You were always there to tell me how proud you were and to tell me to never give up. I didn’t. I didn’t give up because you never gave up. You taught me to never give up, and we didn’t, did we?
I thought I’d never be able to endure this loss. But I suffered my biggest fear over the last 10 months and I’m still surviving it now. More than that, I finally feel as though I am in a position to start living again and putting myself back together.
Chiquitita, you and I cry, But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you.
On Facetime to both my boyfriend and my sister, Evee said to me “That’ll do pig, that’ll do” quoting the iconic final line from Babe, and I laughed through my tears. She was right, that’ll do. It’s over now, I can rest.
Why do we have this self-imposed idea that throughout our lives we are meant to maintain a perfect, crisp version of ourselves? Like untouched snow, or fresh school shoes that we don't want to scratch.
I would like a conversation, where we talk about life and living and what it all means. Maybe after, my brain will turn into liquid and drip into dreams.
How could I still be listening out, just in case Mum needed me?