It was my mum's birthday on the 7th of April

while we were away camping. Unfortunately, my mum died way back in 1998.

Being away made it easier for me.

What made it harder was that my sister and I would normally chat on the phone the day/night of her birthday. That didn't happen either. I was hoping against hope that Christine would have rung me (and knowing that my mobile was out of range I was hoping for a missed call or message when we got back to civilisation.) None on the mobile....and when I got home - no message there either. Don't know why I expected one in retrospect....

Anyway, my mother's name was Patricia Margaret Geikowski (nee Lynch). She died on the first 0f June 1998 - just 17 days before Bronte was born.

She was a loving mum, kind hearted and always interested in her kids and grandchildren. She loved us all.

I remember her smiling face.

Mum had not been well for quite some time. She suffered from adult onset diabetes and was insulin dependant. She was a smoker. She wasn't a drinker. She was overweight but had been a lot heavier in her younger days. She had gastric banding many years before. She was never that happy in herself but as the youngest of 5, I never really knew that.

Anyway, mum and dad lived in Bairnsdale (country Victoria) where my sister Christine, her husband Joe and one of my brothers Michael, his wife Leonie and their two children Morgan and Daniel lived.

Mum had been getting stomach pains for quite some time. Apparently she thought it was cancer.

I went up to Bairnsdale with Samuel and Zachary for a week and spent time with mum and dad. We had a nice time, we took mum to Lakes Entrance for a drive, we walked along the beach. She laughed with the boys. It was nice.

Here is the last photo I took of mum. I love it. Don't forget to click on it to see a larger view. She loved my boys. She would have loved Bronte so much too.

We returned to Melbourne. Get on with things.

I get a call a couple of weeks later, mum is in Bairnsdale hospital. She is very sick. They have to operate on her stomach. It is a burst ulcer and it is really serious. I am eight months pregnant with Bronte. Anyway, she is critical and they Helicopter her down to the Royal Melbourne Hospital and I meet her there. When I see her I cry. I am there by myself - I think it was late at night. Stan is home with the boys. I can't remember details really but I remember feelings and kinds of snap shot images.

It doesn't look like mum. She has tubes everywhere and she looks not like mum. I stay for a few hours. They say to go home they will call in the morning.

Dad is still in Bairnsdale as are my sister and brother. I have another brother, Stephen who lives in Olinda - about a 50min drive from the city. He lives there with his wife Alicia and their 2 girls (now have 3), Imogen and Caitlin.

I can't remember when Dad comes to Melbourne. I think it is the next day. I can't even remember when Christine comes down. I know Michael doesn't because 'he wants to remember her as she was'?? I have another brother also in Sydney - his name is Mark. I think he flies down at some stage...

Anyway - I know I am vague on all of this and I am sorry. Maybe it is a way of dealing with the pain. Who knows. I know that I go in everyday to spend a couple of hours with mum. She is in Intensive Care and in a medically induced coma. I am heavily pregnant and it is boiling in there and nowhere to sit as the nurses are up to her every couple of minutes. She has a couple of operations. Her stomach is apparently falling apart - they try and suture and the sutures fall out? She then has a super bug. So whatever they seem to be doing there is something else that goes wrong.

Each day I go in. Friends from my mothers group look after the boys who are aged around 2 and 4. My dad stays initially for a few days and then goes back home as he feels 'useless'. My sister goes back too as she has work. Stephen - well he goes in at night time after work so that is great!

I am running ragged. I feel horrible. I am tired. Mum is the same everyday. Each day I hope that she will recover. I take in a gorgeous photo of her and the two boys that I took on my last visit there - just two weeks before. I want the nurses and doctors to see what she was like before. That she wasn't like this. That she is their grandmother. That we love her.

The doctors call me. We have to have a meeting. They want all family members there. Mark is there, Stephen, Christine, Dad but not Michael - he won't come.

Stan comes and so does Alicia. I don't think they are in the room. Oh hang on they might be. Anyway, they start laying out the options. A nice young doctor, an older one and some nurses. Basically there are no options. The young doctor looks at me while he is explaining this - he has tears in his eyes. I am thinking this is because he knows that mum won't see my baby. I start to cry. We have to decide to turn off the machines. We wonder aloud if they can bring her out of the coma beforehand. They say no, she would be in too much pain (well I think they say that.) We cry. The thought goes through my mind that this is like going to the vet to get an animal put down. But this is my mum. We all agree. They say we are doing the right thing. I think maybe when they turn all of that offm she will wake up.

We go out. They begin the process. Dad and 4 of her 5 children are in there with her. It is quiet. Someone cracks a joke. We all touch her. Talk to her. Laugh. I tell her I love her. A while goes past. I have to go to the toilet. I say to mum in a joking way 'I am going to the toilet. Don't wait for me.'

I go to the toilet. Come back and she is gone. I am so upset. She just stopped breathing. Apparently it was very peaceful but not only do I now feel overwhelming sadness, I feel guilty. I wasn't there at the very end.

We are ushered out by the nurses. They fix her up and after 20mins or so, they call us back in. I am shocked. She is very yellow now and bloated. She has an Iris placed on her chest. I start to smile (in shock I think) and I say "look! Her yellow face matches the Iris!" I keep asking the nurse why is she so yellow? Apparently it is the toxins in her system. I leave. It looks less like mum than she did before.

When I leave the room I also feel relief. I feel guilty for that too. Now I won't have to travel in everyday, organise the kids and be in the hospital for a few hours. How bad is that??

We all go back to my house. It is a surreal experience. My brother Michael comes down (not sure when). We all discuss funeral arrangements. My brother Mark needs to go back to Sydney and asks if we can hold off the funeral for a week. We all agree. Stupidly.

So, my mum is dead. Arrangements are made for the following week. Everyone goes home. Life goes on as it was but doesn't. In hindsight it was ridiculous to put off the funeral. It was a surreal week of normalcy and then it all descended on me again. I felt for sure that the baby would come a few days before the funeral or even on the day and that I would miss the whole thing. I was beside myself with worry. But no, Bronte was a good girl. She didn't do that to me. The day of the funeral came. It was held in Melbourne at WD Rose - just 5mins drive from my home. We got to the chapel. There were lots of people there. Family, cousins, mum's brother. Can't remember who else. Oh my friends from highschool and others. Joycey looked after the two boys at the back of the chapel. We were all sitting up the front.

The coffin was big. I was shocked at that. I mean, my mum was only like 5ft 1in. But the coffin was huge. I asked why. And they said that her body had swelled because of all the toxins. They said she would be too heavy to carry out. A final indignity.

At one stage, I heard a voice from the back. It was Zachary. He said 'Is Grandma in the Treasure Box?' I love that memory!

She was wheeled out - I think Stan was a pall bearer. I should ask him. Joe, Michael, Stephen, Mark. Can't remember who else.

She was driven away and cremated. It was sad.

Everyone came back to our home. Well we did have food at the chapel and then cousins etc came back afterward. It was fun but not.

I have views on cremation that I will share another time...

You know, some days even now, more than 8 years later, I still go to pick up the phone to tell mum something. I refuse to throw out my phone book even though it is in pieces because it has her name and number in there....

Here she is with Dad. Both happy and smiling. It was dad's photo. I took it from his house after he died a few years after mum. I took it because I don't have many photos as my sister has them all. I love this photo of both of them.

Dad has written on the back.....

5-2-98 Captain's Dinner aboard "Princess Murray"