From the diary…
April 27th, 2018
It crossed my mind today how difficult it must have been for my mother to tell her children that she was going to die soon. And it occurred to me what it must have been like from her perspective to know she wouldn’t get to know her children much longer. Fuck, that really messed me up. The feeling was like getting punched in the stomach. She was supposed to be around specifically to protect us from things like this. She was a smart lady. She must have known what kind of impact and grave consequence this would have on our lives forever after. She must have known at some level to what extent losing our mother would have an effect on the rest of our lives. How much it must have hurt to know that, and yet be so helpless to mortality and have to die anyway.
I remember the night she died not in stunning clarity, but with a vivid sense of how unromantic it was. How we just kind of chit-chatted our way through the car ride home as if the thing most likely to have the biggest impact on my future had not just occurred. As if I didn’t miss her already, knowing that that night was the memory I would always have of the night my mother died. And of doing a terrible job of behaving properly under such a circumstance. I didn’t sleep that night.
I just feel so extremely sad for her. I had never really thought about it from her perspective before. I’m a crying mess just wondering what emotions she must have been experiencing and yet she never cried in front of me once when she was sick. The thoughts that must have been going through her mind are just… unfathomable. I don’t envy parents and the inevitability of watching their kids suffer. Or worse not being around for to comfort them through their inevitable suffering. I don’t think I could stomach it. The things I wish I could say to my mum. The things I wish she would say to me. But mostly the things that after almost twelve years without her I wish I could say to her….
I miss you so much.