When I wake up, my heart doesn’t split into a thousand pieces. My head doesn’t pound with questions asking me why us, or how are we here. When I reach for a mug for my coffee, my hands don’t shake when I see Mum’s mug.
When I was a teenager, I had the opportunity to see Ben Howard live for the first time, I remember trying to convince a friend to come with me because "You aren't going to remember the time you saved £25.00, you're going to remember the time you were front row at a Ben Howard concert!". Needless to say, we had a great time. It's something I've always been mindful of. And now, after losing my mum, memories have never been so valuable to me.
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.
When you hold your thumb, try and think of a safe and calming space. This could be a place that you imagine, like a beach with the sound of the waves, or it could be a memory where you remember feel particularly calm. For me it is lying back on the trampoline, feeling warm by the evening sun, at about 12 years old.
For the first 3 months following my mums passing, I was frantic and desperate for memories. We had already lost her, I was terrified that I’d now forget her too. I wanted to hold on to our memories so tightly as if they were helium balloons. Like a child at the fayre, I daren’t loosen my grip in fear that they’d float away and be forgotten forever.
I've been really emotional leading up to this Mother's Day. I miss her more with every passing day. Her absence at home is deafening. I spend a lot of my weekends visiting her. It’s a beautifully serene place and I feel very comfortable there. Sometimes my younger sister and I take a picnic blanket, we lay down and have a good cry!
Sometimes, making plans for the following week seems like a great idea - and sometimes it is - but other times, you just have to cancel because all you need to do is gather your strength at home.