One year. 52 weeks. 365 days.
What can you do with one year? How much things can change in one year? What were you doing one year ago?
One year ago you died. You died and life as I have known from day dot died too. Routines, personal jokes, important plans…The future; it all died too, this day one year ago.
Death is so incredibly final. You don’t get a second chance to say what you want to say or be able to wind back the clock and truly cherish what you had. You wile away the days plugging through the mundane chores and wishing away time for a special occasion. Everything around you is changing but you fail to see it and fail to seize the moment and embrace how good things really are.
In all honesty? I absolutely hate not having a Mom. It makes me feel half a person. It makes my insides ache, my head hurt and my heart so very very sad.
I hate not being able to pick up the phone, pop round or send a quick text. I hate that all our memories from here on in won’t include you. I hate that you are missing out on so much. I hate that I have to take flowers to a grave. I hate that I sometimes refer to you in the past tense. You cannot be past tense – you are my Mom! You are indestructible. You hold the family together. You know where I put all my stuff even though you don’t live with me!! You know what’s best for me before I do. You are a wonderful mother in every single aspect of the word. Why am I sitting here pouring this out – this should be happening in another 30 years. I should not have spent one year without you. But I have. I don’t quite know how but I have.
There are days where it is a struggle to put one foot in front of the other, where my mind is full of fog and my smile is empty but masks the pain. But I carry on – for them.
These three little people who you so readily devoted your life to. Who gave you every purpose to live but were so cruelly denied. They are growing and changing so rapidly and for every milestone which makes me burst with pride I feel that so familiar lump in my throat; that lump that has been there since that day in July you told me you had Cancer. My babies were your babies. You loved them just as much as I did and were so proud that they were your grandchildren – everyone knew that. You are a one in a million and I feel so desperately sad that you aren’t around to bask in the crazy world that encapsulates Charlie and the twins. You aren’t here to sit and have a well deserved cuppa at the end of a manic day and then have to rush off for the soaps.
Bloody hell. How is it a year? I miss you more now than ever. I shall raise a glass to quite honestly the funniest, craziest, loving, devoted awesome Mom I could ever have dreamt of. I can only hope one day my kids will hold me in just a fraction of the high regard as you will always be in my regard.
I love you. Now. Always. Forever.
One year. 52 weeks. 365 days. I don’t half miss having a Mom.