The fragility of life: How quickly things can change

Despite the fact that over thirteen years have since passed, I remember August 14th 2007 as clearly as I remember yesterday.

It was a Tuesday and I was at home for lunch as I was meeting with our mortgage adviser who had traveled up from Newry to meet with me as the mortgage on our house was up for renewal.

The phone rang and I recognised the number straight away. It was my mum. This was not unusual, I spoke to my mum everyday at least once so I dismissed it as nothing more than a social call and I answered it by saying “mum, can I call you later, I’m just with someone”.

But this was not going to be one of those ‘normal’ calls: Mum was crying but despite this, she said okay. I knew straight away however that this was a call that couldn’t wait. Instantly my priorities changed. Nothing else mattered but my mum. I asked her what had happened and that’s when mum told me she had cancer.

Life changed in an instant. Frank knew that something so much more important than a mortgage had just happened and he quickly left, allowing me to gather my thoughts and plan what I needed to do next.

What I needed to do next was speak to my mum. I needed to comprehend what had happened. I needed to let her know that I was there for her and that everything would be alright. Ironically I needed my mum to do the same for me!

On the 14th of August 2007, my Mum was 59 years young and that was the day she was told that she had stage 4 bowel cancer. On the 30th of October 2011, Mum finally succumbed to that cancer aged a still very young 63.

The strange thing for me is that I remember both those dates as vividly as each other. You would think that the 30th of October would stand out so much more than the 14th of August, but it doesn’t: Both dates were life changers.

On the 14th of August 2007, I finally grew up. My relationship with my mum up to that point had been one very much focused around the support she provided ME with. She was my mum and that was her job. She loved me (and my two brothers) unconditionally and we knew it.

Despite being ‘grown up’ with my own life and relationships, I could simply regress back to a child with my mum and let her sort things out for me when I needed her to. To me, an Irish mummy is the only support network you will ever need!

Roles had now changed and it was our turn to provide the support. We had to let her know that things were going to be alright and that we would always be there for her.

Over the next four years, I think we all managed to do that and when my mum passed away, I had no regrets around things that had gone unsaid or hadn’t been done. We all made sure that she knew everyday that we loved her and if she wanted to go somewhere or do something, one of us was there to do it.

Why did it take a diagnosis for this to happen but? I suppose it’s because we had taken it for granted up to this point that she would be around for many many more years – when you consider that her mum, my grandmother, lived until July 2016 when she passed away at the great age of 102, you could see why we would think such a thing.

Life I now know is far from predictable and its fragility should never be forgotten.

As I write this in my office a few weeks before the ninth anniversary of my mums passing, the following poster sits above my desk. Words worth remembering I think!