I've always used this as a place to put things to rest, and thinking about it today there will probably come a time when I stop writing it. It will have served its purpose. I hope that by helping myself I've also helped others.

For there are an awful lot of people out there that have had similar experiences to me, and many that have had a lot worse. The one thing that this has done is introduced me to people I would never have met, they've written to me and shared a part of their lives. Who’d have thought that by writing slash stories my life would have changed so much.

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It was seven years yesterday since my mum died. Strangely enough the anniversary of her passing doesn’t affect me. Yes, I shed a few tears last night when I look some flowers up to the grave, but nothing compared with what I’m like on Christmas Day.

For ages I actually felt guilty about that; it’s not as if I don’t miss her after all. It took a while for me to accept and understand the reason for it. She suffered an awful lot in her life and slowly as the illness took control she became more and more debilitated. I can’t feel sad that her pain ceased and I’ll even admit that a part of me was relieved that I didn’t have to watch her suffering anymore.

We’d been away for the day; it was the Sunday before Easter. Youngest had won a silver medal for Vault in the regional gymnastic competition and we were all in good spirits. We called in on the way home to show off the medal and found out that she’d had sickness and diarrhoea, so I went over earlier that night to get her into bed.

When I went over the following morning I found she’d been ill all night, dad was shattered and whilst I was there he went back to bed for a bit. In the end I called the doctor, who came out straight away. By this time she was dehydrated and not really with it. He wanted her to go to hospital – she insisted that she wasn’t going.

Which to be honest is understandable; hospitals are useless at giving basic care. Especially to those with disabilities. The last time she had been in I’d visited after work to find her lunch and tablets on the table at the bottom of her bed. At that point in her life she could only just about feed herself. She couldn’t get in and out of bed, she couldn’t even sit up in bed by herself - we needed to lift her. And the nursing staff knew this. So I did what any daughter would do; I hit the roof. No, I wasn’t rude and I didn’t swear. But I can assure you I got my point across and she was looked after properly for the rest of her stay. She wasn’t one of life’s moaners, my mum. So she wouldn’t cause a fuss and hence she got forgotten by the staff. That was the worse part about her illness - she said it robbed her of her dignity. Her body was useless, but her mind unaffected.

The only way I could get her to agree to go into hospital was to promise that I wouldn’t leave her there by herself. I would stay with her the whole time; then if she needed the bedpan it wouldn’t be a problem. She was in hospital until the Easter Saturday. Several times during that stay we came close to losing her. I’ve boxed away those memories now and I’ll not revisit them again. I think I survived on a few hours sleep in a chair at night. My aunt stayed the one night with me - then when mum cried out she went to her. Knowing she was there I could relax and sleep for a few hours. I was living on adrenalin.

I wouldn’t go home - I’d made a promise and come hell and high water I was keeping it. That was mum’s fault I afraid. When I was growing up, she only made me a promise if she knew she could keep it. If she was unsure then she’d always said ‘I’ll try’. She taught me that a promise to someone meant something.

Eventually it was agreed she could come home and for a while I thought we’d got through it. She’d come close to death many times in her life and the doctors had warned us on more than one occasion; but she’d fought it off. My dad tried to tell me that she’d been sent home because the end was close. I just refused to believe it.

That Saturday morning when we got home she was like her old self. She could even hear properly again, arthritis had affected her hearing for years. We laughed and joked the whole morning. I went to do some shopping and found a picture frame that I knew she would like - so I brought it as an Easter present. She was over the moon with it and told me exactly which picture she wanted in it. One of me taken at Halech Castle; it was the first holiday that Himself and I had together. I’m stood in the turrets, the wind blowing my hair all over the place and I’m laughing. She told me that was how she liked to see me.

By late afternoon she said she was feeling tired and in pain again; so she asked me to put her to bed. She never got up again after that. Between the Saturday she came home from hospital and the Tuesday that she passed away, I went from praying for a miracle to save her, to begging that she be released from the pain. I won’t say I’m a religious person but at times like that you want to believe.

I even went into work on the Tuesday morning for an hour to sort things out, it’s stupid some of the things that you do. I spent the rest of the day sat with her. My dad had been wonderful with caring for her over the years, but he couldn’t cope with the end. He just popped in occasionally for a few minutes.

It was my friend Tracy that sat with me. And it wasn’t a sad time. We laughed, joked and talked to her as if she could hear us. Himself and the children popped in and out all day and several of my mum’s close friends visited as well. Her oldest friend hadn’t even arrived home before she died; it was as if she waited for everyone to say goodbye. A few minutes before she passed she opened her eyes - it gave us enough time for Tracy to fetch my dad. The end was quiet and after years of pain and suffering it was a release. She passed peaceful and with dignity, I could ask for no more than that.