Mum's message from the grave
Claire and her mum Mandy in happier days
Monday 26th May 2008
It's nerve-racking introducing a new boyfriend to your parents, isn't it? Well, Stuart Hartley and I weren't even an item, but I was still a bag of nerves. We'd met in an internet chatroom the week before, and I'd invited him to join me, my mates and my mum, Mandy Topping, 46, on a night out.
He doesn't know what he's let himself in for, I thought, as he walked towards me.
'You must be Stuart,' I smiled.
'Y-yes,' he spluttered.
In front of him, Mum was dancing on a table, singing Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, a Bacardi and Coke in one hand, the skirt of her yellow dress in the other. With her pink nails and blonde hair, she was a straight-talking, no-nonsense party girl. And I loved her for it.
These past few years, she'd been really brave, too.
'Meet Mum,' I announced. 'You'd never guess she has terminal cancer, would you?'
Stuart, 32, stared, dumbstruck. Four years earlier, Mum had been diagnosed with breast cancer and had a mastectomy. We'd all thought she had beaten it but, five months ago, an MRI scan revealed the cancer was back.
'It's in my bones, lungs and liver,' she told us. 'I've got a year to live.'
I cried for days. Even now, I still cried. I was a single mum to Jack, 6, and Leah, 4. Mum was our world and, looking at her now, I wondered how she could be dying.
'What are your intentions with my daughter?' Mum demanded.
Any other bloke would have legged it. But, two weeks on, Stuart moved in.
'You'll marry him,' Mum insisted.
'Don't be silly,' I giggled back.
It'd taken Mum four marriages to find her Mr Right, John Topping, 49. They'd been together eight years, and now, their life together was being cut cruelly short. Heartbreaking. But we all had to cope as best we could.
'Will you come with me to the funeral director?' Mum asked one afternoon.
My heart thudded. I dreaded walking into that place, but Mum soon lightened the mood by haggling down the price.
'Wait until I tell everyone I got my funeral in the sale!' she hooted.
But as she told them she wanted to be cremated in her wedding dress, it felt like a bad dream.
'It's not fair!' I raged back home, collapsing into Stuart's arms.
I wanted Mum to see Leah and Jack grow up. I wanted her beside me at bingo on Sunday afternoons. Six weeks after meeting Stuart, there was an even bigger event to live for. Our wedding.
'You were right!' I screamed to Mum, telling her that he'd proposed and showing off my diamond ring. 'Will you give me away?'
'Of course,' she smiled.
It was June 2007. Mum was already six months into her last year. But seeing her looking so fit and well, it was impossible to believe she could die that soon, so we booked the Heron's Reach Hotel in Blackpool for August 2008. But things can change from day to day. Mum grew weaker, so we brought the wedding forward to May, then March.
'I'll make it,' she vowed.
Stuart and I both loved Frank Sinatra, so we decided on a gangsters and molls theme. We hired pinstripe suits, black shirts and trilbies for the men. I bought black dresses for my bridesmaids — my stepsister, Stacey Topping, 20, and mate, Kate Mylrole, 26 — and Mum chose a black-and-white dress. For myself, I opted for a more traditional, ivory gown. When I tried it on, Mum burst into tears.
'That's the one,' she cried.
As a family, we stayed positive over those following weeks. But as Mum endured more chemo, I started to feel scared. The next time I went for a dress fitting, she brought along her mother-of-the-bride outfit and changed into it in the shop.
'Would you take a picture of us?' she asked the sales assistant.
'Oh, Mum…' I whispered.
'Just in case,' she said, as she slipped her arm around my waist.
Mum kept that picture by her bedside with a calendar. Every morning, she'd cross off another day. Another day nearer the wedding. Another day less for her. By the time I ordered the cake, Mum had become even frailer. She admitted she'd written two letters to be read on my wedding day. One if she survived. One if she died.
'I have a wish list, too,' she said.
It was heartbreaking reading… 1. Watch Claire get married. 2. Visit Disneyland with the kids. 3. Celebrate John's 50th. 4. Meet Donny Osmond.
I had to laugh at that last one, but I promised to help and, in October, a local paper organised for Mum to go backstage at a Donny Osmond concert.
'Be positive,' he told Mum. 'You can beat this.'
Then, the following month, we all jetted off to Disneyland, Paris. But at the start of January 2008, Mum was rushed into hospital.
'Your mum's bleeding internally,' a doctor explained.
'How long?' I asked.
'Days,' the nurse admitted.
It was two months until the wedding. She wasn't going to make it. Although she was doped up on morphine, she knew.
'Stay tonight,' she begged after eight days in hospital.
A nurse found me a camping bed and, snuggled up, we talked.
'Make sure you look after Stuart and the kids,' Mum began.
'Of course,' I replied.
'I'll be there at your wedding, in body or in spirit,' she added.
As she drifted off to sleep, I wished I could stop time. At 5am, she asked me to gather the family at the hospital. Everyone was there, including Mum's parents, Terry, 70, and Pat James, 68, her sisters, Lyn, 52, and Jacki, 39, and her brother, Andrew, 44.
'Look after each other,' she ordered. 'Don't forget about me.'
There were tears, laughter, and a sense of dread as we waited. Mum clung on for another two days before, holding my hand, she slipped away. We stayed with her for six hours before we forced ourselves to say goodbye. Two days later, John turned 50.
It'd been on Mum's wish list to celebrate — and she'd organised a party at a local hotel and ordered a cake in the shape of a dartboard.
'Trust your mum,' John sighed, wiping away tears.
Mum's funeral was at St John's Church, Blackpool. At the end of the service, she had a surprise. She'd told me about a CD she'd recorded, but the congregation looked stunned as her voice boomed out.
'Hiya!' she giggled. 'For those of you who love me — for those of you who love to hate me — you know I'd have to have the last word.'
We laughed and cried as she told us to be happy.
'It feels like she's here with us,' I sniffled to Stuart.
'She is,' he smiled.
Mum had arranged for her ashes to be delivered to John on Valentine's day, a few days later.
'Most husbands just get a card,' he chuckled. Sounds macabre, but we had to laugh, too. In March, a week before the wedding, John gave me Mum's letters. I shut myself in my room and tore open the first envelope.
Yippee! If you are reading this, I made it, she'd written. I told you I wouldn't let you down. Always and forever, Mum. Oh, how I wished it was the right letter. Wiping away a tear, I opened the second envelope.
My darling Claire, if you're reading this, sweetheart, I haven't made it. I'm so sorry. I fought so hard. Have a great life with your new husband. Love him and always talk. I love you, Claire, be happy. Always and forever, Mum.
Mum had bought me a beautiful diamond bracelet. Head in my hands, I sobbed.
'I miss you,' I wept.
On 22 March, Nana Pat, stepped in to give me away. As we walked into the room and made our way towards Stuart, I shook with nerves. In my hand, I had a picture of Mum and me.
'You look beautiful,' Stuart said when I reached his side.
Next to the registrar was a photo of Mum and a candle. She was there beside me the whole day. I could feel her. As everyone mopped up tears listening to the speeches, her photo sat beside me. In the evening, we put it on the dance-floor and danced round her. Even in death, Mum was the life and soul of the party. Two months on, I miss her more than ever. I talk to her every day and want everyone to know how proud I am of her bravery. Thank you for fighting for me, Mum. We won't forget you and I'll never forget my special wedding day. Deep down, I know you were there with me.