Grief Chapter 7. Someone Else's Grief.

Dear friend,

I hope that when you read this you know that it’s written for you. It’s also written because of you. Today on your social media, you shared how you still looked for your mum in crowds or public places. That you’ve spent hours searching the internet looking for a sign of her. I’ve also spent time looking for my dead parents. Not online. But in the real world. Old men walking around in their jean shorts and those geeky glasses, they’re the ones I have to stop myself from running up to just to make sure it isn’t my dad.

I don’t look for my mum. I wonder if it’s because I saw her body after she died. I sat in the room with her in silence. I went in because I felt like it was my last chance to say anything. But then I had nothing to say, just a sadness that she was gone.

No one warned us how hard this life would be without our mums. We’re grown ups now. Faking our way into adulthood. We’re supposed to have it together, to know what to do. We’re supposed to stand on our own two feet and be functioning members of society. But there’s too many days when our brains have imploded and we haven’t been able to behave the way we wanted.

No one told us how our brains would be affected by these events. That our biology would change, it would break and we would be fighting against that brokenness for years. I’ve watched from afar as you’ve been in and out of the psych ward trying to find your sanity. I’ve heard about your treatments and my heart has hurt for you. I knew you when you were 16. We would walk home together and talk nonsense. I cannot comprehend that you are the same person as that silly girl I knew. How could life become so serious for someone filled with so much fun?

My heart aches for you not just because you’ve lost your mother. But because she was someone you adored. She was such an incredible person. You had that close relationship which I longed for. I had a dysfunctional and weird relationship with my Mum. There was love there but it was far from the dynamic that you shared with yours. While I’m jealous of what you grew up with, I wonder if it’s harder for you now because of that.

There’s so much I want to say to you. Things I want to scream to make sure you hear them. I’m grateful that you haven’t given into the demon that haunts you. That the heaviness of life hasn’t taken you out. I’m glad you’re still here posting things about your plants and your cat and that boyfriend of yours. I know that it’s been a tough journey. Grief has demanded you pay a price higher than most. Some days, I don’t know how you’ve managed to pay.

Some days I wonder why we didn’t get the miracle that others have received. The cancer being caught in time , a new miracle treatment or a phone call was made and the right words said at the right time. I don’t know why we’re not one of the lucky ones. Life’s shit like that sometimes.

If I could give you your mum back I would. But I don’t think a zombie mum would do. (I hope you laugh at that. It’s such a lame joke and probably in bad taste but if anyone has a worse sense of humour then me, it’s you). I hope life gets better for you. That one day you wake up lighter and able to feel the good stuff. It’s not because I think you deserve it, what right do any of us have to expect anything good? Life is chaotic. But I hope you get to experience the joys of life in it’s fullness. Because I want to hear that girl laugh again. A free, full belly laugh like you used to on our walks home.

That’s it my friend. I have more to say but I’ll leave it until another day when I get to say it to your face.