could see her breathing getting more and more
laboured. She was taking short baby breaths. I
can still hear it if I close my eyes. They don’t tell
you about the sounds people make when they die.
Earlier in the day, my sister Sally had asked
Mum what her goal was for the day and she said,
“To not be here.” That night my sister looked into
Mum’s eyes and willed her to go, “You go to grandpa,
you go. We’re here, we’re holding you.” Outside, a huge
electrical storm erupted. White lightning cut through
the black sky. At 10pm, Mum left us. She always
believed you’re born alone, you live alone and that
you die alone. I truly believe we proved her wrong;
we did not leave her side.
When mum died, I just wanted to disappear. I’d
lost my soulmate and my best friend. I thought about
cancelling the wedding, but in Jewish religion you
need to celebrate before you grieve. Plus, Mum
would have killed us if we ruined her plans! For
better or worse, the wedding was going ahead.
When I woke up on Tuesday morning, it was
a beautiful, sunny day. Getting ready without Mum
was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. I opened
a bottle of Billecart-Salmon rosé, which was Mum’s
favourite, and toasted her.
Mum was so present the entire day, even though
she wasn’t there. Her spirit was in the flowers we
chose together, the dress she watched me try on
and the hair and make-up we booked. She was
everywhere, which hurt even more.
My dad walked me down the aisle and when I
got to the end, my sister stood under the chuppah
with me and did all the stuff Mum was supposed to
do. Standing at the chuppah, I looked at my beautiful
husband Kelly beside me and our family behind me
and I realised I wasn’t alone. Mum left us with
something profound as her final parting gift – a day
where we were all together in peace. I knew I would
never take another second for granted.
We didn’t have a dancefloor at the reception, it
didn’t feel right without our Dancing Queen. Instead,
I made a speech in Mum’s honour. “I miss you so
much today, tomorrow and now forever,” I said.
The day after the wedding was Mum’s funeral.
She was buried in a black coffin and I remember
thinking she would have liked the colour but hated
how claustrophobic it was. In Jewish tradition, the
people who grieve have to bury the body. As Mum
was lowered into the grave, each of her four children
had to shovel dirt onto the coffin. I’ll never forget the
sound of the rocks hitting the coffin. It was horrific.
That was the moment I realised she was really gone.
My mum was gone.
Mum left me her engagement ring from my dad.
She’d had it totally redesigned when they divorced,
and we called it her “F You” ring because she was
always flipping the bird to people – even in the
hospital at the very end. She was so cheeky. Now it’s
my “F You” ring; it’s my source of power. I wear it
whenever I need strength and channel my inner
Susan. I wore it on my birthday on March 10,
which was also the day of the Melanoma March.
We walked for Mum and raised more than $4000.
It’s been five months now since we lost Mum.
The grief is so much that I can only handle it in
pieces, otherwise it would swallow me whole. I still
talk to her all the time; she doesn’t answer. But every
time there is a storm, I feel her presence. She was
a lightning bolt in life and death; bold, powerful,
hard and fast, black and white.The Melanoma Institute Australia funds research
into the causes, diagnosis and treatment
of melanoma. Visit melanoma.org.auJodie and her new
husband Kelly.
ABOVE RIGHT the
“F You” diamond ring
Jodie inherited from
her mother and wore
on her wedding day.BELOW “Mum
hated liars, so I
can’t lie today.
This is one of the
hardest days I’ve
ever had,” Jodie
said as she toasted
her mum on her
wedding day.“My mum’s presence
was everywhere at
my weing, which
hurt even more”
EMOTIONAL