My mum died suddenly 2 days ago. I live here in the UK, my family is in the US. I can’t fly out until Monday, and I’m losing my mind with grief.
Today is my birthday.
Since leaving home, she’s called me every year on my birthday, on the very time I was born. This year, I wrote her obituary and chose a dress for her memorial service. I posted a picture of her and I together on my 1st birthday - my sister and my dad chose this photo for her obituary and I can’t breathe…
My sister is at the house picking up the little things - her glasses, a book, her dirty coffee mug. How do you do your dead mother’s laundry? How do you tidy a life of 78 years away? I wouldn’t so much as be able to empty her glass of water. Surely there’s a time when all her things are gone, when all the dust she created is gone, just like she is.
I’ve been her molecules for every second of my life, and she’s no more.
I am glad I got to see her this summer, and the last call I had with her, she showed off her new glasses and was rightfully proud that she made it to 78 without needing eyewear. I told her how proud I am of my son, and send through a truly extraordinary short story he wrote.
I was going to call her the day before she died with news of a promotion, then I just…didn’t. I had a fight with my husband instead, and although I’m glad she didn’t die while worried about me, I fucking wish I’d have been able to see her face one last time.
I’m trying so hard to remember the last hug I gave her, at my cousin’s house, the day before my flight back to the UK. But it was so busy at the party, I can’t remember what she looked like when she was there.
It hurts so much, and so profoundly. I love her so much.