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A random Tuesday night. It could be a Sunday, even a Thursday. It doesn’t really matter anymore. There is a visceral reaction to a thought. To a single thought, and the thought is this: my mum isn’t here and will never be here again.

Now, of course I know this. From the moment I am writing this, it has been 8 years, 6 months and two weeks. That is now over 3,000 days. So, I know this. I know it every day of my life now, and unfortunately it has become much more surreal thinking that she was here, rather than she is not here.

It just floated through my head. She is not here, and she will not be here. There is (presumably) more to my life, and each day, each moment, each exciting thing will not include her. Perhaps I will get married (perhaps I won’t), she will not be here for that decision or for that day. She will not get to be a grandmother, and we all know she would have been the best of the best.

I often have these thoughts. Kind of a, oh doesn’t that suck. There truly is not a day that goes by where she doesn’t cross my mind. That, I have become accustomed to. What shocks me more now is when it hurts like it happened yesterday. People will always tell you that grief comes in waves; I have known this, yet you can’t quite explain the feeling until you are in it. It hurt my whole body. I was angry. I wanted to yell at the world, but instead I just wallowed. I cried at the smallest thing in the TV show I was watching and it opened the floodgates. In a moment, I was sobbing and leaving tear-stains on my little pink pillow. I would calm. And it would come again.

A random Tuesday night. It could be a Sunday, even a Thursday. It doesn’t really matter anymore. My mum isn’t here and will never be here again.