I have held off writing on here much, or anywhere really. This has been a strange month, and the particulars of it ought to demand something different of me, even if I am unsure that it should.
People expect me to be a mess. And yet I am not. Not really. In many ways I am fine. I miss my mum, of that there is no question.
Every day I have wanted to ring her, to hear her voice, her laugh, her sometimes brashness. I miss the confusion of trying to sort her computer out. I miss being overfed everytime I turn up. I miss the hugs, the good times, the bad. I miss chatting with her, hearing stories from the past. I miss her arguments with my brother, heated or cheerful. I miss the sound, smell, presence of her.
She was my mum, and I miss her every moment of every day.
But I'm not broken. I am not a mess. Death comes to us all, no matter how unexpected. It is part of life, part of existence, the price of everything done and experienced. I have cried. I will cry, at unexpected times, for unfathomable reasons.
But I am not broken. I still go on. My brother goes on. This is life, and we live it.
But it doesn't mean I don't miss her.