I would consider myself a spiritual person.. Born a catholic, but sceptical bout the whole thing. Never been to a psychic or medium, never felt I had or wanted to either. My mother was a teacher, a social worker, a friend, an aunt, a super hero in my eyes. She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis around my 16th birthday. Actually, no she was diagnosed with depression by a shabby doctor, for 3 years of this 'depression' her meds were upped and upped.. Only for the second opinion 3 years later were we actually told that is was MS. Let me go back a bit... We were a family of 6, mam, dad, 3 daughters and 1 brother. As many readers and bloggers would be of an American race, you would be aware of the amount of Irish that emigrated to the states, my father been one of them.. As much as we did not want him to go, purpose been; to get green card and for us all to live.. Happily ever after! Oh how we were wrong. Dad left 1988. I was 6. When mam got diagnosed with 'depression' my father who was still in process of trying to make us a family again had to leave his American life and come home. We were a family once again. I cannot imagine how terrifying it was for her to be told that she had progressive MS.. Those words, that word, 'progressive' sends a shiver down my spine.
She stayed immensely strong through the whole thing.. Me on the other hand, I was 16 when my father came back, I was wild, left school, smoking, drinking and not prepared to have this 'stranger' back in my life. It was hard. My father had spent nearly 10 years trying to make a life for us.. Only to come back to this. It was hard for all of us. When she had been given ye correct diagnoses, my father swore he would find out why the incorrect illness was given, he took the HSE to court. In this country, working class don't matter, simple!!! We lost, we lost his life savings on solicitors and our home. I remember before she was diagnosed, we used to accuse her of drinking because she was losing her balance all the time, I will never forgive myself for that. We faught as a family together and against each other for years, it was inevitable was the outcome would be. She stayed so strong and positive throughout everything, always happy, even though the pain must have been inbareable, what she had been suffering and what she witnessed as the family broke apart. I moved home to care for her with my father. The pressure was getting to him, I could see him snapping, he trusted no one, would not take help from careers or friends. My other sisters and brother had there lives, university, work... They did what they could, although I didn't see it at the time and I was resentful against them. Towards the end of the illness, she was completely bed bound, couldn't walk, could eat, unless fed through a tube, medication crushed and fed through tube. Conscious but not. Her body was failing, we cared for her 24/7. It was 1am in the morning, me and dad had fallen asleep in front of TV. I remember been woken to my dad in tears. He told me that ambulance was on the way. My mother had coughed, ( her reflux was always an issue) and because her swallow was closed she choked on her spit, which the shock had given her a heart attack. She died.
It's so hard to share this. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't play that scene over and over.
She was a teacher, a friend, an aunt, godmother, she was my mother, my hero and it miss her and love her so much. RIP Mairéad Darcy 5/9/10