There is nothing that you will ever encounter that will prepare you for receiving terrible news over the phone on a non-descript Thursday afternoon. The feeling of anxiety and fear as you rush to the hospital, unsure of what you're going to find, is bad enough. It is amplified significantly when you know you missed calls from your family because you were being fucked by your brother-in-law.
That guilt is even worse when I console Hannah at the hospital, knowing that Will's cum has soaked into my underwear. A quite literal stain of betrayal follows me into the room where my mum is, and I vow to myself that it would be the last time I do this to my family.
He'd at least come to my rescue, offering to pick up my girls from school as I rushed to be beside my mum. With our family surrounding her she was in good spirits despite her collapse at home. And as she spoke to us I mused that maybe Hannah had gotten a little overwhelmed by such an innocuous incident - that mum was robust and healthy and would be out in no time.
Life is sometimes cruel though, and instead the next month would be the worst of my life.
It was obvious there was more to mum's fall when the consultant called us all in for a chat. We were told that mum had had an MRI scan and it had revealed the cause of her fall and recent migraines.
An illness incredibly rare. An illness incredibly devastating. An illness that would remove all her faculties and, quite quickly, steal her from us.I knew what it was and all the terrible details - my job was a curse in that regard. I knew time was short. Grief gripped me immediately as the news soaked in.
I was going to lose my mum.
Will was the furthest thing from my mind for those weeks as I burned myself down to the wick between my job, spending whatever time I could with my mother, and protecting my daughters from what was to come. Emotionally I veered manically from stoic and hard when I was around others, to a grief-stricken mess when I was alone. In those dark weeks I would drive from the hospital in tears only to be almost emotionless at home with Jo and Gabby. That facade would only drop when I went to bed, where I fell asleep every night sobbing and fearful for the loss to come.
Will had tried to reach out to me but now it was my turn to ignore him because I feared that responding would drag me back into his arms. And with everything going on I knew I couldn't, even though I wanted to. That I needed to use this opportunity to escape from my feelings for him, though I'm sure his intentions in that moment were pure.
When the day finally comes I know it must be close to what mum would have wanted. While she was heavily sedated, she was surrounded by her three children and her husband. Each of us held onto her hands and regaled stories and memories of the woman who had raised us so well and thoughtfully. When she finally passed it was as graceful as she was in life, moving onto whatever awaited her in the next adventure peacefully.
I shut down emotionally almost immediately. A wail at her bedside at the immediate grief that overcame me was followed by my feelings disappearing and an irrational resolve taking its place. Now there were no more tears because I knew my mother had raised me better than that. To be stronger than that. So I held Hannah as she sobbed in my arms, and later that night I let my girls sleep in my bed as I consoled them at the loss of their grandmother.
But there were no more tears from me.
Time off work followed as I was allowed to grieve and help my father arrange the funeral. All of it was a blur as I numbed myself to the world, ignoring offers of company from friends and family. Even my ex offered to help, to come round and cook dinner for us all. But I wanted to be resilient, to be a role model for Jo and Gabby just like my mum had been a role model to me. To show them how strong their mother could be. So I rejected him, and continued to ignore Will for almost entirely different reasons.
When the day of the funeral arrives I feel as hollow as I have ever felt. I'm almost in a dreamlike state, floating through the house and getting myself and the girls ready while still feeling nothing. Both Jo and Gabby are too distracted by this new feeling of loss they're both experiencing to notice the change in their mother, and I'm at least thankful for that.
We all dress in black and I put on a small amount of makeup. It's a risk, but I'm aware I've not cried since mum passed and today doesn't feel like the day that dam will break. When we're finally all ready, I drive us the small distance to my dad's home to wait for the hearse with the rest of my family. When it arrives, we form a solemn convoy and follow it to the crematorium..
The funeral is a blur. I sit on the front row with both of my girls tucked against me, and I wonder whether it was a mistake to bring them. Am I stealing their innocence away? Or showing them the stark realities of life, preparing them for whatever difficulties they might face in the future? Either way, they shed the tears that I cannot on my behalf as I listen to a beautiful eulogy from my brother and hear stories of my mum recounted politely by a stranger.
Even when the curtain closes and I see the small pine box disappear from view to the tune of my mother's favourite song, I still can't feel anything other than the numbing loss that has taken root within me.
The wake afterwards is far less sombre, as I had expected. Friends and family come together to remember my mum in their shared grief. I see the resilience of my daughters as they play and laugh with their cousins. Pride that they are mine is the first thing in weeks that is close to a real emotion I have felt. I'm at least a little thankful that, of all the emotions I could feel, it's a positive one.
My father on the other hand is not in a great place. Between Hannah, my brother and myself we take turns talking to him, holding his hand and being someone for him to lean on. There's nothing any of us can say to him to make this better. But as the wake is winding down, we know it would be impossibly cruel to leave him alone that night.
Hannah volunteers to stay with dad, but not before her husband has a quiet word with her in the car park. I notice the looks they both give me as they talk quietly amongst themselves for a few minutes before they share a quick kiss and go separate ways. My sister goes with my dad to her car, and Will comes over to me dressed smartly in a fitted black suit and tie.
"Hey girls," he says, smiling at my daughters who are now in my car ready to go home. "Do you mind if I come home with you for some dinner?"
They both yell excitedly but I just bare my teeth at him, happy Jo and Gabby can't see my face flush with anger. "And who said you were invited round?" I hiss at him.
"It isn't up for debate Izzy," he says calmly, turning his eyes on me. "Hannah wants me to make sure you're alright. Besides," he adds, looking to Hannah as she drives off with my dad. "I don't have a ride anymore."
I glower at him for several seconds while also being aware that my little sister is worried about me, the woman who's slept with her husband repeatedly. I feel a pang of nausea at that and hide it by getting into the car. Will does the same, his door opening to whoops of excitement from Jo and Gabby.
The short journey home is spent with me ignoring Will and him doing the same to me. Instead he focuses on talking to the girls animatedly, distracting them both from grief better than I have over the last few weeks. He continues to focus entirely on the girls when we get home, playing with them as I cook a simple dinner for us all. At no point does he try to talk to me properly, and I figure he's waiting until the girls are asleep.
After such an exhausting day, both fall asleep during the bedtime story I read to them. Even though I know they're both asleep, I don't stop reading the short story until it's finished because I know what's waiting for me downstairs. I know Will be kind and soft and gentle and I'm terrified of feeling something again. Of dealing with all the horrible things I've hidden from for a month.
But there's no avoiding it. I slowly descend the stairs and enter the living room, closing the door as I do so. When I turn around Will is sitting on the sofa, eyeing me expectantly. I look away quickly, hating his compassionate eyes so much at that moment that he's lucky I don't gouge them out with a spoon. Instead I look to the kitchen.
"Do you want a drink?"
"I can get it," he says, making to get up.
