By Cailey, whose mum died from secondary breast cancer on her 57th birthday
Since my mum’s death, I very quickly felt as though I’d joined a club. One I never even knew existed and would never wish anyone to be a part of, before they have to. It’s called grief - the most complicated, painful and chronic thing I’ve ever experienced. And I know that in this lifetime of mine, I will never be without it.
Grief can be cruel. In moments of pure joy, it’ll quickly bring you back to the reality of your loss and the sadness within your life. It consumes you and masks the good. It is a constant reminder of the immense loss of my mum. On the flip side, it can also be ‘beautiful’. Grief is a messed up form of love and the absence of grief for my mum would be the absence of love for her and I couldn’t think of anything worse. It constantly reminds me of the best woman in my life, the one who raised me. And I wouldn’t give that up for anything.
Society perceives grief as temporary. ‘When will they get better?’ There is no better, there is different. The only timeline to grief is forever. ‘When will they go back to normal?’ There is no going back, we wish there was but there isn’t. There is only going forward and finding a new normal. To imply that grief is simple enough to move past, is to completely invalidate someone’s grieving experience. Grief is complicated. Don’t underestimate it and don’t try to simplify it just because it makes you uncomfortable.
When someone dies young, a large part of the grief is pain from the injustice of it all. What could have and should have been. They had more to give, more to see and more to do. My engagement, wedding, first house, pregnancies, children... the list goes on. This type of pain is agonising. You have to re-imagine your future and everything you’d pictured for yourself. That person is no longer physically in that vision and your life will be forever tainted by that. It’s bloody hard.
You realise you’ve got nothing left to lose! Life is still scary in that I sometimes worry about losing other people but at the same time, I am much less scared of life and what it entails. Death puts things into perspective, you can see the world in a way you couldn’t possibly before. I no longer sweat the small stuff. I know what and who is important to me. The rest doesn’t matter. I am more free to live my life as I please since nothing can hurt me more than losing my mum at 22. So bring it on.
About Cailey
”My name is Cailey and my sister Jodie (26) and I lost our beautiful mum on her 57th birthday on 5th December 2020. Her name was Penny.
My Mum had primary breast cancer in 2018 and completed nine months of ‘successful’ treatment. Shortly after in November 2019, she was diagnosed with secondary breast cancer. Her prognosis was 10-15 years. She got just one.
Life without a mother is harsh and testing. Our mum was a bloody good one and she taught us how to be survivors. It was always us against the world. The two of us will continue her legacy in being a brilliant mother, excellent hostess and life of the party. Every drink we have is to you, Pen. Cheers!”
