If she were alive today would be my mum’s birthday. Last year I seemed to have missed it. I had not long returned from England and had other things on and it was not until it was past, I think, that I remembered. This year it’s been different. Despite everything going on in my life I’ve been greatly aware of this date looming up on me. Now here it is.
I don’t know if it matters now, nor indeed if it is technically a birthday anymore. I’m sure the day has passed by my sister altogether, and for those who remember it will be no more than a fond reminder of a lovely lady no longer among us. Me, I feel sad.
How much am I sad for mum? And how much greater is it because of the extreme duress I’m experiencing? An occasion like this can act as a kind of heat sink. All your sorrows are focussed on the one thing. It becomes your excuse, your outlet, for grief.
I miss mum more for being in the situation I am. The loss is felt more keenly for what is not there when I need it. I’m accustomed to that all the same. It’s not new, and nor is the stress I’m under.
I’m sad that mum is gone, and what I feel is authentic, true even if I were in altogether different circumstances. On days like these I remember I’ll never see mum again, and feel more alone than ever.
It’s at these times I wish I could talk about it. Hell, I wish I could talk to her. More than any other time I wish I could just walk away from the fight and just be frail and human.
None of that can be, not yet. Deal with it and move on. Mum is not coming back.