‘I’ve six months to live’ - the words that turned my life upside down

Rachel O’Neill knew her mother had terminal cancer, but there was never a timeline put on it

Rachel O’Neill with her mother Marie: ‘No matter what happens, a mother’s love lasts forever’

Rachel O’Neill with her mother Marie: ‘No matter what happens, a mother’s love lasts forever’

 

“I’ve six months to live.”

Five words that turned my life upside down.

I always knew that terminal cancer was something I would have to deal with. But because there was never a timeline put on it, it was something I didn’t have to think about. Sure, Mum had incurable cancer, but it wasn’t something that was going to affect me right this second.

And then suddenly it was there, affecting every part of my life.

In the time it took to say those five little words, my entire status changed. I was no longer someone whose mother was sick, I was someone whose mother was dying. Life as I knew it was officially on pause.

Suddenly, the “how’s your Mum doing?” questions become a lot harder to answer. I’m a very open person which means everyone tends to know everything that goes on in my life. I’m also a terrible liar. If someone asks me how Mum is doing, I will answer it very honestly. So honestly, that it can make people uncomfortable. I’ve had people squirm after I’ve told them that Mum is dying. I’ve had people shuffle awkwardly from foot to foot, desperately thinking of something to say that won’t upset me or them.

Now I’ve adopted a very simple tactic to counteract the awkwardness. I minimise what’s going on by joking about it instead.

Minimise, minimise, minimise.

Never let people see how badly you are struggling with it. I must never drop the facade that I’m managing to hold it together when in reality this is the worst thing I’ve ever had to face.

To make people comfortable, I tell them that my mother is dying and follow it with a quick “it’s fine”. I’ve joked about how I might finally be able to get on the property ladder with the inheritance. I quickly change the subject when I can feel people getting nervous, even if I’m bursting to talk about what’s happening. I’ve done everything I can to make people feel more comfortable around me because if I can joke about it, it means they can relax a little.

Nobody is truly comfortable with death.

Despite the fact that we “do death well” in Ireland, it’s still a subject that many of us won’t talk about. Confronting the fact that someday, we will cease to be here is something we’ll spend a lifetime trying to come to terms with. Many of us never do.

Knowing that myself and Mum have so little time left together is hard. I am terrified of regret, of saying the wrong thing, of not asking the right questions, of not making enough of our time together. It now feels like every conversation feels like it has to be meaningful in some way. I feel like if a moment with her isn’t memorable, I’ve wasted it. It’s a suffocating pressure to be under.

What has stood out to me is the endless kindness I’ve experienced from every corner of my life

The pressure manifests itself in many ways. For example, I’ve been in a perpetual state of anticipatory grief for the last few months. I’m grieving the life we won’t have together. I’m grieving that she won’t see me get married or meet her grandchildren. I’m grieving the advice she won’t be able to give me, the questions I won’t be able to ask her and the adventures she will never get to have.

That is a very painful process which your body does everything to protect yourself from. I’m constantly tense because I’m bracing myself for an impact that I know is coming, despite not being sure when it’ll hit. I feel like if I can process this pain now, it won’t be as painful when the inevitable comes. It’s the only way I know how to prepare for what’s coming.

Some people struggle to understand my approach. Some have even said to me that I need to move past the grief. They’ve said that my mum needs me to be upbeat and strong for her. To me, that feels fake. Anxiety and depression are in my DNA so worrying about the future and being down about it are things I’m very used to doing. It’s a coping mechanism that some people just don’t understand. They feel that I’m doing Mum a disservice, that I should pretend to be okay when in reality I am struggling badly with everything that’s happening. What I say to those people is that there’s no “right” way to grieve. It’s a uniquely personal process, best left to those undergoing it.

What has stood out to me over the past few months is the endless kindness I’ve experienced from every corner of my life. People offering food, time, shoulders to cry on and a kind ear to listen. People encouraging me to open up when I can and who treat me like a normal human being when I can’t. The empathy and kindness have been utterly overwhelming but serves as a reminder that people really do care. It gives me hope that when I come out the other side of this, I’ll have people who will help me build myself back up again.

Having discussed with Mum what happens when this is all over, she told me something that I’ll hold dear to my heart forever.

“Just let yourself be loved. It’s no more than you deserve and always carry with you that you are my beloved child. Always and forever.”

No matter what happens, a mother’s love lasts forever.

Of that, I am absolutely certain.

The Irish Times Logo
Commenting on The Irish Times has changed. To comment you must now be an Irish Times subscriber.
SUBSCRIBE
GO BACK
Error Image
The account details entered are not currently associated with an Irish Times subscription. Please subscribe to sign in to comment.
Comment Sign In

Forgot password?
The Irish Times Logo
Thank you
You should receive instructions for resetting your password. When you have reset your password, you can Sign In.
The Irish Times Logo
Please choose a screen name. This name will appear beside any comments you post. Your screen name should follow the standards set out in our community standards.
Screen Name Selection

Hello

Please choose a screen name. This name will appear beside any comments you post. Your screen name should follow the standards set out in our community standards.

The Irish Times Logo
Commenting on The Irish Times has changed. To comment you must now be an Irish Times subscriber.
SUBSCRIBE
Forgot Password
Please enter your email address so we can send you a link to reset your password.

Sign In

Your Comments
We reserve the right to remove any content at any time from this Community, including without limitation if it violates the Community Standards. We ask that you report content that you in good faith believe violates the above rules by clicking the Flag link next to the offending comment or by filling out this form. New comments are only accepted for 3 days from the date of publication.