only because it was our first trip away on a plane for almost two years due to Covid, but it was my first time being part of the bridal party.

The first time I had written words for my best friend that I got to share with all of her family & the fact we were doing it in Ibiza. Celebrating for 10 whole days in one of our favourite places on earth, there is no wonder why Mam played down her diagnosis to me before I left.

I must stress that not one piece of me holds resentment in my heart for my mams choices at that time. However one of the happiest holidays of my life felt some what less enjoyable for me than it was for the 30+ other guests that were there.

For most, their biggest worry of the day was what pancakes to order from the Beach Star Breakfast Menu or what cocktail they would be asking the bar maid for at 10am , but for me my biggest worry was always mam.

Our first day poolside, my mam waited over 12hours on a Trolly from 6am to be blue lighted from the Royal Glam down to Velindre where she would begin her treatment.

The guilt of being in the sun seeped into my pours every second whilst I waited to hear if she got there ok. Fortunately, one of my longest friends Abbie works at Velindre, this is not to say she gave mam special treatment as I know she remained so professional at her job, even when she took a personal call from me explaining mams situation she remained dignified & confidential.

Its only now that we’ve spoken since mams passing do I understand how agonising the wait for mams arrival was for Abbie too. Due to experience she already knew the ride I was in for wasn’t a smooth one, but never for a second did she disclose anything to me she couldn’t & I’m so proud & grateful to her for giving my mam her all.

Numerous times a day I would text or FaceTime Mam in the hospital. This behaviour was odd for me, as FaceTiming my mam is not something I usually do a lot. Especially on a girls holiday. Typically I would send the odd photo just to acknowledge we’re surviving another day & for her not to panic..

But every day the urge to call grew greater. Being surrounded by a group of people at the pool I would sit there & cry. Emotions running so high, because only 3 days ago she had left my home walking, & now at this point she was practically paralysed from her neck down, to avoid any further damage to her spine.

Even whilst laid flat she always put on a smile for me, made my dad put lipstick on her so she could look pretty whilst she told me she loved & missed me .. Again, oddly this wasn’t something we did often, but it’s something we grew to do more.

What I know now is painstaking, how difficult it must have been to have all of your ability to move stopped in seconds, but my mam never tried to deviate from what she had been told to do.. she put all of her strength into staying still & anyone who knows her would know how hard this would be.

Partly , I believe this was due to the comfort of Abbie & that’s a debt I’ll never truly be able to repay Abbie for. But mostly I know it was determination to get home to us, my mams loving family whom she adored.

Throughout the course of her stay the radio therapy targeted 3 of Mams main tumours.

One in her neck , one of the larger of the spine & also her leg. If I’m honest I never once heard her complain, I just recall her being elated one day when she was finally able to sit up & eat properly. Infact she said she enjoyed the food in Velindre so it must’ve been decent as she’s always loved her grub.

Abbie recalls being so proud of mam on the day she was able to sit up in her chair & I know that during mams stay they made promises to each other that I’ll never really know about.

But what I do know is that my mother felt adored by Abbie .. the same way my mam adored Abbie back, & she also adored Abbie’s boyfriends legs .. Ofcourse Mam always maintained her sense of humour. 🤣

The days progressed & we finally got to the day of Becca’s wedding. My mams phone was quiet, she didn’t really answer many of my calls, but she did manage a short FaceTime to Becca whilst us bridesmaids were getting ready. A fond memory I now have in my mind , of my two best friends chatting on an important day in all of our lives.. I could be wrong but I think mams silence that day was due to her having her palliative diagnosis.

However out in Ibiza the day went by amazingly, everything that could’ve been magical was magic & more. Every worry I had that day slipped away because we danced all day & celebrated the most wonderful bride & groom .. honestly it’s a day I will treasure in my heart for a lifetime regardless of what happened back home.

The vibes just seemed to be topped the next day , the wedding party went to Ocean Beach to continue the celebrations. After missing the boat taxi we all jumped into minibus & whilst travelling there my phone rang..

It was mam.

She was absolutely ecstatic to tell me & a bus full of people that she had completed her radio therapy treatment & had rang the bell .. coincidentally her favourite song Harry Styles - Watermelon sugar was playing at the time. It felt like it was fate, I cried happy tears & I went to Ocean Beach without a real care in the world that day because before I had taken mams call I had already booked an early flight home …

The morning after the wedding every part of my body woke up pining for my mam at home. Knowing she would be released from hospital and I wouldn't be there for a few more days ate me up like mould on stale bread.

It was a no brainier .. I booked the flight back & joined most of the others from the wedding on the same flight.

Standard Ibiza airport vibes, everyone’s in a pickle , & all queuing for a Burger King before 8am .. I had ordered my food & my phone started ringing , scampering around I tried to find an all white background in the airport, to pretend like I was in my bedroom whilst Joel waited for my food.

I answered & mam asked how I answered so early, I lied. I told her I was going on a boat trip but to not miss me too much as I’d be home soon. She cried & cried and I reassured her by saying “only a few more days & I‘ll be home for a cwtch”

I had only told my sister who lives in Manchester, that I was due home early & we arranged to meet at the house the same time, that excited me too as I hadn’t seen her in so long.

I broke down in Burger King after that call.

I cried salty tears into my fries, relieved I’d done the right thing, & was reassured by everyone there that it would be ok, but I never expected the news I would return home too..

I spent a every last Euro in my purse on gifts for my family , in hope that it would brighten the mood at home. I drive down the M4 everyday for work & I reach one sign & every time I go back to the day I’m travelling from Bristol airport in my mind. “I’m nearly home to mam”.

Now everyday that sign reminds me that I’m on my way home, but mams not there.

I walked into the kitchen that day to my dad cooking a roast he was shocked & cried.. My dad NEVER cries.

I snuck upstairs & waited for my Mam, sister & Declan to become deep in conversation before I crept into the room to surprise her..

She told me she would’ve paid a million pound to have me home on a special flight but would never have admitted it. Truth is I’d pay a million & more to have her back right now.

We ate lunch together that day, popped a bottle of Tattinger & things seemed happy.

But , truthfully from that evening I arrived back home, the tears flowed for days & the sleepless nights filled with devastation trickled in thick & fast….. nearly as fast as the grief has set in now.

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