Ana Ferguson is 44 years old. She’s got 4 kids. And she’s dying.
She has stage four breast cancer, and she doesn’t know how long she’s got left on this planet – but lucky for us, she wants to spend some of that precious time writing.
So, we’re bringing you Diary of the Dying. A place where Ana will share her fears, her days, and her astonishingly candid thoughts on life and death. We’re honoured that she came to us with this idea, and so excited to publish her words.
Every single person reading this will be touched by cancer, in some way. This series is for them. It’s for everyone who’s lost someone. It’s for those who have gone. And, most of all, it’s for Ana.
This is Ana’s second post for Mamamia.
By ANA FERGUSON
Picture me back in 2003. My nickname was Mother Earth, and I was still trying to be that perfect mother we all aspire to.
I had a new born babe swaddled to my chest suckling, with a 20-month-old (little Jo) perched effortlessly on one hip. I did all of this while peacefully negotiating the task of podding the fresh peas (I was a scene straight out of Little House on The Prairie). And supervising a healthy made-from-scratch cake between my two other loving daughters, Charlie, 3 and a half, and Maddie, 8.
Their paintings were drying on the porch next to their bikes and the triple-decker pram and each evening I would feed, bath and put all my perfect angels to be bed and not even break a sweat. Their loving Dad came home, read them a story and kissed them Goodnight. Damn it, in hindsight I was good, and I was proud of myself.
Fast forward to 2014, and I am channelling Eddie from Ab Fab more than Mother Earth (except without the bubbles).
I have given up trying to be a perfect mother. I have given up on beating myself up. I have given up on the “poor me” chorus.
Chasing that served me no purpose other than to make me feel even more miserable. And I don’t think you have to be dying, like I am, to know what I’m talking about here: Mama Guilt.
You see, I am a great believer that we all have a choice each day to decide if our day is going to be a Glass Half Empty or a Glass Half Full kind of day. That’s why — as I told you in my last blog — I wake up every morning to the sound of Don’t Worry, Be Happy.