My parents died within 8 days of each other

This all started to unfold in June 2021. I was away and sending my Mummy videos and photos of my trip, to receive very short replies. I know my Mummy, and I know her curt responses meant something was wrong. I also know she wouldn’t want to talk to me about it until I was home. The day after arriving home, she told me that my step dad (after this referred to as my dad), had been diagnosed with cancer. He was given 2 years. They would start treatment to try and extend the time he had, but that was all they could do this time.

As I live in another town to them, I kept offering to come and stay, to help out or anything they needed. My Mummy just wanted to focus on the treatment for my dad. So I gave them space to do that. In September he was told that the treatment wasn’t working, and instead he now had until Spring 2022. In October they finally let me come visit.

I saw my Mum was deeply depressed at facing losing her husband. Not only that, she wasn’t well herself. I urged her to go to the doctors as we both suspected blood clots. She was admitted to hospital with confirmed blood clots and from there I began to worry every single day that I’d get a call to say a blood clot had ended her life.

She was in and out of hospital. During one of her stints at home in November, she asked me to visit to help around the house. I had been struck down pretty badly with depression myself. We both struggled through tidying the house up. She was clearly exhausted so I tried to keep her focussed on resting instead. We both needed it. My dad was clearing out his stuff, so she would have less to do after he was gone. It was a heavy space to be in. I came back home to take a break and promised to be back soon.

Then my Mummy was back in hospital again. The diagnosis was confusing. She told me it was just blood clots, but the tests and treatments didn’t make sense. I kept asking her what else was going on, but she wasn’t making sense. I called the hospital and they didn’t give me anymore information either. Then she got covid on top.

December came and I was excited to see her for Christmas. Due to covid, I hadn’t seen her for Christmas in 2 years. It was starting to look like she may not even get to be home for it. During one phone call she told me she was “done”. She was so fed up. Spending her days in hospital rather than with her husband in his last months.

She amazingly was released for Christmas. Sadly, she asked me not to come home. It hurt me greatly, but she repeated over and over that she wanted to spend it just with her husband. I respected her wishes.

On Christmas Day she was admitted back to hospital. She had had a stoke whilst at home. Her neighbour called me to tell me. Whilst on the phone she also asked me if I wanted to know the truth about what was really going on. I begged her to please tell me. She told me that my Mummy had lung cancer. She was hiding it from everyone because she wanted to focus on dad. The neighbour also told me that my Mummy didn’t want me visiting because she was trying to protect me from it all.

A few days later I called my Mummy and asked her to admit the truth to me. She told me about the cancer. She was crying saying she didn’t want to know anything else. She just wanted to come home and spend time with dad while he was still alive. Now I knew, I could talk to my Mummy’s dr about what they knew. I had a long chat with them, and they reassured me that my Mummy had many months and there was nothing to panic about yet. However it was terminal with no treatment.

Before the year was up, I came to visit her in hospital. As we arranged the visits, she was on the phone crying. She was so upset. I could barely speak to her. She just asked me to come see her, and told me she loved me. It was all a shock.

When I got to see her, I stayed with her for hours. She snoozed while I read. We ate together. Laughed. I rubbed her back and stroked her hair. She wanted to discuss money and bills. I told her there was time to talk about that later. I begged her to finalise her will, but that was it. I just wanted to be with her. As evening came, she told me I should go. So I arranged to be collected. As they arrived, she told me she didn’t want me to leave. I was frustrated. Why tell me to go?! I reluctantly left but promised to be back.

Pretty shortly after she was allowed to come home again. She got to meet my boyfriend for the first time and adored him instantly. We spent an evening talking about silly things. Then the next day she slept, a very long time. I was due to take my boyfriend back to the airport for him to go home, so knew my time there was limited. I checked everything to ensure she was safe and cared for at home, but all was not well. She didn’t have enough medication. She didn’t have anyone arranged to administer injections that she had to have. She had zero care arranged and my dad just didn’t have a clue. He was struggling himself as his cancer was advancing. I was also struggling to wake my Mum up properly. I panicked.

I rang for help and an ambulance came to check her over. We agreed the best place for her to be was back in hospital to get her in a better space for us to look after her at home. We thought that she was struggling after the stroke, and so after some rehab she would be able to be at home in a better state. I watched them wheel her into the ambulance. My Mummy looked so defeated. That was the last moment that I would see her.

I got home to get my boyfriend back to the airport. I had planned to go from the airport, straight back to my Mum’s to essentially live there to help them both through everything that was to come. The day before travelling, my dad called. He had covid. If I went now I would risk catching it, and either passing it onto my Mum during a visit or getting so ill myself that I couldn’t help either of them. I stayed home, checking every day whether it was safe. All the time my bags remained packed, next to the front door so I could leave immediately.

One night I was just about to go to bed. I hadn’t set my phone to silent yet even though it was 2am. My Mum’s dr rang. She was severely unwell and they suggested I go visit. I told them I was far away and did they have an estimate. The dr said she it could be hours, days, weeks. They couldn’t predict but were monitoring her closely. I decided to get a taxi.

I repacked my bags into something more manageable, had a quick shower and got into the taxi. The dr called again saying that they had given her an antibiotic which had seemingly accelerated the process. My Mummy was now struggling to breathe properly. The dr advised I might not even make it in time now. 20 minutes later, the dr called one more time. My Mummy had gone. I was still in the taxi, only halfway there. In shock, I finished the journey. I just wanted to be with her.

