I can’t quite believe it’s been two years since Mum died. In some ways, her death feels like it happened yesterday. In many ways, it feels as though it happened a lifetime ago.
Is it getting easier? Maybe.
I’ve always believed that you don’t get over grief, you get along with it. You rub along with it as best you can. Two years on and I still hold this belief. I’m not over grief, I haven’t come through it, but I’m learning to live life alongside it.
I no longer burst into tears when I see a Mum-aged person chomping on a cheese straw. Or when I see a cancer-ridden-body making their way around the supermarket. The grief attacks are becoming further apart. There aren’t as many times that I pick up my phone to text or call Mum, before remembering I can’t.
But that doesn’t mean it’s gone away.
I still cried when I found out that Dad had donated one of her favourite Christmas cookbooks to a charity shop (thankfully I have a wonderful auntie who replaced it within a week – queue more tears!). I still sobbed when I had some significant health challenges recently and wanted nothing more than a Mum hug. I still struggled when faced with a stranger receiving a cancer diagnosis right in front of me.
Mum hasn’t disappeared from my life. She has become part of it.
She’s part of the Christmas cake I baked a few weeks ago. She’s part of the bread I’ve made the last few weeks. She’s part of the birthday food package delivered to my brother. I see her in the crunchy leaves – remembering walks we had and the time we played football one October half term. I hear her steady advice in my ear when I’m faced with horrible life challenges. I feel how proud she is, through the pride I feel for my brothers and all they are achieving.
Life changed when Mum was diagnosed. In some ways, the five years since her original diagnosis have been the worst five years of my life. However, they’ve also been the best five years. I’ve become closer with my brothers. My life has been propelled in a completely different direction – but despite the agonising decisions at times, I firmly believe that it was the right thing. I’ve met some amazing people. I’ve inherited many Mum figures. My outlook on life has changed. I have fallen back in love with art. I’ve been through tears, sobs, sleepless nights, medications, therapy, major health challenges, jobs, houses, flatmates, long phone calls, dog walks, driving tests, exams, panic attacks, laughter… the list goes on.
I’ve learned what’s important. I’ve learned how much I love my family, but that they’re not always right. I’ve learned that family aren’t necessarily those you’re related to. I’ve learned that I am stronger than I ever imagined – however much I don’t believe it at times. I’ve learned that crying is okay. I’ve learned that people can be amazing. I’ve learned that some people are not amazing, and you have to let them go. I’ve learned that it’s okay to let people in. I’ve learned that every emotion is okay, you just have to learn how to manage them. I’ve learned that you have to do a job that makes you happy, even if it doesn’t pay as well as other jobs, or doesn’t live up to other’s expectations. And that’s only the start.
I don’t have anything profound to write to mark these two years. I can’t tell that grieving ever goes away. You probably don’t want to hear yet another ‘it gets better’ platitude, but I can tell you that it becomes cope-able-with. I can tell you that however you feel is absolutely okay. I can tell you that your grief is your own, to cope with as best you know how. As my Mum always said: be kind to yourself
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