The end of a family.

I wrote this on an old diary on 11th March 2003 at 6.35am:

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There are a number of reasons why I stopped writing there but primarily because I was avoiding writing about the events of last summer.

On 4th July 2002 at about 8pm my mum died.

She had been suffering from cancer a second time and despite much treatment - chemotherapy mostly - she didn't make it.

I got a call from my dad whilst I was at Kings Cross station waiting for a train to Leeds to visit Alison. He told me that somehow, during the night, she had turned in bed and her hip had crumbled and broke. At this point nobody knew the seriousness of this and we assumed that she would go to hospital and be fixed up. I asked dad to keep me up to date and went to Leeds. It didn't feel right.

On the Sunday as I was waiting for a cab to take me to Leeds station I got a call from dad again telling me that she was now on morphine. This is when I knew it was going to happen soon. I asked dad what he thought I should do (my train to London was within the hour) and he suggested that I should go to Preston.

I took the train to Preston and dad picked me up and took me to Churchtown (they were living at gran and grandpa's old house in Churchtown whilst renovating Clifton House.)

When I got there I went in to see mum. She was very drowsy from the morphine but still able to talk. I asked her if she was comfortable and she said no. I helped her to sort out her pillows. Every time she moved she was in agony.

She had a catheter as she was bedridden. Nurses came a couple of times a day to clean her and move her to prevent bed sores. Every time she moved she screamed in pain - you couldn't get away from the noise. Her bedroom smelled horrible, like pee and disinfectant, like a geriatric ward at a hospital - the smell of dying.

I went out with Robert who was there. I bought her some magazines - home magazines... Still planning the house! I don't think she could read them though. I also bought some food and wine and made meals for us all. Mum's last meal was one that I made.

I spoke to Matthew and told him that he should come over. I think Robert picked him up. I don't think he realised how serious it was until he got there. I kept taking him out of mum's room because he was getting so upset and I wasn't sure if she knew or not but felt she might so thought it best.

At some point during the five days we were told that she wouldn't recover. Also her morphine was increased gradually. It was in a pump that hissed every now and then as more more was injected.

I was on the phone to Chris a lot. I wanted him there but also felt that it was right that it was just family. I was annoyed when Kevin turned up, not least about his reaction when he saw mum. It was a look of shock and fear and revulsion which whilst being understandable was something I didn't need to see.

John came over a couple of times. He was a wreck.

I called Janet and Celia because I thought they should know. Janet wept like a child as soon as I told her and had to hang up. Celia kept talking normally for a few minutes before suddenly breaking down. I also had to call Matthew's boss so that they would know why he wasn't at work. It is the most surreal and painful thing to have to tell people that your mum is going to die in the next few days - especially when the people you are telling are your mum's best friends.

On the Thursday Chris drove up. He arrived at about 7pm and I needed to get out so I took him on a tour of Churchtown. We walked down the road. I showed him the two houses that Phillip and Denise had lived in then we went to the Punch Bowl for a drink.

I was about half way through my pint when Kevin called from the house. He said 'I think you'd better come back.'

When we got to the house she had died. She lay there with her head back and her mouth open not breathing any more. She looked yellow and old.

Dad, Robert and Matthew were sat around the bed and the curtains were closed. I held her head in my hands and kissed her. Then I broke down.

Dad said 'a prayer to speed her to heaven.'

About 5 or 10 minutes later the nurses arrived at the door to see to mum again. I told them that she had gone and asked them for a couple of minutes before they went in to clean her.

The nurses did there stuff and then Chris & I went in to sit with her before the undertakers arrived. The most startling thing was the change in sound in the room. After the gurgling and rattling in her chest and throat as she developed pneumonia the room seemed extremely calm now. I held her hand and kissed her again. The nurses had sprayed her perfume around the room.

Dad was in the living room phoning family and friends to tell everyone. Eventually the undertakers came and took her away. We all packed up and went to John and Elaine's.

I have never been back to that house.

Mum's funeral was on 11th July. It was a very sunny, warm day.

She left from Clifton House, went to St Chads and was buried at the cemetery just outside town. Everyone went back to John and Elaine's afterwards.

The strange thing is that only now, months later,I am noticing how it affected me and continues to.

I went back to work immediately but don't know how I managed to do anything - it all seems a bit dream like now.

We've left London now. We lived at my dad's (that's weird too - not saying 'my parents') in Poulton for a couple of months and now live in Chester.

