The Truth.

I am sitting on a coach. I’m returning home after a weekend away, and I feel tired, but light and happy. I feel my age, and my soul doesn’t feel so troubled.

Usually I listen to music on journeys; it’s one of my favourite things to do, but I don’t want to right now, I’m just enjoying the general chatter of the coach. I smile peacefully, watching the landscapes slip away, my eyes nodding shut every moment or so. It’s been such a long time since I could just relax like this, so long that I couldn’t even remember the word for it.

There is a little girl behind me. She kicks my chair occasionally, and talks quickly and excitedly to her mother. I can hear the smile in her mum’s voice. Her mum teases her for eating so much food; “but I’m just so hungry!” she says with her mouth full. “You’re always hungry!” I smile to myself, as they laugh loudly.

I look over my shoulder, but rather than see this little girl and her mum, I see myself and my own Mum.

My hair is short, in a bob, I’ve got chocolate around my face, and I’m looking up at my Mum with shining eyes. She also has short, light brown hair, and a necklace of a sun around her neck, that she always wore when I was younger. She says to me “But Evee, you’re always hungry!” Sometimes she would poke my belly and ask where I put all the food. Until now, I had forgotten about that.

When I was a child I always knew I could count on my Mum. She was my hero, and my best friend. She would always look after me, help me and guide me, and it strikes me that twelve, thirteen years later, I don’t have that. I feel loneliness settle on my shoulders like a cloak, and anger and sadness begins to ravage through my brain.

I quickly turn my head away, and I feel the air being pulled out of my body by a force much stronger than I. I reach for my rucksack with shaking hands, frantically trying to find my headphones. I can hear the maternal love enriching this stranger’s voice, and it’s too much for me. My broken heart twists painfully, like a bird with broken wings trying to fly.

I remember when Mum would ask me to come to her just so she could give me a hug. Oh God, what I would do to feel her embrace again. Or to see her smile and say she’s proud of me. Or for just a wink. A blink of her blue eyes. The memories are hitting me faster than I can process, it’s too much for me, but not enough at the same time.

Sometimes I feel like a ghost floating through life; I’m in the present, but I’m forever living in the past. There doesn’t seem to be a minute where Mum isn’t on my mind. I see her smile in strangers, or a scarf she would like, or a woman of a similar height with similar hair that, for one blissful moment, I think is her.

I remember walking behind her coffin, the air inside my lungs escaping too quickly, too fast for me to catch. I struggled to breathe as I did all too often back at this point in my life.

But then my thoughts turn to the future and I see myself at my graduation, my sister smiling proudly, but the missing Mum is obvious, heart breaking, and earth shattering. She should be there smiling excitedly, trying to get the perfect shot on her chunky camera.

I see myself even further in the future becoming a mother myself. One day, I will understand completely what Mum meant when she said “I would do anything for you. Nothing could get in my way.” She will never feel the weight of my child in her arms, and my child will never know their Grandma.

I try to force myself to calm down, I think “please don’t cry on a coach full of people”, but grief has no time, no limit, no moment that is out of bounds. I am lost and I am alone in a chaotic, busy world with no hiding places.

Previously, I have struggled with not being able to cry, but now, the tears fall without abandon, and I try to hold my breath to keep from whimpering. How has this happened to me? How did that little girl lose her Mummy?

Copyright © 2019 The Grief Reality. All Rights Reserved

29 thoughts on “The Truth.

      1. I am so sorry for your loss. I realise it must be such a difficult period in your life processing your thoughts and memories about your mother. My father passed away in 2003 and I learnt it was a loss I would never overcome. Instead, it would be an enduring suffering which I would need to accept and embrace in order to move forward. Your posts seem to be the epitome of someone enveloping their suffering and creating such beautiful art from it.
        On a side note: I was telling a friend last night about two writers’ slogans which many people seem unaware. The first being the ‘KISS’ principle (Keep it simple Stupid) and the other ‘If in doubt cut it out’. Your writing seems to encapsulate those premises more than any other blog I’ve seen here. There doesn’t seem to be a word or phrase too many or anything out of place. Everything feels exactly where it should be. That is astounding considering the subject matter.
        I imagine you are a professional writer because your mastery of wordsmanship is something to behold.

        Liked by 2 people

      2. Thank you so so much 🙏 I am not a professional writer, I have written for my whole life in some way, but most recently I write poetry, short stories and now this blog. I am heavily inspired by George Orwell whose sentiments lie very much in line with KISS and “if in doubt cut it out”. Most of all, I just try to write my truth, and when you’re writing the truth every word you use counts. In my opinion every word has to feel alive, and if one word feels dead you’re not doing it right.

        Liked by 2 people

      3. It doesn’t surprise me that you have been doing it all your life and how you espouse to ‘every word you use counts’. Also, having George Orwell as an inspiration can only pay big dividends as a writer. Your opinion ‘every word has to feel alive, and if one word feels dead you’re not doing it right’ is so poignant. The sum of all the aforementioned is brilliantly captured in your writing style and technique. Thank you for taking the time to elaborate on what inspires you as a writer.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. This is beautifully, heart-achingly written. It is so good that you make the reader slip into your shoes and live your life, for a few short minutes. I have the feeling that you are a determined person, who will emerge from your pain with more strength than you could ever believe possible. Wishing you all the best.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you. That is, if I’m honest, my exact intention. I want people to read this and understand truly how it feels to grieve. So many people go through this daily and can’t express it, but even more try to understand and just can’t. Grief is messy, it’s is violent and it’s hard, but if I can help others in any way, whether it’s because they enjoy my writing or they finally understand, then I’m grateful for the opportunity 🙏 thank you for your words; at this time in my life I feel a confusing mixture of strength and absolute weakness, but I am my mothers daughter and she was the strongest person I know, so I know both my sister and I will get better in the end 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Your feelings are natural, I have been through the same, all you can do is take things one day at a time, if it gets too much, find someone to talk to, and you can always talk to me, I understand completely, I am a little but further up the road than you, my Mum has been gone 4 and a half years, but I know she watches over me. xxx

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you 🙂 I think grief is a process like everything else in life. There is power in experiencing it though, because it makes us appreciate life in a new and more complex way. I know when I have bad days like these that I will be okay, but I think for everyone who grieves in the moment it seems impossible to comprehend. Xxxx

      Liked by 1 person

  3. So much feeling in your writing. I can feel the pain that burdens your heart. It is so hard to lose a parent and grief can be so heartless. I respect the fact you can even write about it. Your writing is phenomenal and masterful. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us.

    Liked by 1 person

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