Moira

I heard your voice in a supermarket the other day, Moira. I turned around, really expecting to see you standing there. The woman who the voice belonged to regarded me quizzically while I stared at her face expecting yours to materialize. For a moment I forgot that you are dead.

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There is no light way to say that. It is what it is.

Dead.

A young life snubbed by a disease no one ever wants to encounter.

Cancer.

I haven’t seen you in person in more than ten years, as you emigrated to Canada ages ago, but I remember your smile and infectious laugh so clearly. And how you used to put your fingers on either side of your tummy when you were pregnant with one of your boys to block their ears if someone swore nearby. You loved your two precious boys, Calvin and Julian, with all your might.

Facebook kept us in touch over the years, albeit superficially. Liking each other’s statuses and oohing and ah-ing at each others’ growing children’s photos. And then Gary was diagnosed with kidney cancer and you told me about your headaches and needing to go for a brain scan. It was nothing really, you said, and that you had tried everything to make the headaches stop. Drugs, physio, nothing helped. So the MRI was a last resort. They found a massive lump in your brain, which turned out to be cancerous. They operated, removed all of it, and you were in good spirits, and then some belated post-surgery complication a while later knocked you for six.

Dead.

It has taken me a few months to digest this, and write this post. Gary’s cancer was still very much an open wound when you died.

Dead.

Just like that.  I still have the last email you sent me; you were so positive: the headaches were gone, you were feeling stronger. Telling me how you had (almost) beaten cancer. You were commending me for being strong during Gary’s ordeal, encouraging me to be positive, even after the huge ordeal you had been through. You were going for radiation and joked about them frying your brain. You were struggling to sleep, but remained so upbeat, despite the doctors also having found lesions on your liver. So positive. Oblivious of the ticking time bomb in your own body.

And then a few days later I saw a mutual friend’s Facebook status: “RIP Moira.” And I was like “WHAT!” A few emails later confirmed the unthinkable. You were gone. Your boys were unmothered.

I think about your boys often, wonder how they are doing without their mom. (One of my biggest fears is dying while my children are still young.)  I think of your husband, I wonder if he feels lonely, or sad, or if he is angry at you for dying. I’m sure they all miss you more than anything. How does a child get over their mom dying prematurely?

I also think of how closely our lives were intertwined for those moments: Gary and you both dealing with cancer.

I still cannot process the fact that you are dead. It rips my soul apart every time I think about it.

Young people shouldn’t die.

Moms shouldn’t die dammit!

RIP Moira. (May God hold you safely in a special place.)

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Three…

My Dear Caris
It seems like just the other day you were a thumpety-thump sound accompanying a grainy blob on a black and white screen. My surprise pregnancy. My “Oh my God, how am I going to tell your father” baby. I can still feel the tears stinging in the corners of my eyes when Professor Nicolaou said, “It’s definitely a girl”. A rose amongst the gang of boys we already had at home. Our very own girl-child, a little princess, a pink one!

If I cast my mind back to those first few weeks after you arrived, I sometimes struggle to find clarity in the memories, as it all seems like a life-time ago. There is definitely some truth in the saying “time flies when you are having fun” as the last three years are all but a blur! But I do remember the softness of your skin, your hair: soft like a puppy’s ears and your tiny fingers (with their teeny, tiny nails) grasping mine. And how much I already loved you when I saw your squashed little nose for the first time as the doctor put you on my chest, only seconds old. I remember how you loved to sleep, and how I used to wonder if we would ever know what colour your eyes were because they were always closed.

And now you are three!

caris 2 days

When I look at you now, it’s hard to imagine a helpless tiny baby, because what I see before me now is a proper little girl. A Big Girl who likes to do everthing “MYSELF!” A confident little lady who loves her dollies and the new Wendy-house. A sweetheart who loves to laugh (an infectious belly-laugh!) and occasionally irritate her big brother Alex (on purpose!)  A chatterbox who loves to talk on the phone, and who has hour long conversations with imaginary friends on the other end.  (Some who are called Salvador and Barcelona!) A little sister who loves her big brothers to the moon and back! A little miss bossy-boots who loves to dish out orders to everyone, including mommy and daddy. A little madam who loves to dress up like a princess (and iron?!?) A little social butterfly who loves to sing and dance and ask endless questions. A little koukla who loves the Greek word “ko-ki-no” and likes to announce it everytime you see anything red.  The sweetest little thing who makes us smile and laugh!

Wendy House

ironing princess

It breaks my heart that you are growing up so fast, and that soon my little Big-Girl will be all grown up, talking on the phone for real and thinking about boys and make-up, instead of baby dolls and lego. So I am savouring the moments of your littleness; of your sweet smiles and requests to “Pick me up!” and ” I wanna sit with you”.

I love you to the moon and back my baby girl. Don’t grow up too fast!

Caris 3rd Birthday

hello kitty princess