Watching someone close to you slowly dying is one of the most painful tortures that anyone can experience. Even though you are prepared for them to die, it's still a shock when they are finally gone. It's something that you can never be ready for.
My aunty was diagnosed with cancer in 2010. We knew it was terminal, and she has deteriorated over the last few years. However, when she took a turn for the worst, none of us knew just how quickly she was going to be taken away from us.
She was admitted into hospital on the Sunday, and a day later, we were told she had approximately two weeks to live. It was a shock to the whole family. Even though we had seen it coming for the last few years, it hit us hard. You never want to believe that the end is drawing near, but when professionals tell you there's only a few weeks left, it hits you hard.
I planned to visit her on the Tuesday afternoon - the day after we were given the news. By Tuesday morning, she had passed away. Luckily, it was peaceful for her. She fell asleep Monday night and they couldn't wake her up again on Tuesday morning. She eventually slipped into a peaceful death... But I never got to say goodbye.
It was a shock. Two weeks to live had become less than twenty four hours, meaning that a lot of the family (including myself) didn't get to say goodbye to her. Her brothers and sisters that wanted to be with her when she passed were all there when she did, as was her daughter and husband, which are the most important people.
I felt like I hadn't got to say goodbye, but her funeral gave me that opportunity. I won't go into too much detail as it's hard to write about, but it was a beautiful service. At the crematorium, we all got to put red carnations on top of her coffin. I was the first person to do it. I felt like laying that carnation on top of her and touching her final resting place gave me some kind of closure. I told her I loved her and said goodbye. It may sound strange, but I felt like she could hear me.
Funerals are never easy, but they're even worse when it's a member of family. It's hard when you're the strong one holding it together for everyone else, which is what I always have been, but at the funeral, I couldn't be that any more. I broke down as it sunk in that I will never see her again.
At the evening do, we released 52 red balloons in her memory, as her favourite colour was red and she was just 52 years old when she passed. It was a beautiful idea.
It's made me realise how short life is, and how you can never take things or people for granted. Her loss has given me the kick up the arse that I have needed for the last few months, and made me get out of some sticky situations.
Rest In Peace, Aunty Mo.Although you may be gone from life, you will always be in my heart.
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