Mothering Sunday.

Oh well, I just haven't been able to keep up my diary lately, no excuses really. Yesterday was such a lovely day though, and it occurred to me that I'm letting all these days go by without marking them in any way. That's how life just slips by, I guess. I don't mean to sound at all melancholy, but what with poor Natasha Richardson's tragic accident last week, and then Jade Goody's well-publicized early departure, it just makes me more conscious of my mortality. And wasn't it terribly poignant that Jade Goody should die in the early hours of Mother's Day? Poor little thing, she was only 27, and hadn't had much of a start in life. She was a character, and didn't give a fig for the rest of the world. I cringed every time I heard her talking, but she did her best with the gifts she had been given. Personally, I can't bear the thought of her boys, and Natasha Richardson's boys, growing up without their Mothers. It brought back my own experience with awful clarity. When my brain tumour was diagnosed, I was sent home to make a will and make arrangements for the care of my two children because no-one could guarantee that I would survive the operation. And even if I did, they were pretty sure that I would be disabled in some way. It was quite clear that my ex-husband didn't expect me to survive either (and was rather hoping that I wouldn't). He clearly expected to take over both my house and the children, though he did make the mistake of telling me that his wife-to-be probably wouldn't want the children, and that therefore they would be sent away to school. (Bear in mind that they were then eighteen months and three and three quarters!) It was a tough week, not least because I was feeling pretty ill by then, but I did make a will, and made sure that he wouldn't get his hands on either the children or the house. Luckily my Sister and some of my good friends were prepared to make sure of that. Not only that, but I was determined to survive because I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing my children grow up. Even now, when they are 27 and 29, remembering it just tears me apart.

Anyway, survive I did, against all the odds, and I vividly remember waking up after the operation and realizing that I was actually alive. I was on a trolley in Intensive Care, and though I couldn't move an inch, I felt such a surge of joy that I could have jumped off that trolley and run around the room. I was so lucky. Poor Jade wasn't - and I do hope her little boys will be loved and cared for as she would have wished. Poor Natasha wasn't either, and didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to her children. My heart goes out to them, and to her grieving family. How lucky we are, those of us who have survived what life throws at us. And how wonderful life is. Isn't it? I surely am one lucky Mother.