“I miss my mum”
I feel those words so often that they don’t really have any meaning. They are worn, hollowed and fragile. I dare not focus on them too much or they might just shatter. I might just shatter.
I think those words so often that they almost act as a barrier, albeit not a very strong one, between myself and what it is that I miss about my mum. Saying “I miss my mum” gently brushes over the top of a feeling that I am too afraid to delve into. What’s the point into delving into something that cannot be fixed?
There is no consolation to the words “I miss my mum”. I can’t pick up the phone and speak to her. Her words cannot fill the fragile hollow grief of missing her.
I think a part of me is afraid to really dive into those words that have become a regular line in my narrative. I am afraid to miss my mum, because what if I remember her wrong? What if I miss her wrong? What if I drown?
Rather, my mind tends to stumble over missing someone who is still alive. It makes more sense to miss someone who has a chance of coming back, don’t you think? I guess you can call it a referral pain of some sorts.
And so rather than actively miss her, I feel a passive numb acceptance. I have a whole box full of our memories and I have plenty of photos around my room. But I rarely take the time to look at them. I just look through the photo of the person who was my mum.
I think I am afraid. What if I forget how soft her hair was, or the feel of her hands? What if I remember her wrong? What if I miss her wrong?
Most of all, what if I have already forgotten how real she was?
You know, over the past 2 years of running this blog, I think I have failed to mention just how annoying she was. No one really mentions just how annoying their loved one was after they’ve passed away, do they?
Well, my mum was annoying. When I was about 17, Evee 12, the three of us had an agreement before we left for school and work that we wouldn’t engage in conversation beyond “Have a nice day, I love you”. You see, none of us were morning people and 9/10 times, if we were to have a conversation before 09:00 am, it would end up in an argument as we’d rush about trying to find our misplaced shoes or car keys. Evee would slam the door and stomp off to school. When we were all home by 16:00, the morning’s tiff would all be but forgotten. But we agreed that it was just better to not have a tiff at all, so we didn’t speak – it just worked.
She was absolutely not perfect. She would anger just like anyone else, she would swear at drivers who cut her off and then politely say “excuse my French, girls”.
My mum could be a pain in my ass, and I just miss her so, so much.
I’m not entirely sure that this post will make sense to you, but it makes a little more sense to me after writing it out. I just miss my mum, and I think I’m afraid.
I would love to know a little bit about your person, what is it that you miss, what made them real? If you feel comfortable, tell me a little about them in the comments.
Also, it’s been a little while since I shared a song…
“Falling from high places, falling through lost spaces,
Now that we’re lonely, now that we’re so far from home.
Watching from both sides, these towers been tumbling down,
I lost my mind here, I lost my patience with the lord.”