The Mum's How-To Guide
How do you tell the person you love that you're dying? There is no easy way to do it, no way to soften the blow. However you decide to tell that person is going to break their heart, maybe even break their very soul. That's precisely what happened to the man I love when I told him about it. At first he thought I was joking, although why I would joke about something like that I don't know. And then he refused to believe me. Then he called me a liar. And then he accepted it and held me and wouldn't let me go.
My name is Faye Webb, ex-prostitute and dangerous wild child. Mickey saved my life in so many ways; helping me through escaping from my evil ex, helping me to learn to trust people again, showing me that there is true love in the world. He is my one and only, the one who I could never live without. I always told myself that if he ever died or if something happened to take him away from me forever, I wouldn't be far behind him. That may sound melodramatic to you, but unless you love someone with all your body, mind and soul, you wouldn't understand. Anyway, that was my viewpoint until Erin was born. Erin is our daughter, she's only ten months old but is already the most beautiful person in the whole wide world. She's got my curls, but Mickey's soft blonde hair. My heart, but her father's will. She is the perfect balance of the both of us. As soon as she was born, I realised that if something did happen to Mickey to take him away forever, I would no longer follow him. I would stay and protect my daughter. Its easy saying that when nothing is threatening your life.
While I was carrying Erin, I began getting severe headaches which would render me practically immobile. I would have to go and lay in a dark room with a jug of water besides me with all the painkillers I was allowed. As the pregnancy progressed it got worse and worse, and just a few weeks before Erin was born, I had a fit. I was rushed to hospital and subjected to numerous, painful tests. I stayed in overnight; Mickey was with me the whole time, always holding my hand, wiping away my tears, cuddling me close to him. The next morning, we got the life changing news that in a way I had been expecting. The doctor stood at the foot of my bed with a grave expression on her face. I knew what was happening. I knew I was dying and there was nothing could be done. My thoughts immediately went to my husband who was clinging to my hospital gown, one hand over my vast stomach, the other curled around my neck, his tears wetting the gown. The doctor said she was very sorry, but the tests had come back showing I had a tumour. In my brain. Because of where the tumour was, they wouldn't be able to remove it without killing me. They told me that already the tumour had progressed. As well as being in my brain, it had spread to my spinal cord. There was nothing they could do. The area of my brain which was affected, the temporal lobe, would make me forget words, suffer short term memory loss, and wreck havoc with my emotions. As the doctor reeled off all this information, I did not cry. I sat very still, staring straight ahead, not looking at Mickey or my bump, knowing if I did, I would never be able to stop crying. As the doctor finished talking and apologised again, I thanked her. And then the realisation hit me. I was going to die. Soon.
I might not see my baby reach their first birthday. I definitely wouldn't see them on their first day of school, or when they first start secondary school, or when they become a teenager, and then an adult. I wouldn't see them fall in love, or share all their hopes and dreams with me. I wouldn't see them marry their soul mate like I had married mine. I wouldn't see them feverishly excited on the arrival of their own child. I wouldn't see my grandchildren. But more than that, I only had limited months to spend with my husband. My Mickey. My knight in shining armour. Whatever was I going to do? It wasn't enough time, I needed more time with him. I had only had him for four years; it was nowhere near long enough. My mind raced back through the last four years spent with him, and I realised at that point, although I hadn't had nearly enough time with him as I wanted, we had crammed so much love and life into those four years to fill a lifetime and my afterlife. We would be ok. I was determined that we would.
Erin's day of birth came a month and a half after my diagnosis. She was perfect, absolutely beautiful. She was healthy and gorgeous and loud. She liked to make her presence known that was for sure. As soon as she was born, I held her tight in my arms, whispering to her that although soon I would be gone and she wouldn't remember me, I would make sure that she had things to remind her of me, and to show her the kind of person I was. When Mickey held our daughter for the first time, I knew he would be ok, eventually. He had this little person to concentrate on when I was gone. A person who had little pieces of me running through her, who would give him some of me when he needed it most. Soon it would be Mickey and Erin, not Mickey, Faye and Erin that I wished so hard it could be. Sadly I thought that the first memories my daughter would have of me would be through her father's words and not through her own experiences. I would be dead by the time she would be able to remember anything. Although this deeply saddened me, it also made me think of something to help both her and my husband through.
The day I was released from hospital with Erin, it had just stopped raining. I breathed in, and my nose was assaulted with the strong smells of wet grass and damp Earth, smells that I loved. Fresh smells. Smells that made you glad you were alive to experience them. We got Erin settled into her sunshine yellow nursery, and within a few weeks, we had a routine. Mickey had gone into work for the last time, not that anyone but him had known it at the time. When he came back, he told me he had gone into the DI's office ready to just say he was quitting, but as soon as the DI had asked him what was wrong he hadn't been able to stop crying. He told the DI everything, about my tumour, about the intensity of it, about my upcoming death. The DI had been brilliant according to Mickey, and had told him that of course he had to stay with me and Erin until...until the time had come when I wasn't here anymore. The morning that Mickey had gone to see the DI, I had taken Erin out in her pram and walked into town like any new mother wanting to show her beautiful baby off. This walk into town did have a hidden agenda though; I was going to prepare myself, my husband and my daughter for the end of my life. I stopped off in a stationary store first, buying a big black box completely covered in silver glitter. It reminded me of the stars in the night sky. Then I bought an A5 black leather diary and some silver pens, some envelops and delicate butterfly surrounded letter paper. My next stop was at a jewellery store. I picked out a thin silver chain, with a silver diamante encrusted heart covered with another heart, but this one had 18 engraved in it. Then I stopped at the electrical superstore, buying a video camera, some blank tapes and a music player. I was prepared. Now to go home and get to work.
