A fool's hope

I was going to write about how everything is heading in the wrong direction. How quickly things change. But also how slow and cruel the process is. I don't wish that my mum would die. I wish that she would live a long, healthy life and grow to be 100 years old. Be part of that new generation that lives so long that they're a burden for society for so many years that we will complain about her and wonder how on earth will my generation be able to pay for her retirement. I would love for that to happen.

But that's not going to happen. And I am slowly, and against my will, starting to realise that. I almost wrote come to terms with. But that would be the biggest lie of my life. I will never come to terms with that. Realisations is hard enough. I don't want to realise that.

Instead of getting to live until she's 100, she is being put through hell by her own body. It's attacking her from the inside. And it's absolutely horrible to watch. And terrifying. One of the strongest people I know is fighthing for her life. And they've told us it's a hopeless fight.

I'm starting to think we have less time than I want to think about. A world without my mum? Impossible. Surely.

They keep saying there's lots of research. And that advances are made every day. I am putting my faith in your hands. Even though I'm pretty much out of hope. What is it Gandalf said? "There was never much hope. Just a fool's hope."

A wonderful hug

I went to my parents today after work. It was good to see them. They've been away for almost a week to their house in Italy. You could tell my mum was tired from the journey. But she also seemed content in a way. I think it did her good to go there and spend some time in a place that she loves.

As I was about to leave we just stood and held each other. A very long, nice hug. I love her so much. She's my hero. And it was so good to just stand there and feel her being so close. She's still here. That's what I have to keep reminding myself. I can hug her whenever I want to. That means everything.

Broken

I am trying to remind myself that it's okay to not be strong. It's okay to fall apart.

I feel so broken. I'm worried what this will turn me into.

Just scratch the surface

I had a lovely weekend with a friend visiting from the UK. We spent two days wandering around Stockholm catching up. I escaped for a weekend. And today it's been back to reality. Whenever I've had a few days of almost forgetting it hurts coming back to reality. Everything is good for a few hours, or sometimes even for whole days. And then it hits you. That everything is not good. That everything is pretty much as far from good as is possible.

I used to be quite thick skinned. I used to be able to bury my feelings deep down and get on with my days. And if people asked me how I was doing it wouldn't feel like I lie. Because even if at that time I wasn't feeling very good, I tricked even myself. Everyone puts up some kinds of protective walls around themselves. That's how we cope with every day life. My walls are very thin right now. They're there. Because without them I wouldn't be able to get out of bed in the morning. But it only takes one question. Or one small comment. Or a news article. Or a song. Or a feeling. And the wall crumbles and all my emotions come splashing out. I am not very thick skinned at the moment. It's as if all you have to do is scratch the surface. And it's tiring. Extremely tiring, to always be so close to your emotions. And it's not like it's small emotions. It's giant, terrifying feelings of the unknown. Of pain. And loss. And fear. And loneliness. And confusion. And unreality.

I look at photos of my mum from a few years ago. And I think that that's the mum I want to remember. And just the fact that that's how I think now scares me. Because the idea of losing her. The idea of having to live in this world without my role model and hero makes my throat close up and I can't breathe. I can't comprehend how that world would look. And it terrifies that I will have to find out.

Getting help

Last week I went for counselling with a counsellor in the palliative team where my mum has her "home". It was good. Difficult. We've set up an appointment every two weeks. Which I think is necessary and needed.

She asked me what the most difficult thing is: thinking about what will happen in the coming stages and last stages of my mum's disease. Or thinking about having a life where she no longer exists.

I answered the second one. After a lot of thinking. Because I still can't get it through my head that these aren't hypothetical questions we're talking about. They're real. And happening right now.

But while I'm so scared about seeing my mum getting more and more ill and weaker and weaker. It is absolutely terrifying thinking about a world where she isn't just a text message or call away. How can that be? How can that world exist? And how can I exist in it? I don't know. But unfortunately, and this breaks my heart several times each day. Unfortunately I will find out.