The Art of Grieving?

My mum passed away in February after a short, vicious, and unexpected battle with stage 4 breast cancer that was found too late.

She had her 65^th birthday in the hospice, and passed away just one week later.

I didn’t cry.  Not at first.  I couldn’t, and I felt so guilty for that.  But my husband, father of my kids, had walked out on us just two days earlier, and I was doing all I could to keep the kids afloat.  I didn’t have time for me.

I cried at the funeral.  But not before.  And not since.

What I have done is remember.  And miss.  And mourn the loss.

I miss her when I spot a mother’s day or birthday card I know she would have liked.  I miss her when I go somewhere I’d wanted to take her, but we’d never quite managed to get to.  I miss her when I get a new top or pair of shoes, because she was the only person I could often show off my rare purchases to.  I miss her because she was the one I would phone if I needed a recipe, or some constructive criticism on an idea I had.  Or just needed someone to whine to.  I miss talking about new music with her (she often had the CDs before me, even when I was in my teens).

Ok, so I lied, I do (am) still cry(ing) – but not full blown snot and coughing … just a leaky eye and a sniffle that means a fast exit from the room until I’ve composed myself if the kids are around.

Where was I?  Yes … the little things is what I’m getting at. 

I miss her, because in the 18 months or so before her death, we also lost both of my grandparents, her father and mother, to Alzheimers and the effects of caring for said Alzheimers respectively, so I’ve gone from having a reasonably large and established support network, to a very small one. 

I grieve, not just for me, but for what she missed (she was bedridden at the time her own mother died – she hadn’t seen her for many months – the longest time at any point in her life), and will miss … her grandchildren growing up, my sister getting married, the time and experiences she and my father were supposed to have now that he’s finally been able to retire (just in time to nurse his wife through her last months).

I mourn for what my children and my niece and nephew have lost … a strong, loving grandmother, who adored them all, and was such a gentle guiding light to them.

I … I know this is still early days in many respects, but I still catch myself going to pick up the phone to her, or buying something for her.  Just today, I saw a gift bag on a display and thought ‘that would be perfect for mum’s birthd…oh’.  In fact, it was the trigger for this blog.

People will say ‘it gets easier’, but if I’m honest, I’m not sure if I want those moments to end or not.