Consumed by grief, a special person helped Joanne Nicholson, 56, to find a way forward…
WORDS: FRANCESCA WOODSTOCK. MAIN PHOTO: OLIVIA BRABBS PHOTOGRAPHY ✣ and-able.com
As I watched my daughter Emily, then seven, twirl around in her sparkly leotard, she had the biggest grin on her face. Nothing made her happier than dancing on stage. It was 2001, and as Emily high-kicked her way to the end of her performance, I got to my feet and gave a round of applause. ‘They were great!’ the woman next to me said. Claire, then 27, was there to see her daughter Libby, also seven, who was in the same show. ‘Brilliant,’ I replied with a smile. Each week, as Claire and I sat through Saturday morning dance classes, we bonded over motherhood. I’d tell her about my partner Martin, and we’d chat about the girls and Emily’s brother Matthew, who was five years younger. The two of us became as close as our girls, best friends. While the girls had play dates, we had a glass of wine and gossiped about all sorts.
The years seemed to pass quickly and suddenly, Emily wasn’t a little girl any more, she was all grown up. She and Libby remained best friends, as did Claire and I. I couldn’t imagine my life without her.
MOVING AWAY
Then in 2012, Martin and I moved our family to Perth, Australia, wanting to show our children more of the world. Emily, then 18, and Matthew, 13, were so excited. Leaving Claire behind was tough, though. ‘I’ll miss you so much,’ I told her, but we both knew nothing could come between us – not even 9,000 miles! ‘Call me!’ she said. ‘Every day!’
In Perth, Martin worked as a builder and I found work as a community nurse. As Matthew settled into school, Emily started modelling and worked as a promo girl in a nightclub. Life was good and as the years went by, I kept Claire updated with frequent phone calls and texts.
But in February 2016, everything changed. I received a phone call from Emily’s boss. ‘Your daughter’s been rushed to hospital,’ he said. While working in the bar, Emily, then 22, had suffered a seizure. Martin and I rushed to her side. ‘I’m OK, Mum,’ she said, as doctors performed scans and tests.
Emily was discharged within 24 hours, but over the next few weeks, while we waited for her test results, she had more seizures. And eight weeks later, an MRI scan gave us the reason. ‘Emily has a brain tumour,’ the doctor told us, as I held my daughter, terrified of what that meant. ‘We’ll need to operate to find out more.’
Martin and I were so distraught and worried but Emily did
