Would you let me know if you were thinking less of me? Would you let me know if I hadn’t been good enough for you?
Would you let me know if everything I did wasn’t enough? Because, if it hasn’t been then tell me and I’ll always try for you. For you, I’ll always change and even if I trip and fall…I’d get right back up for you without complaining.
You’re my girls. I’ll fuck things up somewhere at some time… but don’t you ever be afraid to tell me what I owe you and where I messed up for you.
Irrespective of these last few years, you shouldn’t hold back. You should tell me.
Don’t let what I’ve been through, present you with a reason to hold back where I need to be told I didn’t give enough.
Because you deserve it. I owe you everything. Not because I’m indebted to you for the love, joy, hope and amazement you have brung into my life; but for the simple fact that it’s my responsibility to owe you everything….as your mother.
I’m the one person that is wholly responsible for the quality of your childhood. It’s my responsibility to ensure you are happy and healthy.
It is my job to not only give you roots but wings to fly. I’ll take you to the Amazon and to Everest. I’ll fill you up with so much self-esteem and humility that anyone who tries to chip it away, and believe me that there are many who will try, in spite of them you will remain firm and solid in your ability to know that you have always been good enough and you will remain kind and humble.
I can’t tell you enough that I love you. I love you and I’m thankful that you are here for me to show you everyday. It’s a privilege to be your mother.
I had to fight for you and you’ve got to me.
You remind me of the smell of Jasmine, you remind me of the summer sun on my face, you remind me of music that makes me come alive… and I couldn’t tell you enough that I’m sorry for what you have been through.
‘Micro-memories’ haunt me. Memories of your trauma. Holding you down and shoving ice into your tiny mouth for 15 minutes while a particular chemo infused to make sure the capillaries in your mouth were constructed so that the chemo wouldn’t do maximum damage. Watching you shake for hours uncontrollably almost every other week for days on end. My hair covered in vomit didn’t bother me. Your seizure did. Intensive care did. I could see every bone in your body. I saw children playing in the park. I have seen tiny coffins. The lies and shitty attitudes of ass-coverers and assholes who kicked me when I was drowning in survival; that hurt. Micro memories haunt me and I let them pass. I cannot comprehend the extent of relentless trauma that you have faced little Daya. Anaya you were surrounded by good people when you were dropped kicked out of my arms and far away and out of the world of oncology; this was to protect you and to give you stability. I know you missed me. I’m proud of you. You’ve paid attention, you’ve held your shit together so well – I’m proud of you. You shouldn’t have had to but you did and did it so well. I’m going to spend my whole life keeping you close whilst teaching you to fly on your own. Jasmine you light up my life. You’re always happy and engaged in something. You’ve taught me to be strong. You’ve taught me that there’s fire inside all of us. You’ve shown me that you can overcome fear with determination and desire. There’s no stopping you my child. You’re all funny and cheeky.
It was love. It was all love. I’d rush to you all. From home to hospitals and back and forth; you’re all I ever rushed to. I’d watch you sleep if I was home passed your bed time.
My mother, your nani, has taught us to never ever give up. She has taught me empathy and resilience. Old and frail, she looked after you. That’s an unconditional love.
This life is brief. Our love is not.
I want you to have roots; a home and family to come back to. This is your anchor and your place. Your home.
And, I want you to have wings to fly. I won’t carry you forever. I want you to learn to soar. I want you to see the world, I want you to know your own mind, I want you to learn, develop and grow. I want you to know how to function without me. I want you to be the individuals you want to be. I want you to have the life you choose not what’s expected or given. I want you to have a good education. I want you to have options. I want you to feel free and complete. There is a difference between being content and happy. I want you to know what it is. I want you to try and have a growth mindset. I want you to evolve. I want you to know that courage to change is something you already have. Don’t ever let anyone come into your life, who doesn’t value you, and allow them to change its direction. This life is yours to lead.
Look after each other. For now, in isolation, we are together. For the last few years we have been apart and in isolation.
I’m enjoying it. It’s like one big long summer holiday for us.
I’m watching Daya heal and it is beautiful.
I’m watching Jasmine fall in love with her sister. Jasmine you carry Daya’s milk-pump stand to the play room. You carry it behind her wherever she wants to go. You stroke her head and lie down with her. You try and feed her. You share your snacks. You do everything together. I’m hearing you speak to Daya everyday. You love being together. I’m watching you grow and it makes me cry. I know you’ve missed me. And now you miss those who loved you whilst I was away (‘Nani, Nuray and Esther’). Now you cling on to Lulu like a little Koala. Jasmine, you hide your sadness well, maybe because you don’t know how to express it, but I can honestly say, you’re happy everyday. You might be the happiest child I’ve ever met. Anaya, you hug and kiss me goodnight every night. You’re so calm and caring with your sisters. Watching you look after them and how they run to you is a pleasure. You’ve been an innocent bystander in all of this. I admire the mental resilience and strength you have shown. There are adults who couldn’t cope with what you have; don’t you ever forget who you are.
“You’ve gone from one extreme of isolation and everyone being apart to everyone being together”, said a neighbour.
“Yes, you’re right”, I replied
I’ve been keeping you busy doing all sorts of activities; home schooling, dancing, watching tv, painting, drawing, playing in the garden, the sandpit, chalking up the paving….and in the midst of all this I’ve been enjoying watching you three interact. You love each other. You talk all day and you play. I have peace amongst fear. Or maybe I have fear amongst peace.
So I wonder, what was it about being on the beach that would have made everything ok? Would it have been the distance or the change of scenery? Would it have been a sense of closure? We haven’t made it to the beach. We haven’t rung the end of treatment bell yet.
“I never ever want to have to remember her”, Me, 2016-2019
Yes there is trauma and hope and healing. Yes it needs time and care and compassion. Yes it’s good and it’s been bad. Yes there is fear it will come back and appreciation for the now.
For now we are all here.
We are home and all together – that alone is everything. I have everything I need right here in my arms. For this I’m am thankful.
This is love. I am complete.
I love you. I would have loved you anyway without all of this additional stuff that has happened. I would never have taken you for granted; I had to fight hard to bring you into this world.
What I can tell you is this: that I am sorry. I brought you into this world and I carry the blame for everything you have been through. I would choose you every time. I couldn’t have known all of the trauma you would face as a result of my choice to have more children. For this, I am sorry. A doctor would describe cancer as genetic switches, deafness as genetic switches and the list goes on. It seems too unfair for all of this to have ‘just happened’. There’s no one to blame. I don’t smoke, drink alcohol or do drugs. There’s no one to hold responsible if we say it ‘just happened’.
Accountability isn’t down to switches. Accountability ultimately rests with me. For everything you have endured, I am sorry.
My Three Little Bears 