My Mother’s Keeper
It was just another morning of publishing deadlines when my phone buzzed. It was a private number. Usually I ignore them but I decided to answer. The voice at the other end said he was my mother’s oncologist – “Who?” He stated in short, precise clinical terms that my mum had terminal liver cancer with just six months to live.
And so the journey began.
Mum – or June as I had called her since my teenage years – lived on her own on the Mornington Peninsula, Victoria. After a drawn-out divorce, she’d picked up sticks and relocated to the small town she’d grown up in, a haven of fond memories of beach walks and family life.
Over the next six months this coastal town became my home away from home as I travelled back and forth from my apartment in Sydney. And although it would, eventually, hold less-than-fond memories for me, it too became a part of my life, as it was hers.
June was one of those people who was never sick. She never complained about headaches or a runny nose. As most mums are to their children, she was invincible and terminal cancer just seemed too much of a leap: one to a 100 in a single phone call.
Sitting side by side on the hospital bed, Mum leaned into me and softly said, ‘I'm scared.’
I wasn’t a stranger to death per se: my dad had died suddenly five years earlier but his passing was more like reading the end credits to a much-loved movie. With June it was like the opening scene of a show we knew nothing about except that the lead character would be written out. My brother and I were in uncharted waters and it was hard to know where to start. What I learnt as the curtains fell nine months later, was that knowledge is everything.
Taking on the role of my mum’s carer was stressful, but along the way I compiled a short list of what I thought would be useful to pass on to others who found themselves starting down the same path.
Get Legal
Sort out all the legal stuff as soon as possible. Start by asking if their will is up to date. Having a Power of Attorney (which allows you to act for a person in financial matters) and being an Enduring Guardian (which allows you to make medical decisions on their behalf) can make all the difference. The paperwork is fairly straightforward, but completing it can depend on the “mental capacity” of the person. With mum’s prognosis, we were told hers would diminish as the disease progressed. So, with her help, we checked it off early. Visit your state’s government website for more details.
Ask The Questions
No matter how challenging the questions might be you have nothing to lose by asking. It can take courage to question medical staff about the benefits of a treatment but when quality of life is a priority it’s essential; it also requires strength to seek a second opinion or to suggest a lower budget for the funeral arrangements.
So we learned to ask those hard questions: Did June wish to evoke a do not resuscitate order? Who should inherit her oil paintings? And which song would she like us to play at her funeral (“Amazing Grace of course!”)?
Be Organised
Maintaining my base in Sydney presented a big commute down to mum each week, so to help with the basics on a day-to-day basis I had to search out and enlist professional help to keep her in her own home. Depending on where you live, the resources for care-giving vary.
An array of options were available for her as there is a sizeable aged community along the Peninsula. It started with services such as home delivered meals, counselling and daily nursing visits, but we also discovered some fun activities such as art therapy were also on offer since June was an avid oil painter.
Towards the end, although Mum had always insisted she didn’t want to leave her home, the agonising decision was made to move her into a facility for her safety. Engaging a broker really helped smooth the way. Once briefed on our expectations of accommodation and budget, they co-ordinated appointments for on-site inspections. They managed all the paperwork and transfers. It really was a godsend, especially when you’re not in the same state.
Self Care
While you’re trying to care for someone else, it’s important to take time to do the same for yourself. I admit I cried many times while taking showers, but I made it a priority to take a long beach walk every morning when I was at June’s. It gave me much needed space for clarity and time to just breathe.
Some friends remained at a polite distance, unable to comprehend what I was going through, but I forged new connections with people who had been through the same experience with their parents. We shared stories and I found I could lean on them, talk honestly. Even now I think one of the best things I learnt through all of this is the power of empathy and connection.
I’ve never had children of my own. When we settled June into her room – with views onto a courtyard with a giant peach tree in bloom – I felt relieved and reassured. She was safe. At what was clearly to be the end of our journey together I felt like I had become the mother to this woman. A woman who had always, unequivocally, been there for me throughout my life.
I remember her announcing months before to my brother and his friends, over a noisy lunch at her dining table, that I had become the lion at her gate: guarding her from anything that might harm her. Our roles had reversed and I was walking in her shoes.
I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to be there for her, in the best possible way, when she needed me the most.
I miss her every single day.
Words + Photo_ Lou Fay