Bad day

When you have a break down because your tv channels aren't working and you've been calling the tv company pretty much every evening for three weeks. And you think it's such a ridiculous thing to have a break down about, such stupid third world problems.

But the years just won't stop running. And you've had such a crap day in general.

And you realise that the real reason you're crying is the feeling you manage to suppress and hide almost every day. Because after a bad day, the one thing you want to do is call your mum. And I am so so so angry that mine has been taken away from me. I hate the world every day for doing that to me and my family.

Silence

It's all so quiet. And all I want is to hear her voice. I'd give anything to hear it again.

Soon I won't be able to think "a year ago today she did this." Soon she will have been dead for a year. Dead.

I hate the world for having taken her away from me.

Please. Come home.

Next week it's one year since we were told there was no hope. Sure, we'd been told that since day 1. But on the 16th of September 2014 it became real. The doctor said the dreaded words: "I think it's time to stop all treatments. We've bought all the time we could." After that my mum said the words that broke my heart into a million pieces. "So now all we can do is wait." I will never forget my stupid, philosophical attempt at being positive: "No mum, now all we can do is live."

I do this thing when. I am absolutely obsessed with tv-shows. And I can re-watch some of my favourite shows over and over again. Sometimes in full. Sometimes I fast forward through the boring parts of various episodes. And then I can re-watch one scene several times. I just keep rewinding, and watch it again. To keep that moment alive just for a few seconds longer. I wish I could do that. I try to do that. Sometimes, when I'm lying on my sofa, or walking in the forest, I will re-live those days. Those months. The laughs and the tears, between the 16th of September and the 19th of November. Those two months are so unreal to me. So much happened. But at the same time everything was paused. There are certain moments during those two months that I wish I could re-live again, and again, and again. And it's not just the good parts. I want to have the bad ones too. I want all of it. The pain. The tears. The screams.

Because that would mean that I wouldn't walk around town searching for her face. It would mean that I wasn't desperate to hear her voice. It would mean that she'd be here.

I went to the cemetery today. And I cannot get it through my head that that is the place I go to visit my mum. It's soon been a year. But I just can't get used to it. So instead I beg. I beg for her to come home soon. Because I miss my mum. And my heart is shattered in a million pieces because she's not here. And I don't know how to live my life anymore. I need my mum. And please, please, please. come home soon.

A mess

Some days I feel like I've found my place, that this is a good place to be.
Other days I wonder what the hell I'm doing here.

Every day I wonder how my life could end up like this. How I became the girl with a dead mum.

Pretending

In an effort to pretend nothing has changed I switched on my previous phone and there it was. My last text conversations with my mum. I can hear her voice in my head. I want to wrap those words around me like a warm blanket. Two days ago it would have been her 56th birthday. It was also seven months to the day since she died. Yesterday it was two years since she was given her diagnosis. It's been a weekend of trying to suppress all emotions in an effort to survive. Self defense. But now. When the weekend is over. And the silence is catching up. Everything just hits me. And I don't know where to go. I can't believe that I will never ever ever see her again. Or talk to her. Or hug her. How can that be true?

It's always there

Some days it just hits you. Knocks the wind out of you. And it's happening all over again. You're sitting next to her bed holding her hand. You're telling her it's okay, that we'll be okay. And you watch as she stops breathing. And the world just goes quiet.

And then you realise it's actually been almost seven months. But it will never stop happening. And you curl up into a ball and let it all out. Because the pain and the longing and the frustration is just too much.

Time

Today I have lit candles all around my apartment. They are all burning for you my beloved mum. Six months have passed. And I need all the light in the world to keep me away from the dark.

Six months. Half a year.
Time is such a strange thing. It feels like it all happened yeterday. In a way I hope it always will feel like that. Like it was only yesterday that she was here. But it's been half a year. And time has crawled by at a ridiculously slow pace. Each individual day has felt like forever. But as a whole, the six months went by like a blink of an eye.

I wish you were here. I will never stop wishing that.

It's raining outside

I close my eyes and pretend everything is alright. Only, I can't because it's too painful. I pretend she's here, and that we're laughing and joking and living. But I find myself unable to breathe, and instead I open my eyes. Because it's too painful.

I feel like I have no one to talk to. I don't know who has the energy to listen to me. To hear me out. I want to throw something. I want to shout. I want to fall apart. I want to stop thinking. I want to stop being okay in front of people. I want to do something so they know it's not okay. So they know I am broken and bleeding and falling apart.

I want my life back they way it used to be. I don't know what to do with all this pain.

I feel like people are disappearing. But I think it's me that's pulling away. I don't know how to deal with this, so how can I expect others to stick around for it?