My greatest fear in life is that my Mam would get cancer.

I am not afraid to die. I don't imagine car or plane crashes or drowning at sea. I'm not afraid to fail or make mistakes. I have failed at many things and made more mistakes than I can keep track of. I'm happy in hindsight that I have, since I learnt more about myself through my mistakes and 'failings' that I ever would have if somebody had told me what a broken heart or poor judgement feels like. I am a stronger, better person that I was before.
None of these things instill fear in me. I even find the dark oddly calming, natural even.

Ever since I watched my grandmother wither away to a shadow of herself, enclosed in papery, milky skin, her body riddled with pain and hurt of cancer when I was eleven years old, my greatest fear became that my own mother would get cancer.
Not that she would die from it. Or suffer from it. Just that she would get it in the first place.
And now she has it.

In her beautiful, soft, comforting, mothering breasts. Breasts that fed me, breasts that were a warm cushion as a baby, as a child. Even as a teenager, some heartaches were too much to bear where I couldn't pretend like I didn't care anymore and needed my mother. Her violet blue shirts and warm cardigans wrapped around her chest soaked up my tears until no more could be shed. Ever since I was a little girl, I also associated my mother with this beautiful curvaceous chest of love and warmth.

On my birthday in March I felt invincible for the first time in my life. Everything that I had overcome had passed. I was where I wanted to be and surrounded by such love. For the first time everything had come together. Four days later, Mam told myself and my sisters that she had cancer. In her breast. And my world crumbled entirely. Without realising it, I was frozen to the ground with fear.
It's three months later and I only realised on Sunday the reality of the situation.

I haven't been able to function since that day in March. I have peeled myself off the mattress in the morning and talked my way to the train to get to work. My relationship nearly fell apart because I was a numbed, fearful shadow of myself within a matter of days of finding out. And it took me three months and finally discussing it in gulps of tears with my Mam to realise that my greatest fear has become a reality.

Now that that has happened, I feel that the universe must believe there are more lessons of life in store for me. Many, many other trials and tribulations will no doubt occur in my life, including during Mam's treatment. At least I can take comfort in the fact that even if I barely managed it, I'm still standing. I survived my greatest fear. Now I have to get through each day.

The next two days will test that theory.
Right now as I type, Mam is having both of her beautiful breasts removed, her fifth operation since March.
Tomorrow I'm going to the hospital to see her with her beautiful breasts having been permanently taken away. This is modern medicine and I don't understand it. How can scarring someone like this be modern and advanced? Nevertheless, we will work as a family with love and understanding to work at the rest.

If you've read my other posts, you may be wondering where my man has gone.
He never left.
Even through the last three months of turmoil, even when I thought he would never understand and probably couldn't begin to, he was holding my hand.
He kissed me on the forehead today. On the lips. He held my hand and when he hugged me I swear he was ten feet tall.

My mother may have breast cancer but she's a powerhouse, I've lived through my greatest fear and things will get better. I just have to keep believing that and take time for hugs and kisses and the holding of hands.

Since my last post so much has happened. Some have been excellent. Other events have been very tough. I seemed too busy to write when so many good things were happening all at once I felt like I was going to burst with happiness.

Now I'm back at the keypad. Inspiration comes from the sorest points and writing anonymously is the best therapy I can find right now.

A lot has has happened in the last few months since I last wrote. I had such good intentions to make this blog an integral part of my life each week, factoring in all the details of events and emotions linked with my move up to the Big Smoke.

Good intentions, I have learnt, even more so now, do not a completed blog make. It is a wholly positive thing to have such intentions that inspire and make me happy with thoughts of creativity, expression and more importantly, sharing. I've been beating myself up long enough over my negligence and consciously decided that more procrastination due to disappointment in myself has absolutely no positive affecs on what I want to do or ow much this blog means to me.
There is no way I can even begin to go into the detail that is required to explain the innumberable events, emotions, trivialities, triumphs and heartbreaks so instead, for today, here is a listed summary. And that will have to do.

I started a veggie garden, joined GIY growers in the Co-op and never went, nursed 100s of salad leaves only for them to flower and seed early but wow their flowers are beautiful-yellows and purple veined milky whites. I waited expectantly on organic blue lupins only for them not to arrive at all and delighted in freshly rained on wild rocket that is thriving happily all on its own in the garden. I've gotten a job-after six months of applications I got three interviews in two days. I've moved in with my boyfriend and loved waking up to him and our little routines but have also suffered at the hands of the devil spawn witch that was our letting agent until we broke the lease and got the hell out of there. We have purhased, moved into and now happily cosy and dreamy in a five metre canvas bell tent with stove-even the rain and the howling winds (Ireland in summer). All these things happened and still we kept on trudging and skipping alternately through life.

I thought I had finally had my life the way I wanted it, brimming with love and self confidence on my 26th birthday in March.

Four days later my Dad called and that evening my Mam told us she had cancer.
That's when everything changed.

smoke and mirrors

I'm a rambler. I think alot about different ideas, people, places. This thinking of mine keeps me awake at night. I've travelled to a few countries, some plain, some unusual and have spent many years dreaming about foreign warm blue waters and surf and a quiet life in a little cottage with a veggie garden, some friends, some beers. It has come as quite a suprise then that after doing a permaculture course in the middle of nowhere in Tipperary, that I now live in Dublin city.