It was the hardest thing I had ever had to do. Much harder than selling my body to disgusting sweaty men with odour issues, much harder than being beaten up by my so called boyfriend. I had filled the music player I had bought with all my favourite songs, the song that was the theme to my wedding to Mickey, our first dance song, and songs that I hoped would help my daughter through the times she thought she needed me. That was the first thing that went into my starry box. Next came the locket in its pretty box. I got my favourite perfume from my room, opened the box, and did a light spritz of the perfume onto the locket. I shut the pretty box and placed it in the bigger box next to the music player. Next came the video camera. I set it up on some boxes in Erin's nursery. I sat down in the rocking chair I had bought for the nursery with Erin asleep in my arms. I pushed the record button. At first I didn't know what to say, and then it just came. I said to my daughter who was currently in my arms that I was making a video for her future for when I wasn't here anymore. I spoke to my daughter as if she was already a beautiful adult stood right in front of me, giving her tips and advice for her first days at school to boys, to love, to life and to living. I told her some funny stories. I told her some of my experiences. I told her the story of her father and I. When I had filled one tape, I took it out, labelled it and placed it in the starry box. I then put my baby daughter in her crib, picked up an old battered book which had been my favourite story as a child and settled down in the rocking chair again. I pressed record again, and began to read the story to the camera, so my daughter always had something to soothe her to sleep if she needed it. Once that tape was filled, it went in the box with the other trinkets. The next thing to go in was my engagement ring. I wanted her to have it, so she could wear it, and then pass it on to her daughter and so on. I slipped it off my finger, placed in a tiny bag, and put it in the box. I checked that Erin was fast asleep and turned the monitor in her room on before scooping up the box and heading for the dining room.
I got out the leather diary and began to write. I wrote advice for Mickey, helpful little tips, sentiments, memories I had of him, my hopes for his future, and my hopes for Erin's future. I poured my heart into the diary until it was full of my neat handwriting. I picked up my perfume once again and sprayed some of the pages, so that when Mickey opened it, he would know that I was right there with him. The diary went into the box. Finally came the letters to the two most important people in my world. I wrote Erin's letter for her first, which she would not be allowed to open until her 18th birthday. I told her that I was sorry that I had left her at such a young age, I encouraged her to not let my death be an excuse for her to use in later life, I told her what a beautiful baby she was, and how she would no doubt be a beautiful woman as well. I told her to always look after her dad, because he would need her as much as she needed him. I told her never to fear anything, not even death. I told her I loved her. I spritzed the letter with my perfume, sealing it, addressing it to Erin Faye Webb on the front, and then slid it into the nearly full box. Mickey's letter. Where to begin. I love you seemed to be a good place to start. I apologised profusely that I was leaving him when he needed me so much, I told him that I was scared not of dying, but of leaving him. I told him that he had saved my life and made me into the sort of person I never thought I could be. I told him that he had taught me some of life's greatest lessons. I told him that when we married I thought we had our whole life together, and even though we had only had a few years, they had been the best. I told him to never give up, to protect our daughter fiercely, to not treat my death as a taboo, to always listen to her if she wanted to talk about me. I ended it with how I had begun, with I love you. I signed it, kissed the paper and sprayed it with perfume as I had with everything else. I addressed it to him, and placed it on top of Erin's letter. The final things to go in the box were my battered storybook and photos of me and Mickey, of Erin just after she'd been born in my arms, in her father's arms. Finally, a family picture, me holding Erin, Mickey with one arm around my shoulders and the other resting on the wrapped bundle in my arms. As I placed them in the box, I shed some tears.
Once the lid was on the box, I got another family picture of me, Mickey and Erin and stuck it on top of the box. I placed the box in Erin's nursery on the side table next to the rocking chair, before checking on my daughter and waiting for Mickey to come home. That was the hardest day of my life.
When Erin was ten months old, I knew my life was drawing to a close. It was amazing I had lasted this long, according to my doctor. But I knew I had to survive as long as possible for my family. On a clear wintry night when Erin was fast asleep, I begged Mickey to take me outside. I was pretty much bed bound now, too weak to move a lot. Mickey didn't want to take me outside, didn't want me to catch my death from a cold. I couldn't help but laugh when he said that. He smiled as well, gently sitting me up in bed before layering jumper after jumper on my frail frame. He wrapped a blanket round me, placed my feet in cosy boots, and then very gently picked me up in his arms. He kicked open the back door and walked to the middle of the garden. He set me down on the grass before lying down, pulling me close to his chest. His head rested on mine, our fingers entwined in between us. I looked at the sky, looked at the full moon and the glinting stars. I knew this was it. My last night on the wonder that is Earth. I didn't tell Mickey this, I knew he would have panicked and wouldn't have been able to cope. I knew I just had to slip away peacefully. As I inhaled the sharp cold air, a smile found its way onto my face. Mickey noticed and asked what I was smiling for. I turned to him, caressing his cheek with my hand. Life, I told him, I'm smiling for life. A short while after, he carried me back to bed. He tucked the covers up under my chin, and he kissed me. He went to check on our baby Erin. I shut my eyes, got comfy, took a deep breath, and let go of life.