It was the funeral of a family friend today, a woman I lived in the same house with, the same house where I met my now wife, and where a group of five of us shared much laughter, joy and pain for two years before they all dispersed down south and I remained in my native city of Liverpool.
It was a long, long time ago and we hadn't been in regular contact but ironically she and her husband and two children live in the same postcode my wife and I now live in the big smoke so we did see each other about for a quick chat and catch up, but life with work and kids takes up everyone's time, leaving little left for regular get-togethers.
I couldn't attend the funeral because we're on a skeleton staff at work and have a deadline to meet, but my wife and two children went and brought back the order of service.
I was reading it and feeling awful for not being there with about 30 others to remember this diminutive but incredibly strong and feisty north Londoner, who, in between raising two little girls, was mere months away from completing her PhD on the systems behind the Great Terror in the USSR in the 1930s. She was argumentative, opinionated, laughed like a drain and was a fanatic Arsenal fan.
She was diagnosed with breast cancer about five years ago. They tried the usual treatments but to little effect. They then read about a potentially revolutionary technique that had enjoyed success in the majority of sufferers. They remortgaged, begged, borrowed and sold and she had the treatment, and to all intents and purposes was cured. We saw her over the next four years and she looked well and happy.
Then three months ago the cancer had come back with a vengeance, and last week she died.
She leaves behind a husband and two girls, the youngest of whom (10) read out her own poem:
Cancer
Cancer is death,
Cancer is doom,
And mum died of cancer,
Just too soon.
When I think of cancer,
My heart sank and shrunk,
Then I tried to forget about it,
By getting Dad drunk.
Cancer is death,
Cancer is doom,
And mum died of cancer,
Just too soon.
Rosie, age 10
I was reading this at home and just broke down, with my two kids looking confused as they've never seen their dad cry.
Sorry for the rambling post, but if you're lucky enough to have loved ones, give them a hug and a kiss and never take things for granted. Everyday is a special day with them, and can so easily be all taken away.
I lost a good friend of mine to this horrible disease a couple of months ago, aged 38.
He had just made an offer on his first place with his fiancé. No children thankfully.
Never waste an opportunity to tell someone that they mean something to you. Never.
So true. Every day we are here is special.
Started out with nothing. Still have most of it left.
Wow, I read that poem and nearly wept. With a 10 year old girl of my own I just can’t imagine the pain of that little girl losing her mum. I’m working away as usual but will hold my daughter extra tightly when I get home tomorrow. Sorry for your loss OP and thanks for posting.
Deeply saddened for such a young family.
Lost my mum to cancer too quickly and never had the opportunity to say goodbye.
It's so cruel.
Such a destroyer. Took my mum when I was 22, and my best friend not long after. So sad my wife and daughters never got to meet my mum (my dad is absent, remarried long ago).
Thanks for the reminder on cherishing now those important to us.
Try not to feel shit for not being able to make it. I’m sure the family know you would have wanted to be there, and great your own family could make it. G x
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