Locked down, and unable to escape the leaks, my thoughts turned inward. I crept into some of the darkest crevices of my mind, shocked at some of the old relics I had found in distant memories.
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.
Our story was a sad one, robbed of the greatest love we will ever know. It was a story of heartbreak and grief and that’s where I thought it ended.
I love exercising – running, walking, swimming, cycling. In July, my watch app (Garmin Connect) invited me to run 80km (50 miles) throughout the month of July,…… Read more “What I Learnt From Running 80km in a Month”
It blows my mind to think that I will be 27 this December when it can sometimes feel just 5 minutes ago that my mum passed away. A lot has happened over the last 3 years. Sometimes the speed in which time slips by can make me feel like a passive passenger.
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!
I feel as though I am slowly sinking into thick black tar. My clothes feel like lead, pulling me under even more, weighing heavy against my lungs making it difficult to breathe. I don’t have the strength to put out my arm and reach for help. I feel completely overcome with grief for my mum. I feel debilitated.
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.