5 years

It’s been 5 years since we were at your side as you drew your last breath.

What’s left to be said since you died that I haven’t said before?

God, September is hard.

As soon as the calendar flips, I find myself constantly thinking back to your last days with us. Spending time with you in hospice. Sitting outside with A and N, trying to make sense of it all. Waiting. Not knowing what to expect but still, knowing you were lost to us. It was such a surreal experience.

I still miss you every single day. Is it possible that I miss you more now than I did when we first lost you? Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a minute of your guidance, even if that guidance is a simple reminder to just get on with it.  I quietly envy my friends who have close relationships with their mums.

You know when kids fall, and they are totally fine until they see their moms and then they burst into tears? Sometimes, I wish you were still here simply so that I could have that luxury when I most need it. To pick up the phone and burst into tears with no preamble.

I know that the memory of you has faded for the kids. They were so little when you died. But we talk about Omi often enough that they’ve created their own little memory bank. Real or imagined, it doesn’t matter. You are still a presence in their lives, and I’ll continue to add to their memory bank as much as I can. I wish I’d taken more pictures, written more down, captured more memories.

If you were alive today, I’d like to think that you’d be proud of the mother I am to 3 strong-willed children. I’d like to think you’d still be scolding me for the silly things I do. I’d like to think of you with your grandchildren, teaching them the things that I can’t.

Here’s to you, mum.