I still have weird dreams about mum and get upset every day.

If you imagine your body is made up of your emotions, it now, still, feels like a huge chunk of my chest has just disappeared. Most of the time I feel empty and as if I am just floating about aimlessly. I don't feel like I have much influence on my own life - I just react to situations. I have little enthusiasm for anything and no ambition. I don't feel that I can talk to anybody about it and I don't think most people are interested.

The whole affair (for want of a better phrase) has made me clarify my thoughts on what happens after death. During mum's funeral the words about God and Jesus did nothing to comfort me. It's hideous but I can only think of her in a box under ground. It kills me to go to her grave. Mum was only 55.

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Reading back on this tonight is upsetting but also makes me realise how much I've healed over the years since mum died. I still don't go to her grave though.

Pride?

The august bank holiday weekend sees Pride hit Manchester as it has done every year (I think) for the last twenty years. I don't always go but this year I am doing and it's already tinged with nostalgia for me.

On Sunday night Paul Cons, nightclub promoter, is hosting Flesh at Fac 251. Flesh was a gay dance night that was held monthly at the Hacienda during the first half of the nineties and it's where Chris and I met for the first time fourteen years ago. I have never seen the likes of flesh anywhere else in the UK and although I only went a handful of times I loved it. It was a heady mix of glamour and hard nosed clubbing; it was dressed up and it was dressed down; it was cool yet it was warm and friendly; I felt that I could wear whatever the hell I wanted to (and I generally did) and feel totally comfortable rubbing shoulders with scally gays, drag queens and straight blokes. Flesh came to an end in 1997 as I remember.

This weekend's venue, as I have mentioned, is Fac 251. This too brings back memories for me as I used to know it as Paradise Factory and I can confidently say that in the mid nineties this was the best nightclub in Manchester. I practically lived there from September 1995 for about two years and it's where I saw Chris for the first time - one week before we actually met down the road at the Hacienda.

So you can understand why I feel somewhat nostalgic and a little bit excited about Sunday night. As for the rest of the Pride weekend - well we shall see.

Throughout the years my opinion of Pride (or Mardi Gras as it was known back in the day in Manchester) has changed. At various times I have been on a parade float, worked behind the bar of one of the bars in the village, actively avoided the entire event and been a willing visitor.

I read this on Twitter today: "@Will_Hoe Re: Pride - don't get me wrong, I'm very proud to be gay. However, my pride doesn't manifest in vodka, cocaine, vanity and random sex. :)"

This got me thinking. A line that I have always used with regard to Pride is that I don't like drinking warm beer, out of a plastic glass, on an overcrowded street. On recent reflection I think that both of us are guilty of missing the point.

Over the years Pride has become less politicised and more obviously a big party and I for one think it is important to bring the political agenda back to the fore.

I have been lucky enough to live in Manchester and London where on the whole being gay is not a problem for most people - in fact in the industries I worked in it was commonplace. Let's not forget though that whilst gay people are mostly accepted in Britain's big cities, gay men and women are still victims of violent crime for no other reason than their sexual orientation.

Then remember those people that may live in smaller towns who still, in this day and age, feel that they must hide who they are for fear of rejection by family, friends, colleagues & community or worse, fear of violence. This still happens to many people in Britain and will continue to do so. I believe that Pride should have many functions and I believe an important one is to encourage acceptance through awareness. This must reach beyond the cities that the Pride events occur in to be really effective and I believe that the media is key to doing this. In raising awareness, as well as helping to make homosexuality acceptable in communities, it can let gay people who don't feel comfortable being open about it know that there is somewhere that they can go to meet other gay people and be themselves without fear of reprisal.

Another, often forgotten issue, which I think is of equal importance and I think Pride should be highlighting, is the struggles of gay men and women in countries where it is still illegal to be gay. Countries where human rights are breached and where a gay person can be sent to prison or even executed because of their sexual orientation.

Pride has a part to play in raising awareness of these struggles as well as lobbying the UK government to put political pressure on such countries as Iran or Cameroon.

There is, of course, an element of this kind of action within the parade but I see it is sorely lacking within the consciousness of many of the people that attend Pride and that is a shame.

Pride can be a drink and drug fuelled shag fest but it can also be a real and strong force for change and for good.

Long live Pride.

The jump

It's rare that I put my life in danger for anything or anyone. The most daring thing that I have done in the past is probably ride a roller coaster which considering all the safety measures to which fairground owners must adhere is probably not all that dangerous.

