Part one: This month my world got turned upside down and everything changed. It started with my mum feeling poorly and run down, then there was the scan which showed the abnormal lump in her pancreas, and then there was that conversation with the doctor. 6 months.

She's my mummy, she was meant to be my free child care for years to come, she was meant to wear a ridiculous hat to my wedding and she was meant to bring me at least 1000 more cups of tea. But now this doctor is telling me everythings going to be different to how I imagined. 

And what can I do about it? Absolutely nothing. There is no way I can fix this. Walking the dog had started to become a therapy for me and Jessie, getting out the house and into the fresh air helped clear our heads a little.

So putting this together with my growing need to be able to focus on something, we decided to go on a little walk and hopefully raise some money for a charity I imagine will help us a lot over the next few money. 

Lots of people have asked over the past few weeks if there is anything they can do, well this is it. A few pennies so waddling a marathon through the Surrey Hills doesn't seem like quite such a silly idea! 

Part Two: After a week or so of trying to get back to normality and pretend that everything isn't a terrible as it actually is I get the message that I knew was coming but never wanted. The 48 hour warning from the doctors. So here we all are as a family 24 hours in. But the problem is, no one ever tells you what to do in this situation. I don't have the emotional range to deal with this sort of thing so can only seem to use inappropriate humour to discuss the situation. And do you just sit and watch my poor mum struggling to breath, which would just piss her off, or try to carry on as normal as you can?! Why isn't there a guide book for this sort of thing. Visitors hoping for tears and sorrow just get us lot struggling and going "yeah its pretty shit". And messages of support tend to just remind me that the situation is real instead of being able to pretend it's not as bad as it is. I think the leaflet entitled "coping with dying" left on the table has been my favorite. Have also learnt I do not have the skill set to be a carer as too scared, chief head stroker and cook are more my area of expertise.

Part three: Everyone says that cancer destroys people's bodies, I don't think I ever really understood what that meant. I had a question which a bit like a timid child I had to ask, how will she die, as in what will actually happen. No one tells you that, I was slightly concerned it would be some horrible dramatic scene. In reality what happens it your body shuts down and slowly but surely you just stop breathing. Peaceful, but I'm not sure is peaceful the right word?! It's not very peaceful as by that point the person that you once loved is a scary shell. Then the questions start, how are you how you feeling how you coping, the honest answer is I dunno. Sometimes I forget everything and it all seems fine, sometimes it's all terrible and most of the time I don't feel much. It's very confusing to adjust to the fact that I don't have a mummy anymore. A month ago she was fine, even yesterday morning she was speaking to me. In a way I think we were lucky that it was all so quick, I'm not sure I'd have been able to do it for months. That's the key thing at the moment, finding the small positives. She's with her mum now, we were all there, it wasn't long or messy. Just like my mummy never wanting to be a bother she waited until the doctor was already in the house. Now its time to listen to the I'm sorrys and try to work out what the hell has happened this month.

Part four: I realised something today, I think I'm scared of the funeral. A few people have told me it all gets more real after the funeral and that's when the real grieving starts. But I don't want any of this to be real. I've spent the last week and a bit trying to get my head round it and I still can't. I just try and think about other things and change the subject in my head when it all starts to get too much. I've been told I'm being so strong and brave, but I'm not sure if trying to ignore my feelings is being brave. Maybe the people who embrace it and cry non stop for a week are brave. Or maybe this situation is just so shit and unfair there is no "brave" way to handle any of this. I guess I just have to wait and see if it does get harder. All I know is I miss my mummy.

Part five: How am I? Completely exhausted. After going back to work for a week and trying to get back to a normal routine I'm just knackered all the time. I could quite happily sleep for 14 hours a day. But I can't. Being so tired all the time is making it hard to be a nice person. I am grumpy and anti social and I just want to lie in my bed and snooze. So that's the jist of how I am. 

But enough about me...I want to tell you about the woman behind all of this. Mummy Jackson. Most of my friends will have met my mum at some point because of her easy open house policy. She never minded who came or went, she was always happy having extra bodies in the house. My closest friends would call her mummy two, because she loved all of them like her own. She had so much love to share with the world. She'd complain about people telling her their life stories and all their problems but deep down she loved it. She liked being there for people and making the lonely lost people feel like they had someone there for them. She was honest, sometimes too honest. We were shopping once on one of our favourite girly shopping trips and she told me "that might look nice, if you lost some weight"....which obviously resulted in my throwing a strop and her feeling guilty. Or the day she dropped us off and a friend said "I think I'm gonna lose something" and mummy said "well it won't be your virginity". She left us to make our mistakes and stupid decisions but was always there afterwards when we came home in tears after something went wrong. Over the years she became my friend not just my mum, which I think is what every mother and daughter aim for. I loved just chatting with her, calling her to let her know the latest gossip or ask advice on adult decisions I wanted adult supervision to make. Even when she first went to hospital we spent hours chatting and she told me how much she loved our girly talks. I guess a lot of who I am is down to who she was, she was a ruddy good mummy.

Part six: Sometimes this whole thing is just too much. I'll be doing something perfectly mundane and everyday like changing the bed and I remember and it's like a kick to the chest. It's just too much that she's gone and will never come back. I never get to see her again. And I can't even begin to understand it. Some days it's ok and I can be positive and see the silver linings a bit easier. Some days all I can see is the bloody massive black cloud. I can be like a crazy lady with the smallest thing making me cry like a child. I guess this is grief. 

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