The knowledge that you are no longer here is a sudden raw sadness that strikes at odd times.
Strangely, I have been irrevocably changed for the better by your death; grief has made me so much more empathic, more patient, much more open-hearted about where you might be now (I am sure at times, I can feel your presence somewhere beneath the ether).
Always I wish for you to be here.
The worst moments have cut deeper because, on top of everything, you are not here when I need you.
The joys are tinged with the presence of your absence. I know you would be first on the dance floor, first to open the champagne; you are the first person I want to call.
But the loss of you has meant that in some way, you have been right here through this transition to becoming the me I know I was always supposed to be. The irony is that much of this is because you are not here.
As much as I cannot replace the wholeness of you, I have found ‘other mothers’ of all ages who have bolstered me, soared with me and stood beside me when the moment called; each having some quality I miss in you.
Often I have wished to have just one more day with you: one golden day to ask questions, hear your stories, hold your hand. And on Saturday afternoon I was driving alone, a few hours afterwards. Bubbling with excitement and love, I marvelled at the idea of being this happy.
Instantly, the bargain entered my head: ‘Would I swap this for a day with you?‘
I knew the answer at once, and it made me cry because, without hesitation, I chose my future over my past. I have found a deep love and affection that is real and palpable. And I know that I would not have found him, had I not lost you.
And so in some way I have found you again, and this is as perfect as it can ever mortally be. For all of it, I am so thankful.
I miss you every day.
Your Sas xxx