Tag: Bereavement

What it means to me to be a mother

“Is daddy going to be ok?”

“I don’t know. I can’t promise you that. But I can promise you that the doctors and nurses will do everything they can to try to make him ok.” 

This is a conversation that took place at 4:30am shortly after my husband had walked down the stairs to a waiting ambulance accompanied by three paramedics. The severity of that moment will stay with me for the rest of my life. I had a choice with how I responded to her. Lie and pretend everything was going to be ok or admit that I didn’t know what was going to happen. In the split second it took me to make that decision, I opted for honesty. For whatever we were going to face over the coming days, weeks or even months, honesty would get us through.

I won’t lie. There’s been a lot since I became a mother that I’ve not been prepared for. But that conversation was hard. No-one prepared me for that conversation. No-one then gave me a manual to help me prepare for having to tell our beautiful little girl that her daddy was going to die. No-one prepared me for helping her through her grief. No-one prepared me for how much of a fierce mama bear I would become in the weeks and months that followed.   

Because since I became a mother I’ve always tried to protect her in whatever way I can. I’ve always tried to stop her feeling hurt and to try to put a smile on her face. Yet since Mr C came down with his temperature on 22 March (Mother’s Day) last year, I’ve seen how broken she can be. Yes, she’s been phenomenal. I am reminded on a daily basis of just how phenomenal she is. I simply wouldn’t still be standing without her by my side.

But she’s also a little girl who has gone through the most excruciating loss. I’ve seen her eyes lose their sparkle. I’ve watched her fall apart. And when you’ve watched your child go through this pain and all she has gone through, you want to do everything in your power to stop them ever feeling hurt again. You’re prepared to take on anyone and anything that causes them disappointment or angst.

I know it will be impossible for me to do that totally. Because I’m acutely aware that she will feel hurt. One day it’s inevitable that someone will break her heart. It’s almost a rite of passage and something she will need to go through in life. All I will be able to do will be to pick up the pieces and hold her until the hurt subsides a little.  

And so today, on Mother’s Day, I’m pausing to reflect on my role as a mother. To reflect on the promises I made to myself the day my husband died. That I would continue doing my best for our daughter. That I would try to protect her as best I could. That I would fight her corner for her whenever needed. That I would teach her self-worth. That I would teach her to never give up.

It’s been my hardest year as a mother since Mother’s Day 2020. It’s been the steepest learning curve of my entire life. But it’s been a year that’s taught me so very, very much about just what it means and what it takes to be one.

COVID-19 and me

This is a post which was written in October 2020, six months after the death of my husband. It was originally shared internally at work and then after a number of people asked if I would share this externally, I published it on LinkedIn. The response was overwhelming and just one of the many reasons I decided to start my own blog.

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7 March

“I really fancy some chocolate”

“Go for it. Pop it in the trolley. If coronavirus doesn’t get us, the asteroid that my colleague told me about will.”

30 March

“999, which service do you require?”

“Ambulance, I need help. I think my husband’s having a panic attack. 111 also suspect he may have COVID-19. But he’s not got a cough. He’s never had a cough.”

Two conversations. Three weeks apart. All it took to turn my entire world upside down.

When I joked with my husband about the chocolate, it’s because it felt impossible that the UK was going to be hit hard. We argued about sending our daughter to school. Even when the announcement came to work from home, it felt surreal.

So, when he started sporting a temperature, I didn’t worry too much. COVID-19 couldn’t be in our house. It was happening on the news. It couldn’t happen to my family. We’d followed all the advice, he must just have a bit a cold.

But as he steadily deteriorated, my fears grew, and we spoke to 111 twice in the week leading up to needing to ring 999. And as the three paramedics got ready to take him to hospital and we watched him walk to the ambulance, I made our daughter tell him she loved him. Two hours later, I learnt he’d been taken to ITU, immediately sedated and put on a ventilator. For three weeks he battled so very hard and our amazing NHS tried everything they possibly could to save him. But late afternoon on 19 April he lost his battle. A new life for my 10-year-old daughter and me had begun.

Because for the first time in my adult life, I was without Stuart “Charlie” Charlesworth. I used to joke that we only got together because I needed a date for my 18th birthday party and I liked his surname, but for over 20 years we’d been navigating life together. A life that saw Charlie be diagnosed with and beat testicular cancer at the age of 27. It was this that led him to adopt a philosophy that life was too short and to just enjoy it. And I think it’s testament to him and how loved he was, that over £4,000 was raised in his memory for The Oddballs Foundation, a charity which raises awareness of Testicular Cancer. He was pragmatic yet vivacious. He loved Christmas and for the entire month of December would wear a Christmas t-shirt, jumper or shirt! Quite simply Charlie was one of life’s good guys and without a shadow of a doubt, the person you wanted in your squad!

But above all else, he was beyond devoted to our daughter. He was so unbelievably proud of her and all she’s accomplished in her life so far, I simply know that hearing her voice on the Skype calls for the last week he was in ITU would have been the spur for him to keep on fighting. And while it breaks my heart that I can’t fix this situation for her, she continues to amaze me every single day and just like her daddy, I couldn’t be more proud.

At a time that has seen all of us living through challenging situations, adjusting to the new rules and restrictions, getting used to a new physical distancing world (Charlie didn’t like the phrase social distancing), my daughter and I have seen an abundance of kindness and support from so many people since that fateful 999 call. It’s why despite all we’ve gone through, I truly believe that it is kindness that will be my abiding memory from 2020. On my last evening out before lockdown I wore a t-shirt that said “In a world where you can be anything… Be Kind”. It really does cost nothing but it means so very much.

I can’t lie and say this whole experience hasn’t irrevocably changed our lives. It has and it will continue to do so.

But a month after he died, I said I wouldn’t let our experience define us or who we become. I stand by that. If we’ve learnt anything these last six months, it’s to be kinder, stronger and to refocus our priorities. And I know he’d approve of that.