Only child syndrome and a little bit of gushing

I'm an only child. Fourth generation in fact. I didn't wish to continue the line of only children in our family. I always felt that if I could have more than one, I would like that very much.

Being an only child has its great advantages and I have loved many aspects that are associated with having my own space, growing up and having my family to myself. But as I grow older, I find being an only child can become one large and lonely place at times. 

It's interesting how my Mum, my Grandad and myself have different views and experiences - I observe my husband interacting with his family, my own children interacting with each other and I often crave that bond. Dear friends help to fill in the gap and my husband's family are fantastic too, they took me in as their own quite quickly. 

At moments like this though, the time when cancer corrodes my family's life as we know it, I could do with someone close to share concerns and plans with. That familial bond. My cousins have been lovely, sad part is that some have experienced similar already. One cousin in particular expressed something I will never forget - Cousins are a sibling from another parent - she understands my worries and feelings, though she may not realize how much that resonates with me and I love her even more for being available and caring enough to listen and talk.

I almost lost my Mum two weeks ago. She had two seizures, was rushed to hospital by ambulance and entered the ER in a coma. It wasn't a bad way to be - she slept through it all and felt nothing. Like us, totally numb. 

My Dad became a real life hero to me in that moment. He'll probably brush that statement off with a wince and a cheeky comment reaching the air but that weekend, along with the ambulance medical professionals, he really did assist in saving a life. Not many Mikey Joe Soaps can say that. He saved his wife, my mother, my grandfather's only child.

The aftermath has been tiring and emotionally draining, yet eye-opening and inspiring. 

We're not out of the woods. Mum's cancer has reduced in the main areas of her body, however it has spread to her brain, Small and scattered tumours, causing the seizures and adding to Mum's already busy schedule of hospital visits and treatments. Quite frustrating as this happened in the middle of her well-deserved break from chemotherapy. 

Mum is on a cocktail of medication, undergoing a fortnight of radiation, but we're not without good experiences and hope.  Doctors, nurses, friends, colleagues and solicitors have seen the positivity ooze out of my family. We've never been so open and comfortable with each other before. 

Simplifying life has become a shared focus. 

We don't feel like we're doing it on our own strength either, feeling the presence of our Heavenly Father and his "hands" on our shoulders, and sometimes behind our back, helping us through the tough stuff. 

Yes, it really would be a lovely thing to have a sibling to share this surreal experience with. That big brother dream I used to have. I mentally adopted family during my young teen years, and they've proved to be the kind of family I can open up to and rely on over the last few years. Two weeks ago, when Mum's breathing was so weak and a well-meaning doctor expressed that it would be wise for us to make our phonecalls, I spoke to my "big brother" over the phone, he and his lovely wife (my "big sister", Mum's close friend) were there at the other end of the line, albeit in a different country, but we were all connected. It felt like they were with us.

I have my supportive best friend/husband, my strong grandad, kind cousins, extended family, in-laws and generous friends to keep me going. And my dear lovely parents are ever present. My Mum is still here. Perhaps we are all grasping onto our pockets of precious time with more oomph than we did two weeks ago. If true, let that be so. This family is all I have and need. And I feel very blessed and grateful.