“So I have this dream, it comes like twice in a week
It’s been so for years and years on repeat
And since then I’ve not had a full night of sleep
’Cause it plays out the same way”
Today is the last of the firsts and the worst one yet.
I have survived Christmas, Easter, birthdays, and the scattering of Mum’s ashes but this one is a fucking doozy.
Exactly 12 months ago Mum died.
I can’t get the picture of my siblings and me staring at her lifeless body out of my head. She finally looked peaceful. My siblings and I did not.
I sat on the edge of her bed, tears rolling down my face, wishing she would come back to me. I touched her face. I held her hand. I told her how much I loved her; how much she meant to me. I asked her for strength—for guidance.
In the weeks leading up to Mum’s death, I told her that I couldn’t do this. That I couldn’t live without her. When she was still able to speak, she said that I have always had the strength within myself to navigate this world on my own. I didn’t believe her then and I’m struggling to believe her now.
I feel lost.
I feel like I did when Mum and Dad fought. Like a lost child trying to grab hold of anything to keep me stable. I’m free-falling and it scares the shit out of me.
I’m staring at the cursor blinking impatiently while I try and sort through my thoughts; my emotions. I don’t know what to say. I’m numb. But I do know that if I don’t get this out, I will go mad.
I have been mad.
Anger fills every fibre of my being. Why should everyone else go about their life as free spirits when I’m stuck? Enjoy your time with your loved ones while I’m forever grieving. Fuck you!
I’m stuck in an eternal dark hole.
I’m waiting for this anger—this sadness to go. I’d settle for easing but it’s not. None of my pain has eased. Every fucking day I miss her. Every fucking day I wish she hadn’t left me.
Every fucking day I feel lost.
Mum was everything to me. As a kid, I looked up to her. She was strong and loving and my absolute saviour. I wouldn’t have survived my childhood without her. She taught me manners, forgiveness, and how to love unconditionally. As a teenager, she was patient, loving, and informative. She taught me about the world, about words and how powerful they can be when used effectively. As an adult, she was supportive, loving, and kind. She taught me to believe in myself; to rely on my strengths, not on others. I still struggle with that last one.
Mum was loving.
I have never met anyone so loving. Despite the pain, both emotional and physical she endured in her life, Mum poured love into us.
Every fucking day.
She loved me and my siblings more than anything in this world. She gave up everything so that we could have something.
I will never forget that, Mum.
So I sit here now on the first anniversary of your death Mum, feeling all the fucking feels. I don’t think I will ever be the same person I was before you became sick. Before I took you to your chemo appointments. Before I went shopping for you because you were too sick to do it yourself. Before I nursed you when it was really bad. Before we rushed you to the hospital when it was worse than bad. Before I watched you in so much pain. Before I saw you give up your dignity. Before you begged me to end your suffering. Before you surrendered to cancer.
Before you faded away.
Your death sits in the pit of my stomach.
Today I am wearing your favourite tee shirt of mine, Mum. The one with the roses on it. I’m wearing it like a badge of honour. I’m so proud I had you in my life for 48 years. The plant you gave me before you moved to Queensland is flourishing. I water it. I prune it just like you taught me. I’ve named it Elizabeth after you. If I can keep it alive, then maybe your spirit will always be with me.
I miss you now and forever.
I love you.