When my brother called to inform me, on the morning of May 22, 2003, that our mother Caroline Oates had died suddenly of a stroke, it was a shock from which, in a way, I have yet to recover.
My father was unwell when I was 11, had a stroke at 14 and died when I was 18. My mother going to work at seven in the morning and coming back to look after him and me and my brother left its mark on me.
My mother had a life-altering stroke when I was nineteen and she died when I was twenty-three. I'm now older than my mother when she died and my relationship with her has really changed over these many years. I continue to stay interested in her and I know her differently now. Losing my mother, losing dear friends, is now part of the fabric of my being alive. And the fabric keeps changing, which is interesting.
I'm starting to get older, and began to think about mortality a little more. My mother died in 2003 and that was a big shock. When your parents start to die off, that's going to be a revelation. So for me, this album - although it might sound quite cheery - is really talking about death.
My dad died suddenly. He had a heart attack aged 52. When the hospital phoned to tell me, it felt like when you take your sunglasses off and the light changes. A visual thing happened, which must have been shock or adrenaline. It changed everything.
My family background really only consists of my mother. She was a widow. My father died quite young; he must have been thirty-one. Then there was my twin brother and my sister. We had two aunts as well, my father's sisters. But the immediate family consisted of my mother, my brother, my sister, and me.
In that time and by God's will there died my mother, who was a great hindrance unto me in following the way of God; my husband died likewise, and in a short time there also died all my children. And because I had commenced to follow the aforesaid way and had prayed God that He would rid me of them, I had great consolation of their deaths, albeit I did also feel some grief.
Most of me was glad when my mother died. She was a handful, but not in a cute, festive way. More in a life-threatening way, that had caused me a long time ago to give up all hope of ever feeling good about having had her as a mother.
I think when my mother died, it was such a - you know, a shock to the logic that I had been raised with.
I was 22 when my mother died; my baby sister was 12. We had nothing. We had each other, but we had nothing.
My grandparents had died in 1983, and suddenly my brother is out jogging before Mass, and he dies.
Whether we experience it or not, grief accompanies all the major changes in our lives. When we realize that we have grieved before and recovered, we see that we may recover this time as well. It is more natural to recover than to halt in the tracks of grief forever. Our expectations, willingness and beliefs are all essential to our recovery from grief. It is right to expect to recover, no matter how great the loss. Recovery is the normal way .
My mother died happily of a stroke in her seventies.
My mom died when I was 22. My stepfather, who I loved like a father, pretty quickly got involved with another woman. Suddenly there was another woman sleeping in my mother's bed, and it was very difficult. Their relationship brought up my profound loss, and the truth was that my family would never be the same again.
When my mother died when I was 15, it felt like the end of my dreams of becoming a dancer - I had a sister and a brother and we had to pull together to look after the house and my father.
I learned hard lessons in life; I had to because I had so much happen: My mother died my sophomore year in high school. The next year, same day, my brother dropped dead. Two years after that, I got married because my girlfriend got pregnant. The year after my wedding, my father - who I had only recently met - died.
When I was 15, I came downstairs one morning, picked up mother's newspaper and, oh, what a shock! The Titanic had gone. The 'unsinkable' ship - but it had gone down so simple.