I arrived at the hospital and went into her room. Upon seeing her face, I felt so let down. I said “Aw Mummy”, as she really did go before I could get to her. Protecting me again. I sat and cried with her for over an hour before dad arrived. We stayed with her together for a while and then went back to their house, which was full of people.

This was all a lot to take. I was now the owner of the house that my dad lived in, and all the bills, everything was in my Mum’s name and going through her account. I had to sort it all out, and do all the paperwork he was too unwell to do. I needed more than a couple of days worth of clothes. I also couldn’t travel back and forth anymore. I needed to move permanently.

I went back home, packed up everything I owned in the space of 3 days. It was exhausting. I moved half of it down, and arranged to get the rest in a day trip in a few weeks.

Arriving home, one more time, was just the most odd experience. The house had constant visitors. My dad was declining rapidly. I suddenly found myself in a routine of sorting paperwork out all morning, transferring bills across, letting people know my Mummy had passed away etc. In the afternoon I would see to my dad, run around for him a lot. He was very demanding. I barely got more than 10 mins to rest at a time. In the evening he would go to bed. I would then try to clean up the house, pack up things to make room for my stuff, grieve, catch up with people trying to support me. At night I would check on my dad and then sleep no more than 4 hours before getting up and doing it all again.

My dad was declining daily. It was a struggle to get him to accept the kind of care that would make it easier on me. Eventually he agreed to have a bed downstairs and use a commode if I got him a privacy screen. He slept well downstairs on the first night, but the next morning he just seemed way more out of it. The nurses came and adjusted his medications. He didn’t seem to improve. As the day progressed, I could barely get any sense out of him. He couldn’t even sit himself up anymore. I rang for a dr, nurse, anything to come check him over.

As we waited for them to call back with a time to visit, one of my step brothers and I had some food. As we were eating, we noticed dad breathing oddly. I asked “Did he just….?” as I swore I witnessed him stop breathing for a moment. He took one more breath, and he was gone.

I called an ambulance who asked me to do CPR. I did, until I remembered that he didn’t want to be resuscitated. I kept shouting at him, telling him it wasn’t time yet. I shone light in his eyes but they didn’t respond. The ambulance came and confirmed his death. The police also came because it was a sudden death. They sat with us and supported us until the coroner came to take him away. I didn’t leave his side until he left us.

I became an orphan.

I was mostly alone in the house for a week before my boyfriend was able to be with me. Surrounded by all their stuff, the bed my dad died in, and the house almost frozen in time. His teeth still next to the bed, next to his glass of water and glasses. My Mum’s nightwear strewn over her bedroom floor. I was having flashbacks of his last moments, along with deep regrets and guilt for both their deaths. I felt awful at the situations leading up to my Mummy passing, which meant I wasn’t with her or able to see her as much as I wanted to. It was a lot to accept.

On top of all this, virtually overnight, my dad’s side of the family all turned against me. A girlfriend of one of the sons had been dreaming up lies and mistruths about me for days. Unbeknown to me, she was texting and calling the family daily to spread untrue rumours. Not one of them ever asked me if any of it was true. Instead they launched a witch hunt and began to bully and harass me every evening. Vulnerable, and confident that I could dispel the rumours if I responded calmly and truthfully, I replied to almost everything sent to me, no matter how abusive. After all, we now were planning a joint funeral for both of them. My focus was on getting it right, so I wanted to communicate.

This sadly gave them the green light to step up their bullying. It was starting to erode my mental health. I blocked them all and continued to organise the funeral from my side. Still they sought ways to get through to me by using other people. On the morning of the funeral, I woke up to a neighbour complaining on the funeral Facebook event about a decision that apparently I made which was against what she wanted. The whole thing was incorrect, so I responded to give the facts. But she continued to argue with me. On the morning of my Mother’s funeral. I had no idea who she was. I blocked her too.

I arrived at the funeral, relieved to see the faces of people I adored, and friends of my Mummy. Also stressed as now I didn’t know who of the faces I didn’t recognise were friend or foe. It was vastly different from the funeral I wanted for her. She was just a happy, silly person. I had plans to show that side of her. But with being so worn down by drama from the other family, I had given up. I just needed to get this day done.

I read a tribute to them both to the congregation of 93. It was hard, but my Mummy made me strong. I wanted to do this for her so badly. I told them stories that made them laugh. It was so nice.

After the dust settled a little, I began to arrange to see those closest to my Mummy. It was of some comfort to talk about the life she had that I hadn’t seen. I got answers to questions I had always had. It was healing, and I will keep arranging to see these friends and family.

I also tried to embrace life in this city, little by little. Doing the things I’ve always done with my Mother has been so hard. I’ll expect to see her beside me, or outside in her car waiting for me. But she never is. Every now and then I’ll remember that she hasn’t called for a while, so I pick up my phone to text her. Then I remember.

A loss like this redefines your levels of pain. So much pain and upset is nothing, when you compare it to this. And this is something you can’t hope to fully understand until it happens to you. I was very close to my Mum. We had contact most days via text or call. She knew about everything going on with me. I never kept secrets from her. We laughed almost constantly when together. She always wanted to be sure that I would be okay, wherever I was, whatever I was doing.

I miss her so much. I wish I’d had the courage to talk to her more about subjects that I avoided simply because I thought we had more time. I wish I’d told her how much I loved her, not just that I did love her. I wish I’d moved closer to home much sooner. Time, time, time. It’s so precious. Death is so irreversible. Be brave, aim to live a life with no regrets, and love fiercely.

Because all this ends.