It has been a difficult day.

My mother who is 93 years old is suffering from emphysema. She is a VERY strong, determined woman. She thinks she is invincible, and that she can defy death. Despite many setbacks in her health, she has so far managed to do so. This time last year she nearly died, after she caught a chest infection.

However, lately, she can hardly move from her chair because of breathing difficulties. It has all been very very complicated though. But today she had the Community Matron call on her for the first time. The Community Matron talked to her about death and dying. My mother hated that. In her book she is not going to die. She doesn’t want to think about her death or where she wants to go to die. She was asked if she wanted to be resuscitated. This upset her greatly. I think she was angry.

The Matron told her that she is in the end stage of her emphysema. She left her a book on the end stage of emphysema. My mother was very upset and refuses to look at it. She may even hide it, knowing my mother.

There was much much more, but the sum total of it is that my mother is probably going to die soon.

Some of you know, from what I have written in the past, that she has been a highly abusive mother. She has done some very cruel things to me.

However, today I cried. Desperately. I still love her, whatever she has done to me.

I have veered, all my lufe, towards cutting myself off from her for ever, and I dud, for long periods of my life. But when I got cancer she re-entered my life. However, her abuse continued even then on a big scale. I felt that if I recovered, I never ever wanted to see her again.

But she is my mother. And she is dying.

I came home this evening and wrote a poem about death. About control, and who will win. Of course, however much my mother wants to, she cannot control death. In the end she will lose control. This is her one biggest fear. Losing control. But she will have no choice.

I do not know how long this process is going to be. I know I am dreading her death. I am dreading seeing her suffer. Some people will think I am mad. But this is me.

My poems etc, may contain stuff about death, my mother, and this situation. Let us see what happens. X


When death comes it creeps
As if not wanting to be seen
Silently it wends its way
In many different attires
Bringing you to your knees
Never speaking its name
Or is it you
That does not want to speak its name
For fear of rousing it
To speak it is to know it
But you do not want to know
And yet……….
Deep inside you know its name
Know it is coming
The one thing that you cannot win over
The one thing that you cannot control
And oh, how you have controlled, all your life
But now is the big showdown
And we all know who will win


In the passage where time waits
I stumble
Trying not to look back
Afraid to look forwards
A blockage has occurred
Thrashing around I try to kill time
And find
That it is an illusion
A construct
Made to control us
Trip us up
“I haven’t got time,” you say
No, you don’t have time
You have eternity