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.

new friends in the unlikeliest of places

Writing a second post on your first ever blog is similar now I think to writing that second album after your first, your heart-opener, your soul, your honest admittance to your naive mistakes in life, is put on display willingly. I have thought of several topics, ideas and anecdotes to write about since. Many, I feel, will now make the cut. Anecdotes from train journeys, waiting for buses and road trips will feature no doubt. As will talks of my obsession for surfing and far flung destinations. You will read about Raglan, a small town of wonder filled with the best people you will ever meet. You may read the word Raglan so many times you'll want to bash my head in but I'll accept that and keep writing about it because that magical place will always stay with me and hopefully not solely in my heart and soul. Hopefully, I'll get to go back there again. Soon.


Something more important has come up. I spoke with my mother today. For several hours, infact. You will come to know that this has not always come easy to me; our relationship hasn't always been an open one of easy communication or understanding. There have been slammed doors, name-calling, distrust, loud angry retaliatory music and bitterness. It has become one of my happiest and proudest realisations in the last while that we are capable of communicating effectively and even, lovingly. Despite the bitterness we always loved each other. We just couldn't see the love for a while there. I can't speak for her, all I know is that I was not willing to admit that the reason we get on so well now, though we still have our moments of course, is that we are very alike. I remember being asked by my Irish teacher, in preparation for our Irish oral exam, to describe my family and my relationship with each member. I remember telling her, a woman who made a point never to smile in class and only show dissatisfaction as an emotion, that myself and my mother didn't get along. I told this woman, who I respected greatly but had no need for such honest discussion, that we didn't get along because we, my mother and I, were so alike.


I forgot about that conversation from seven years ago until today as I sat in my parent's kitchen, trying to indirectly tell her about my concerns over this whole move to the Big Smoke. I wanted to tell her I was happy but afraid, eager for future changes and developments in this new life of mine but scared what that meant. It took me a while but I got there in the end. I was calm. I didn't cry, though I know she would have comforted me easily if I had. She was really busy today and was about to get up and get back to her paper work but seemed to sense something unfinished in my tone or demeanor. I saw her recognise something timid and a little frightened hidden in my talk and she sat back in her chair, hands on her lap, looked me in the eye and without actually saying anything, I knew she was ready to listen to whatever I had to say in whatever roundabout way I was planning to say it.


I told her how I'd realised many things about myself and my life in the last week; how I'd never had a healthy relationship ever and how anxious I was to make sure I didn't fuck up this one. It means too much to me to do that. I told her how I love living in Dublin and am happy I made this move but how I'd only realised after the fact that I had literally overhauled my life. I live in a new house, with new friends, have a new boyfriend, in a new city and am looking for a new job. That's pretty big. I realised talking to her that she was listening intently. I ramble alot and have an idea a day of something new to do with my life. My career, hobbies, travel plans can all change from morning to night and so I appreciate and understand when my mother, exhausted from communting back from college or work, glazes her eyes over when she realises it's going to be another one of those conversations. I may not be fully appreciative of her temporary apathy at the time but I can always understand it in hindsight. This is different. This move and the decisions I have made are different. Yes I could change my mind in the morning, drop the whole thing and move to Hawaii if I wanted. That's just it though: I don't want to. I want each of these choices to work out. The fear isn't boredom, the fear is losing so much if my best isn't good enough. If I can't get a job and make rent. If I can't be a calm girlfriend who's enjoyable to be around. If. If. If. So much indecision and anxiety is exhausting. Even typing this and revisiting those anxious feelings is exhausting.


If someone had asked me even two years ago what kind of relationship I have with my mother, I would hesitate to answer, since there was always an unsettling, history-laden answer that was never fun to admit. After today, even after the last few weeks, my answer has undeniably changed. I rarely confided in her and never about boyfriends. Then the man came along and I found myself acting like a school girl telling my best friend about how sweet he was, how much fun we had, what our plans for the week were and what we spent hours talking to each other about . I was giddy and confiding in a friend, my mother. Then he came down to visit and meet Mam and Dad and to my suprise, Mam and the man got on so well. They each made an effort on my behalf but only initially it seemed. After that, both seemed to enjoy chatting to each other and when she dropped us back to the train station after our stay, she made an honest statement of being delighted to finally meet him. I could tell she was making an effort but that she also genuinely meant it. My heart soared.


In such a short space of time, so much has changed, for the better. My indecision and anxiety is ridiculous in one way but necessary in another. I needed to realise what I was doing, messing with my head, overthinking, overanalysing, in order to appreciate the calm and appreciate the patient, listening ear of my mother. I needed to stop worrying about the 'if's'. When I got home, back to my new house in the Big Smoke I felt like I was home. The house was toasty warm and I had energy and a buzz to chat away to Dee. All week I had thought how together she had her life, how energized she was but she has actually been wrecked and overcommited. We agreed we both needed to relax. She went to her music session in the city. Instead of beating myself up about not wanting to rush to yoga, I relaxed in our cozy living room with a dvd and yummy food. I looked after myself and relaxed and it felt amazing.


I didn't stress or kick myself about the list of things that needed to be done. I didn't set myself up for self-depreciation. I spent my time looking out for myself instead of thinking of the 'if's'. I thought about how lucky I am to have such fantastic housemates. I thought about my man's smile, the way he interlaces his strong hands in mine when we cuddle and how confidently he talks about things that interest him. I thought about how fun it will be to get the dart out to the beach in cold winter wind and brave another swim at the fourty foot. I thought about how lucky I am that after so many years of denial, my mother is now one of my  best friends and how I shouldn't beat myself up about trying to remind myself of how lucky I am all the time. Instead, I'm going to take the luck and the fond memories as they come and enjoy them as they happen, just as they are.