I hate February 25th. I hate the days leading up to it, I hate entering February and knowing it’s approaching, I hate thinking about it but sadly, that’s all my brain does. I hate February 25th because it means another year has gone by without my mum.
Recently I’ve been in such a slump mentally, and I guess I forgot that this could very well be the reason why. It’s not easy having lost a parent at a critical time of your life, and I knew when it happened it would obviously have a lasting impact. However, in the last year especially I think I’ve done pretty well in mentally healing but understandably in these moments I’m likely to crumble.
I wrote a piece for my friend Shaun last month, for a new project of his (check it out here if you’d like), about my experiences of grief, and it made me realise just how far I’ve come since I was first told my mum was dead. At the same time though, I think of that moment and everything rushes back to me as if it just happened – isn’t time a strange thing?
The worst thing about having something so horrible happen to you is that you seem to remember every single detail concerning it. I remember my uncle there holding me as I wept outside my university halls, and one of my flatmates coming home and awkwardly seeing me there in the worst moment of my life (to this day I don’t think they actually know what happened), to driving home straight after and almost throwing up outside a service station. I vividly remember being in the spare room of my grandparents house feeling like it was impossible to get out of bed and go on with life, puffy eyes from the crying and having experienced the first of many awful grief dreams.
The dreams are horrible, and they’re the things that catch me off guard the most. It’s always the same situation with different scenarios, and every time my brain tricks me into thinking that all this time my mum was actually alive still, she just disappeared and I see her in random places but it’s like she doesn’t know me, doesn’t care for me. Obviously I get seriously upset within the dream and end up waking up feeling rotten, sometimes it even feels like I’ve actually been bawling my eyes out when I haven’t (there’s that horrible feeling in your throat, y’know after a really bad cry).
In the last three years I’ve only had one positive dream about my mum, and about a dozen horrible ones, so good job brain…
I just really miss having a mum, especially when mine was brilliant. Sure, she had her flaws and we had our bad patches but in the few years leading up to her death we were so tight knit, literally best friends. That’s what makes it hurt so much, that she was stolen away from me not only at such a pivotal time in life, but when our relationship was at its best. We had each other’s backs, we looked after each other, confidants through and through. I miss her voice and hugs, the comfort only a mother can give you when things are feeling shit. Old voicemails sometimes aren’t enough.
It’s horrible remembering she’s gone, that life has really changed with a stubborn before and after, and it’s no fun knowing this is a grief that will stick with me for the rest of my life.
To be honest, I don’t know what I’m trying to achieve with this post, but sometimes word vomit just needs to happen y’know. Honestly if I could blacklist this day, or just stay in bed and forget the outside world exists I 100% would but life goes on and you have to keep living, as sucky as it can sometimes feel.
Soooo that’s what I’m gonna do. Just, keep on keeping on.