I don’t wanna talk about it, I just wanna hold your hand

I have been gone for over a month and that is because on the twenty fifth of February my world stopped spinning. Almost four years after her diagnosis, my mum passed away. Although we all knew that it was coming at some point, I don’t think any of us were prepared for it to be this quick. She died peacefully in a hospice on the Wednesday morning with my dad by her side and my sister and I making it just in time for her final breath. I have been staring at the sun for the past year but I was still not prepared for it to hurt so much; for this chasm inside of me to be so damn wide. That day was the very worst day of my life and clibing out from under the rubble is an ongoing and painstaking process.
It’s like being permanently homesick and expecting to go home soon, but you never do. You don’t want to be here, but you cannot leave; being held captive by my own grief. I spent the last year looking after my mother, getting all her tablets ready or speaking to various medical staff about how we could tweek things or how things weren’t working. Calling the paramedics when she had a nasty seizure and never leaving her alone for longer than I needed to. I don’t tell you this to make you feel sorry for me, I am just trying to explain just how encompassing this all was and how this hole got to be so large.
Every day I find myself thinking “I must tell mum that later”, before remembering that it isn’t possible. That the person I told absolutely everything to, the one that kept my secrets and insecurities isn’t here anymore. I am reminded about things that we never got to do, like finish all eight seasons of House. This seems trivial, but it is something we enjoyed doing, together.
My waking thoughts are filled with her and my dreams are dominated by trying to bring her back to life, back to our family and how I can save her. I am exhausted.
It may look like I am holding it all together on the outside because the last three or so years have taught me how to wear this mask of composure expertly. No one gets to see the churning inner turmoil and the dark rain cloud that constantly follows over me. A continuous shadow. In the quiet and confronting moments when my carapace falls and the flood gates open.
The funeral was a lovely service, maybe a weird sentence to read but it was a real celebration of her life. The amount of people that came to send her off was wonderful. The crocheted flowers that had been sent from across the world strung together and draped across the casket brought a brilliant pop of colour and brightened the place up, a lot like my mother always did. This is something I wrote for the service.

I love her, and that is the beginning and end of everything.
My mother was the best person I have ever known. Endlessly strong and full of heart, an inspiration and warm. Forever a little kinder than she needed to be, choosing to see the best in everyone. Always at the ready to give advice…and yes, she was always right. As John Green once wrote “There is a part of her greater than the sum of her knowable parts. And that part has to go somewhere, because it cannot be destroyed.” My mum was like the lights on a Christmas tree, beautiful, shining and bright. A sight that would bring hope, family and joy to gather around her and make you feel a little fuzzy inside. And now one of the bulbs has gone and she leaves the rest of us a little duller. But we keep burning because there is a little something of her in all of us. Her unparalleled strength and positivity is something I will forever be striving for and inspired by in my own life. Nurturing, colourful and blue skies. There isn’t anything I won’t miss about her – the way she encouraged me to always be myself or the way that she loved the dog more than any of us. I will miss her everyday and it will never measure up to the gratitude I feel that she was my mother.
Ultimately my mum showed me on a daily basis how to do small things with great love, and I can only hope that she now goes to seek a great perhaps.

I am trying to treat my grief as a guest – “You acknowledge it, you cater to it, then you send it on its way.” But it is an ongoing battle and some days are terrible, some are bad and some just are. Sometimes I feel like I am holding my breath whilst I drown. I have lost two of the most important women in my life and they were each taken far too early, my mum was only 47. So please ladies, check your breasts and see a doctor if something doesn’t feel right.
There is nothing I wouldn’t do to bring my mum back, to be able to talk to her for just a little while longer. Make the most of your loved ones. Because even if you know it is coming to an end, you will never be prepared.

Forever.

My warships are lying off the coast of your delicate heart

Today has led me to find whatever tiny morsel of solace I can, which always brings me here. Some days I become overwhelmed with the things I need to get done/are being done faster than I am happy for them to. Some days I just want to go back to bed or stand in the cold and scream. However, I am trying to channel those feelings into writing more. So, here I find myself on this chilly oppressively grey afternoon, note book, pen and writing aid at the ready. My chipped red fingernails ready to swiff elegantly (…yeah right), across the keyboard.
642 Things To Write About:

“Write an anonymous letter to a stranger detailing the things you’ve learned about life”

Dear human,
You do not know me, and before you throw this letter away – I REALLY AM NOT TRYING TO SELL YOU ANYTHING, PROMISE. I would just like to share some things that I have learned along my twentyfive years of life. A) I have found that you really have little control over the big things in life. Sure, you can have some input and maybe even reroute the course of said ‘big thing’, but ultimately the bigger the thing, the more inevitable it becomes. Unfortunately it is these things in life that we want to control most, but sometimes we have to accept that this is out of our hands. Therefore we should B) live to be a little kinder than we have to. Every day we step outside the house with our public masks on (not as conspicuous as Batman’s), a hard carapace to protect us from society, the one we are happy for the world to see. We are all aware that what we sometimes project into the world is not always what is reflected inside. Where the self doubt nestles up against the self loathing and writhes around in the dark slippery tentacles of fear. It doesn’t take much to give a compliment or send a text to let someone know you’re thinking of them. Life is too short to reserve kindness for when you think people need it, because most days we could all do with a little pick me up.
The last six years have really taught me that C) words and people do not define me as a person. One word cannot describe something as complex as a human and by thinking that it can we are doing ourselves a huge disservice. Even if that word is complimentary it is eliminating all the other things you have to offer. Just as a person cannot make us a whole or complete; because we should trust and value our own opinions and feelings to be enough for ourselves. Sure others can enhance and encourage you that bit further to shine that bit brighter, but to be confident in our own skin should be a top priority.
Something I am trying to work on is to D) be present more often. It is so easy to miss the small important things and the possible memories because our faces were glued to a screen (she says whilst on her laptop). A culture obsessed with catching memories we are ultimately failing to really experience because we are trying too hard to show others the memories we are making. Like Pavlov’s dogs we all but salivate when the trings and the pings escape from our phones, jumping to see who it is immediately. When the big red bubbles appear on various apps demanding that we respond to their silent warnings. I am trying to take a step back, resist the knee jerk instinct that has been ingrained and enjoy the moment I am in first. Which leads me to E) finding time for reflection. Those little moments we can find for ourselves to work through problems before we become overwhelmed or even just sitting and being…breathing. I have come to realise over the past year or so that these times are essential to living as well as we can. Without these moments we can often just keep going, until we can’t anymore. And when we no longer can, we are not helping ourselves and we are not helping those that depend upon us. Without these moments the smiles that should come easily don’t and the kindness I seek to give is not possible, because I have not been kind to myself. Sometimes we cannot always find these moments without the help of others at first, and F) it is okay to seek help. In fact it is fundamental to keep us ticking along nicely. Currently I seek solace in the counseling sessions I receive regularly. Due to a big thing I have no control over, I needed a little more help in my life to keep me from drowning in my circumstances. There is nothing to be done that can change my situation and I felt it necessary to accept the help that was being offered to me and I am so pleased I did. Without it I would, by now, be unable to help those that rely upon me. I would not be as kind as I would like to be. I have always dug down deep and stuffed all of my problems on top of each other and let them fester away somewhere in the back of my mind, playing on my conscience without always realising it, because that is the way I dealt with things. But when the big things come along and rob you of your sure footing, I have realised it is not shameful to seek help.
In summary, G) “do small things with great love”.
Yours faithfully, a stranger.