We begged, we pleaded, we negotiated
I was in my first year of university when my younger brother first told me of his concerns for our mum’s drinking.
I shrugged them off: we’re a family of big drinkers, we love to socialise and party, where’s the harm?
I convinced myself there was no way she could ever let herself be “one of those mums”. After all, she had told me the stories of how she struggled as a teenager living through her own mum’s alcohol troubles.
My brother was persistent though, and I remember thinking “what a waste of alcohol” as I watched him secretly pour her wine down the sink, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
It was easy to ignore the signs
As a uni student who not only enjoyed a drink herself but was only home during the holidays, it was easy to ignore the signs.
It became much harder to ignore during the pandemic.
Suddenly we were all locked in the house together and the cracks that had begun to creep into our family dynamic grew into huge fractures that could no longer be plastered over and ignored.
At first, it wasn’t too bad: this was new for us all so we all enjoyed a little drink or two on more nights than we typically would.
However, as time went on, I noticed that, for my mum, one or two extra drinks on one or two extra nights per week transitioned into drinking multiple bottles of wine, every night of the week.
Finding empty bottles hidden
Our concerns grew even further when, after we had tried to discuss with her that maybe she was drinking too much too often, we started to find empty bottles hidden in cupboards rarely opened.
Ironically, I went from being the person who never wanted to waste alcohol, to being the person pouring it down the drain myself.
During this time, my brother was living with his girlfriend, my dad and cousin were working, and I was at home all day every day with my mum.
It gave me a new appreciation for my brother during those years that I was at university while he was at home.
We did what we could to help her
It was incredibly lonely living in a house full of people who all had their own ideas about how best to support the one person who didn’t want help.
After the final lockdown was lifted, we all went back to our normal lives.
Myself, my brother and my cousins slowly moved out while my dad continued to run their business but eventually moved out himself, no longer able to emotionally support himself and her at the same time.
My mum suddenly found herself alone in our family home with no one to scrutinise how much she was drinking and when.
Of course, we all did what we could to help her reduce her drinking, including supporting her through two stints in rehab.
But looking back, we all had completely different ideas of what was best and instead of working together, a lot of the time we butted heads and worked against each other.
Mum become the person she never wanted to be
We begged, we pleaded, we negotiated with the idea of future grandchildren. I restricted visits from my dog, but ultimately, the only thing we could all agree on was that no matter what we did or said, we all wanted to be around mum while we could.
And so, it became a pattern that our threats were always empty, and instead we all became resigned to our fate that we were slowly watching the woman who held our family together become the one person she never wanted to be.
In March 2025 I went to pick my dog up from my mum’s house as I did every day after work and found her in bed. This wasn’t unusual by this point, but something felt different and instead of my usual “hi, goodbye, I’ll see you tomorrow” I pleaded with her to see a doctor.
In typical mum fashion, she told me she was ok and just needed some pain relief. I eventually left after negotiating with her that if she still felt in pain when I came to drop the dog off in the morning, I would call in sick and take her to the hospital.
The next morning, I raced round to her house, already feeling the dread of what was to come, only to find her bed empty and my mum nowhere in sight.
After literally searching every room and cupboard in the house I rang my dad, who informed me she had called an ambulance in the early hours of the morning.
Knowing my mum and knowing that she would never ask for help unless it was absolutely necessary, I knew this couldn’t be good.
It’s the good times I will look back on
One week later, we were told by her team of Doctors at Addenbrooks Hospital that there was nothing more they could do.
I take solace in the fact that my mum took her last breaths surrounded by the people she loved most in the world: my dad, her two children, her two nephews who were like adopted children, her brothers, and her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.
We held her hand and shared stories, laughing and crying in equal measures as we said goodbye to our rock.
On 15th April 2025, three days before my 30th birthday, I stood in front of a room full of people, plus those who had to stand outside because they couldn’t fit in the crematorium.
I told stories of a mother who loved and cherished her daughter. I stood in front of everyone who loved my mum and told them words I will forever live by “our relationship wasn’t perfect, but when I miss her and I choose to remember her, it’s the good times I will look back on.”
I willed everyone there to do the same.
That way, my beautiful mum can live on forever.
Charlotte
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