For years, I made it clear how much I hated the place, with its traffic, noise, rude mindless shoppers who take out your eye with their umbrellas and pause and side step on front of you as they drift towards another useless clothes sale. The only reason I would ever visit Dublin was to get my city fix. Every two months or so I would get the train up and go on  rampage of the city centre, browsing through second-hand book shops, drinking obnoxious coffee, eating at vegetarian cafes, walking down side streets, gazing in at unusual op-shops and creative hamlet boutiques. By the time it came to catch the evening train I was sick of the place and wouldn't return until I'd had enough of my kip of a small town with it's plain coffees and distinct lack of anywhere to sit comfortably with a book and while away the hours or be inspired to create by passing an interesting shop window.

My friends and family found it interesting that I loved living in Sydney so much then or that I thought Tokyo or Singapore were manageable and interesting, despite their size and that despite those feelings I had to cities, I never liked Dublin. You can start to see my suprise then...

I'd like to say that I moved to the Big Smoke because I am an independent woman who moved of her own accord but of course that wouldn't be entirely true. I can't honestly say that I moved solely to be closer to my man either. That just isn't the case but I'm not going to lie and deny he didn't factor into the decision, if even just a little bit! I decided before doing the permaculture course that I needed a change, somewhere different and challenging, somewhere that was not my hometown. Two days into the course, Dee, my now current housemate, suggested I moved into hers since her housemate was moving out. I decided a few days later that life was too short and that's just what I was going to do. A few days later, the man entered my life. Being closer to him by moving is the cherry on the icing on my cake.

I spent over a month organising the move but when the big day came it was kind of a disaster. When the disaster of emotions and confusion and buried fears of what it means to move somewhere completely different, partly to be closer to someone you really care about, having not been a relationship for five years, or a healthy relationship ever, come in to play, it can be overwhelming. That's what happened from Wednesday to today; I became overwhelmed. The last two months have been some of the best of my life and time has drifted wonderfully in a steady pace of comfort. City pace is, I have found, not exactly my pace and now, with Captain Hindsight by my side, I can see that it's going to take more than a few days to find my feet. I find it amusing now that I was more nervous moving to Dublin, an hour from my home town than I ever was about relocating on my own to New Zealand for a year. I worry more now about finding a job here when I calmly waited five weeks before finding anything in a tiny surf town in NZ. I spend the day recovering from the stress of trying to get somewhere in the city to meet a friend or be home on time to see my housemates. I spend the night restless at how little I've accomplished from my evergrowing Big Smoke Bucket List. I make lists of things I want to do, want to make, want to write, want to see. And then I give out to myself because I only managed to do one or two and was late or missed all the rest. I've been told it many times before that I'm my worst enemy, my harshest critic. On taking the last few days into account, I can see that clearly now.

They say that your partner is a reflection of yourself, they let you see the best in you but also, by reacting to your behaviour or emotions, reveal a great deal about yourself to you. Almost like a mirror then. This evening, I saw myself, my stressed self, through the eyes of my man. It wasn't pretty. There seems to be an unspoken agreement of learning to grow with your partner, through the good, the bad and the ugly. Today I witnessed that. I was relaxed when everything was calm. I gave myself more time than I thought I needed to cook for my housemates, eat dinner and get to my first evening of volunteer work in the city. I thought I was finally getting the hang of things, of city time, of bus times and traffic. I thought wrong. It was when I was rushing like crazy around a kitchen, throwing root vegetables at my man to peel while I willed onions and veggies to cook faster than they naturally are capable of and then giving out to him for burning roasted hazelnuts for the dessert I clearly had no time to make that I thought, "You're really loosing it". And yet he was still calm. I ranted on the bus of how I was never going to get a hold on my life and get control over all this and he was still calm. I stared at a red traffic light on Wicklow St. still trying to exercise my powers of telepathy so I wouldn't be late and still he was there. I ran, holding his hand and stomping the footpath with quick paces, in the wind and the rain, ranting again, looking endlessly for the building, now ten minutes late and he was still calm.

Granted, I had been there to support him when he had a really difficult day yesterday. He said he'd never had someone look out for him like that before but I've never had anyone put up with that much of negative me before. I was aware I was behaving that way but something in me couldn't stop the behaviour and  yet he accepted it and carried on running through the winter wind and rain, remaining calm, holding my hand. Once I got home and tossed and turned for a few hours, I realised just how lucky I am. I am grateful but not in a needy way, where I feel like we now have to play emotional tit for tat for things to be even and fair. I just know that the Big Smoke isn't always going to be easy and I'm not always going to be in my best behaviour all the time. The point of relief is knowing that we all have teething problems when we place ourselves in new situations. Some of my best memories of travelling is when everything went wrong and as I recount the story, I laugh my ass off uncontrollably at how brilliant the whole experience was in hindsight. My friends or family listening to the story always agree, even though they think I'm mad.

The man might think I'm mad. He might think I've lost it and am a self depreciating stressbucket but I also think he must have decided that I'm also human. I think he saw himself in me when he has stressful days that refuse to take off properly, tear at the seams and then crumble in defeat. He is part of the reason I moved to Dublin and though it's just the beginning, I can tell now that he's a bloody fantastic part of the reason. Slowly, I'll clear a path through the smoke of this city and blaze a little trail of my own, a trail of comfort and self assurance and fun. And one where I know I could miss the right bus and fuck the whole day up in an instant but that it's all part of the journey and surely that's far more interesting then a straight line to a known destination right on time.