Honest whispers from a voice memo no one else will hear.
It’s quarter to two.
And I’m sat here, and so many memories are coming back to me. It’s not just the memories though, it’s filling in the blanks. The blanks of the 74 hours from leaving home to coming back.
Filling in the blanks of the hours in between it happening and me finding out.
Feeling all the remorse and the regret, for the time that I squandered and wasted. And how my life will never be the same. I feel like I’ve been hundreds of different people. I’m sat here thinking about the moment I walked into my living room, and it hit me.
That my mother was never going to be back in that house ever again.
I’m thinking about how much I miss my mum. And the fact that I don’t know where she is. Because it sure doesn’t feel like she’s with me. And though I don’t believe in all that, either religious or spiritual anything. I wish I did. I wish I could just have something, to ease this pain. Because I’m empty. I’m just empty. I know, I know that because I am in this moment and I’m in this phase that it just feels like it is never going to get better. And people say that it will, it won’t get easier but it might get better.
And I cynically can’t help but think. How could there be a better life without my mum?