I don't remember being told, but I remember the few hours before vaguely; my mother had returned from the hospital where she works as a senior advanced practitioner, I remember her red tear stained face and being the curious teenager I was I had questioned what was wrong I didn't think anything of it at the time but it was almost like she couldn't look me in the eye as she told me that her friends, Jane's, father was ill and was going to die and that she was upset for her friend.

I've never coped well with emotions or dealing with people when there're upset or crying, I freeze up and feel awkward not quite knowing what to do – I suppose I take after my dad in that way, because of this I hardly ever show my emotions, not strong ones, anger comes across through arguments obviously and people can tell when I'm happy but whenever I'd sad I hide it and I never cry in public, hardly ever cry out of public too, it just doesn't happen.

Even when my Grand-dad died and my brother came to my school and disrupted my cooking lesson to take me to the hospital, as soon as my brother mentioned what it was I knew he was going to die, but I was never that close with my grand-dad infact I remember going to my Nan and grand-dad's house and having to go into the dining room where grand-dad would sit in his armchair watching his own private t.v, we had to hug him hello but we weren't to stay in that room instead we had to go into the living room with my mum, sister, brother and Nan.

Grand-dad was old fashioned, but he meant the best. Everyone was crammed into a small side room in the hospital, even the aunty and her family that we never see. I felt weird having to go and say hello to Grand-dad who was lay on the bed looking smaller than usual, his eyes sunken into his head and his chest rising heavily and unsteadily. Everyone was watching as I awkwardly hugged him which I wasn't find of at all, but my mother had wanted me to say one last hello to him, though to me it felt like a goodbye.

I was twelve when I watched my Grand-dad die, everyone in the room collapsed into tears and I remember my mother checking his watch for the time of death which I supposed she was used to doing with patients. I didn't cry, though my older brother and sister both were, all my cousins were as well, even Alex who was year older than me but still I hadn't expected him to, and obviously my mother and aunties were after all he was their dad, it didn't really matter if he wasn't the best, he still was.

I comforted my mum and sister, hugging them as best I could without feeling to awkward; after all they needed someone to be strong even if it was the youngest of the whole family. My father wasn't there, and therefore I was the only one that didn't cry although actually I don't think on of the twins, Katie, my cousin did – not that much at least, not real tears but they were on the other side of the room. I can remember that well, but I don't remember when my mother told me she might have cancer.

I had just turned 14.

Apparently Jane's dad was ill but that wasn't the reason she had been so upset, she had noticed a pucker a while ago but put off having it checked out and then when she had because she was one of their own the hospital had taken extra care, she hadn't been expecting all the tests that they had taken. She had presumed they would of just told her that it wasn't cancer, but the tests had scared her and she knew that she did have cancer after all she knew what they were doing and knew that the hospital didn't take that many tests unless they thought it was serious.

I apparently responded with an 'Oh' and she had explained that the results would come back after our holiday in Menorca that we were scheduled to leave for in the next couple of days. I don't remember hearing about the results either but they came back positive, she had breast cancer and was a 2 on the 1-3 scale, 3 being the most aggressive cancer.

After a 7 hour long operation we had gone to visit her in hospital, where truth be told she wasn't herself at all. Now my mother doesn't swear but then drugged up on all the morphine she was cursing at everything and everyone, we found ourselves laughing at her but they weren't proper laughs, my sister was close to tears but me and my dada stayed strong, I can't remember if my brother was at University still or just working down there but I don't think he was there. He did of course visit the nest day.

After that it's a blur of chemotherapy and more operations to do with implants and such, whenever she was in hospital and we had to go and visit her I would close up, my ipod would go into my ears and my mind would be blasted out my Oasis tracks taking my mind of all that was going on. I wouldn't talk to my mother or would I make eye contact, it was my way of dealing with it but I now realise how horrible I acted.

It came down to my father and sister telling me to either grow up or that I wouldn't visit her again in hospital as I was leaving her in tears, I never meant for that to happen and I actually feel ashamed admitting it, my feelings turned to anger though and I ended up punching some walls in my house due to the fact that I hated myself for acting this way.

The problem was, I didn't know what else to do I couldn't put the fact that she might die behind me and play happy families talking to her about what had happened that day and how the dogs and horses and car were. I just couldn't do it, and once when she went back into hospital due to an infection as the chemotherapy killed of her immune system I remember walking towards the isolation unit and seeing a women in a bed, who obviously also had cancer before she was sporting the same haircut as my mother, infact I thought it was my mother but the women that lay on the bed – well you knew she would die soon.

Turns out my mother was in the room next to her, looking a lot brighter and healthier than the one I had just seen, but it spooked me causing me to not except it even more, I tried to act happier when I saw her but my brother later informed me that mother thought I hated her and that I blamed her for getting the cancer, though of course it wasn't her fault and this wasn't the case I just didn't know how to act about it all.

I stupidly felt that if she was going to die I may as well me detached and prepared – so I wrongly pretended she was dead, hoping that then if she die I wouldn't mind as much because we had grown apart towards the end. Kind of ridiculous I realise, but I was young and well, you can't really comment on it unless you've gone through the same thing, I realise I should have been more supportive but well I was too immature to realise this and well, yeah, I was stupid.

Mum was strong and defeated the cancer and she jokes that she got something out of it – a boob job. But even know a year after she stopped her chemotherapy I have only just started to hug her once more and act normal around her, we used to have a good relationship and I hope we can once more she knows I never hated her and realises that she only felt that way because she was emotional due to the chemo and drugs and such. - I wouldn't even touch her at some points in it, which makes me complelty understand her reasons for feeling that way.

My mother finished Chemotherapy in the February of 2010, and before I had started school again in the September of 2009 for year 10 she had told my head teacher that I may act a bit weird at school and had explained why, I don't remember much from this period but apparently according to my friend I seized up, didn't eat hardly talked and spent most my time angry with myself or distant from everyone. Things got worse at that time every month where my mother would have her chemotherapy ad when she told me that she had told my head teacher I went crazy, I hated the women and hated the fact that she now knew my weakness – if you can call it that.

I think it was March 2010 when my uncle (my father's elder brother) was diagnosed with stomach cancer and given 4-5 months to live, his cancer was a 3 on the scale and therefore very aggressive, he was given chemotherapy which made him ill-er than it had for my mother and he ended up in a wheelchair. The chemo had stopped the growing of the cancer but it hadn't shrunk it, and in the end they had to stop giving it to him as it wouldn't work for ever.

Fred is still alive today, so he has lasted longer than we had believed he would, it's coming to the end though and I'm not quite sure how my father will cope, like me he isn't good with feelings or emotions and I hate to think of him suffering alone, though it was exactly what I had done. Hopefully things will be ok, though my mum believes his death will send my little Nan (my father's mother) over the edge and be her death too, I'm not so sure she's a strong character and I see her living for a good few years yet, though she worried for her son a lot, it'll be hard for her but there learning the hard way how hard it was for us.

I'm 16 now and life is good despite everything, my mum is back working full time and we get along as normal teenager and mother should, arguments about staying out late etc included.