stark contrast

The stark contrast of life and death and a life that continues.

Bawling my eyes out about my mum not being here for her 60th birthday, and within the tears, getting the text that our family friend has welcomed their new baby into the world. Elation mixed with sorrow.

The idea that I should have been at home taking mum out for dinner for her birthday, but instead I went to work and came home to an empty house, put Friends on in the background and laid on the couch for a few hours. It had become just another day.

I watch the movies and the shows that I know she loved when I need comfort, when I crave a mum hug, so I settle for a hot cup of tea, a cosy blanket, and the solace of these films. When I see a new movie I know mum would have liked, I make a mental note for the future; what for? I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps for the day I get to see her again. Perhaps to remember her even as I grow old; to connect with a fondness I have of her.

Writing a birthday note to the void because everyone will get to read it but the very person it’s addressed to. Knowing she will never get to read the words I wrote to get through to her.

It becomes a distant longing, over time. No longer a surprise that there is a part of you that will ache, but almost a welcome part of you; there will always be something that will make you miss them, something that will remind you of them. Most times it is just something you deal with, but sometimes it’s a wave of shock at how much it hurts.

The gift I bought you for your 50th birthday was a diamond ring that I now hold dear, tucked neatly away in my jewellery box, always reminding me of the one time I got to spoil you. I would spend my entire life saving to buy every diamond ring in the world if it meant another birthday with you.

As always, proud to be your daughter.

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