This Saturday just gone however all that changed when I took part in a mass skydive at Langar airfield in Nottingham. The skydive was on behalf of and in aid of the National Hereditary Breast Cancer Helpline and we did it for two reasons; firstly to raise awareness that a number of NHS Primary Care Trusts around the country go directly against NICE guidelines that they should help fund this important service to the tune of £422 a year and secondly to cover the shortfall that these non payers leave. If you want to know more about the charity you can read about it here: http://www.breastcancergenetics.co.uk/

After arriving at the airfield late and dealing an awful lot of confused people I was instructed to wait. There was a lot of waiting. Eventually my name was called, I was introduced to Milko my tandem partner and I got all trashed up in my blue jumpsuit and strapping.

Before I knew it I was sitting backwards on the floor of the aeroplane with about ten other people and we were off. It took about fifteen minutes to climb up to 13,000 feet. We saw the airfield get smaller, Nottingham appear below us and finally the clouds were below us and the sun was shining brightly. The final minutes before the jump went by so very quickly. The aeroplane flattened off and the engine became very quiet. The door was slid open, we were washed with very cold air and the plane was filled with bright sunlight. Within seconds my flying companions were moving towards the back of the compartment and two by two dropping out into the sky below. This was when it struck me that i was about to do the same. I was the last to jump. Milko and I moved to the edge of the opening, I wrapped my legs under the aeroplane, waved at the camera man and we fell out into nothingness.

Freefalling for the first time was shocking. For forty five breath taking seconds we fell at 130 miles per hour through blue, through clouds and towards the fields below.

Before I knew it Milko had pulled the cord and the parachute opened. We slowed with a sudden jerk and we were hanging in the air. After adjusting the straps and adjusting my sinuses with a quick nose blow I started to regain a sense of being conscious of my surroundings. It took about four minutes to float back down to the ground where we landed with a bit of a stumble.

It took me the best part of an hour to feel normal again - for the travel sickness to ease and for me to begin piecing the whole experience together. The further away from the jump I get the more exciting it seems.

It's taken me five days to say with conviction - yes, I would do it again.

Want to watch it? Here you go - Skydive

Five things I've done this week

1 Said goodbye to a friend: Lee and I have been regular drinking partners for months. Sometimes every week, more recently every two weeks and almost always on a Tuesday. This Tuesday was the last time. On Friday he flew off to Spain to begin his new life as an English teacher. He has no teaching experience and doesn't speak Spanish but he went all the same. I'm quite jealous really. As usual we got really drunk and talked rubbish. At the end of the night there was an awkward hug and that's it. He's gone and by the time he comes back - whenever that may be - I will be back in Manchester.

2 Bought my first car: I collected my car, which I had bought off Lee as he was going to Spain (see above) Since I passed my test at the beginning of May I haven't been behind the wheel of a car other than to do a three point turn in a church car park. The car I bought has been declared off the road for a couple of months and as I can't afford to tax and insure it immediately I asked my dad and cousin to tow it to their work and leave it there for a month.

3 instructed the lawyers: we've finally found a house to buy. Chris has been working in Stoke for over a year now and living in a hotel there for three days a week whilst I stay at home in Preston on my own. It's miserable. We decided to move back to Manchester about six months ago, we've had our house on the market since Easter and we've got a buyer now. We have also found a house that we want in Chorlton, south of the city, and had our for accepted. Very excited. Should be there in about eight weeks.

4 Had a hair cut: the hairdresser FORCED me to have a beer at 2.20 in the afternoon. She is very wicked. Between us we decided that what she would do is disconnect the top of my head from the side completely and blend the back. It sounded quite brutal but it all worked out in the end.

5 Worried: next Saturday morning I am jumping out of an aeroplane somewhere over Nottingham. I am raising money for the National Hereditary Breast Cancer Helpline in order to cover shortfalls in funding caused by a number of NHS Primary Care Trusts around the country choosing not to pay the £422 that their guidelines recommend they do. We will also be naming and shaming these PCTs in the process.

At the beginning of the week I read a report about two experienced sky divers dying recently at Langar airfield where we'll be jumping. This led me to worrying. I'm scared of flying let alone leaping out of aeroplanes.

I called a friend who used to skydive as a hobby. He informed me that I am more likely to die in the car on the way to the airfield than by jumping out of the plane. I'm quite convinced now that I will die in a car crash.

If you'd like to sponsor me you can here... http://justgiving.com/Richard-Douglas