Mamma

The grief doesn’t get any smaller

It doesn’t go away

I’m washing the dishes and I haven’t cried for weeks

Then I think, why did you have to go. And I breakdown a little.

But over time, it’s easier to pick myself back up again

Because I’m strong, because you gave me that.

You gave me everything.

The cancer’s back.

It’s bad, it’s bad bad bad.

Terminal. Straight away. Terminal.

But a few years they say. And in my mind I envision more.

Because the doctors can be wrong sometimes.

And I want to hope, who doesn’t want to hope.

I was out running when my sister called

Running had become something that was saving me, and when my mum died –

running up hills whilst listening to motivational podcasts like – ‘if you fall, fall forward.’

That shit saved me, it made me feel alive again. It made me want to try.

My sister called, and I knew before I answered – this wasn’t the good kind of phone call.

‘Come home now. mum’s moving to a hospice, maybe she has days left.’

Praying for 10 more years, 5 years… forever the optimist. That was gone now.

I went back to my London flat. I lay on my bed and cried, for hours. The cries when no sound comes out, because you feel so hollow. I felt dead inside.

10 days, we had 10 days left. She couldn’t eat anymore, drink anymore, talk anymore. And it broke me. I was just a shell – walking – doing – but not really there.

That last day, one second she had a pulse. I felt it. Then she stopped breathing. But how could she just… go. Just like that – it made no sense. None of it – my mum having cancer, going to a hospice – to wait to die. It didn’t make any sense. She was gone, and I f*cking hated the world. She’d tell me off for saying ‘f*cking’. *She was gone, and I hated the world.

Helayna, Joe and I walked to meet each other in the hospice garden and we just fell apart together. Falling apart can look different, it can be a full on breakdown – it can be a hug. We hugged, and it felt like forever. We all just lost our mum, at 21, 25 and 27 – we lost mum. The person who brought us into the world, walked every step with us, showed us how to be, was the best mum that there could ever be.

Our lives changed forever in that moment.

I was depressed. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I called the Samaritans and said I wanted to die. Because what’s the point, what is the point anymore.

My mum will never be on the other end of a phone call, ever again. She won’t be at my wedding. She won’t look after my children and teach them the beautiful wonders of the world, like she taught me. She’s not coming back.

Denial. Denial. Denial. Seeing you in the coffin. Holding the tube of your ashes.

My world stops, but everyone else’s life carries on. How?

Life’s not always kind. I lose mum, lose job, relationship bu-bye, move flat – pack up.

Drowning. Drowning. Drowning.

I can’t do this anymore, I can’t keep it together anymore. I’m not strong enough to do this.

Push. Push. Push. Crash.

Swim. Stay afloat.

Perspective. Huge perspective.

I’m still here, and I am invincible. Because losing my mum killed a part of me, but I came back – stronger, changed, wiser.

Then one of my close friends lost her mum, 6 months after I lost mine. And I felt her pain like it was my own. Every 22nd of the month she texts me a heart emoji, and every 24th I text her the same – because we know a big part of what the other is going through, because having a mum death anniversary every month can feel f*cked up and it hurts beyond words. And healing is not only what we go through alone, healing is connecting with others through our pain.

So any pain you bring at me life, this skin doesn’t break. Because I’ve seen hell, and I came back.

I rose above the pain – I live with the pain. Every, single, day – for the rest of my life. This pain is part of who I am. Through this pain I must continue to live – to eat, to do, to be, to grow, to keep experiencing life and all the good it has to offer.

I am human. And being human isn’t easy, isn’t fair, isn’t a (f*cking) merry-go-round.

But it is filled with love, connection, laughter. My mum showed me that, and then all the people I met after her.

You go from hating the world, to remembering life is beautiful.

And giving back to that circle of connection through your grief.

I wish you didn’t have to go.

But I’m OK mamma, I’m OK.