I was a caregiver to my mother, who at the age of just 42 was dying following a blood transfusion, which was not tested at that time for hepatitis viruses. My father had left home and was living with his sister as he couldn't 'take' the stress of my mother's illness and the fact that she would not recover from it. I was the eldest of five children living at home, I was 19 an unmarried mother at a time when it wasn't acceptable and wasn't part of the norm. I had a 6-month old son, and my youngest brother was 2 years old, and there was another 3 siblings of 11, 9 and 10 years.

When my father left, I had responsibility for all my siblings and the care of my mother, and of course, my own son. After he left, my father rarely rang to ask how things were, although he did provide well financially for us all. Mum was mainly at home, and the only support provided was a home help lady coming in for 2 hours once a week and the district nursing service visiting twice a week. I never considered myself to be a carer; it was just something that I did willingly, like family carers everywhere.

I was so often overwhelmed by the responsibilities of caring for my younger brothers and sisters, and my own wee baby boy, and I felt so isolated and lost contact with my own peer group, who had vastly different lives. I alternated between grief at the inevitable death of my mother as we were so very close, and anger too, that she should die at such a young age, anger at a father who so easily abandoned his children at a time when he was most needed. I often thought why me, but I knew there was no one else really, and I just got on with it day by day.

At times mum would become very sick and have to be hospitalised for a few days or a week. It was more hectic then as the hospital was an hour away by bus, so days were very structured to enable me to visit. She would look so much better in the earlier days after a spell in hospital that I always held a hope that she would recover in some way, and the doctors must be wrong. Days when she wasn't feeling too unwell or in too much pain, were filled with laughter, and the long talks I had with mum were precious.

I came to know her as a person as well as a mother. That is the blessing of caring for a loved one, and what lives on over time. In the last six months of her life Mum spent more and more time in hospital, the only difference now was that she didn't look any better for her stays there. Infected blood was crossing through her brain and she became confused, and often didn't know me, this too seemed to clear after a while and in the last few weeks of mum's life I had the greatest guilt of all. She wanted to talk about dying, and at 19 I was totally unable to cope with this.

Her doctors and other medical staff never told her that she was terminal, it appeared to be common practice then, so I thought not letting her talk aboutdying was the right thing to do! But I think it robbed Mum as it took away her opportunity to talk and grieve herself. To this day I feel guilty that I couldn't talk with her about it and because of that, in those last weeks I failed her. In mum's last week she was in a great deal of pain and was re-admitted to hospital were she died on October 4th. It was me that the hospital rang to advise she had passed away, and to this day I can't recall much about the following hours. I was on auto pilot telling my siblings that our mother had passed away.

Our father returned home the day of the funeral three days later! It took me many years to forgive my father and find peace with him. Thinking back on my experience as a carer deeply influenced and changed my life, right down to the career path I took.

Carers do need support even just to know they are not alone, as I felt I was. I am so glad that finally there is support for carers, and I think also health providers are finally realising that it is not just the person they are providing care to that needs support.