It’s still really hard

I’ve talked a number of times about being without mum and how difficult that transition been. I spent a little time today at the garden of remembrance at Guildford crematorium where her ashes are spread.  I got some flowers and after spending a couple of hours with dad in the Royal Surrey I was probably not in the best frame of mind for it, but none the less I went.

I still get emotional about it, I know dad misses her terribly and in his typical “I’m a Scotsman and we don’t complain” stoic demeanour he’s not going to share his pain unless you corner him. And even then he’s going to fight it. It’s just how he is and we all know that.

First thing is how well my niece has dealt with the transition; my brother and his wife have been masterful in guiding her through this process. Protecting her from some of the more harsh realities, but letting her express how she feels. They have done a hugely impressive job in always setting a positive model for her and letting her recognise mum in a way that’s meaningful to her.

To no ones shock this has unquestionably been a huge thing for me. The biggest, most emotional thing I’ve ever been through and it’s affected me in many ways that I’m only just coming to recognize. It was not so much the death that changed things for me; it was more what went on before hand. Mum’s passing was expected somewhat, we knew it was coming despite the time line being uncertain, even right at the end.

It was what went on leading up to that, it was a roller coaster ride of emotions for many months before hand. The really hard part started when I found out it was about managing quality of life rather than treatment to save her. It was well over a year before hand, we all knew, but denial as a coping mechanism does run strongly in my family. And I think we were all happy to buy into that, including mum.

I know it worked for dad and to find out what was going on I’d have to read the rather meticulous notes that were kept by the McMillan nurses that came to look after mum a few times every week. Mums last letter to me, written only a couple of months before she dies was especially poignant, it took me months (and a very good bottle of wine) to open it and read it. I had it today in my pocket, it weighed heavily as I wandered around the garden of remembrance today.

It was the late afternoon when I got there, not long before it closed and the sun was low in the sky. The air was very still and it was cold, well bellow freezing. I went and looked in the book of remembrance to see where my grandparents were interned and spent a few minutes there before wandering through the very peaceful glade before sitting down to contemplate what’s gone on.

While we had our differences, the love mum and I has never been in question. Interestingly she brought up a couple of times that as the eldest child she felt some extra responsibility fell to me, I’m still not sure what that it, but she was the eldest and when my grand father passed she did feel the pressure of being the eldest child herself and felt she needed to in part take on some of Granddad role.

I’ve said all this before somewhere in this blog, but this really has been incredibly tough. It has given my significant perspective about what is important in my life and what I need to do to align myself to these changed realities.

Having said all of that, if I ever find out who stole my case last year in Minnesota with a couple of mums letters to me in it I’d take a baseball bat to them. These little notes was meaningless to them, but was everything to me.

My final thought today goes back to sitting in the garden of remembrance and rereading her last letter, she said she saw my pain and just wanted me to be happy, more than anything else. While it’s taken me time to discover what that really means for me, but I have a better idea now and embrace my life in a very different way. It was inevitable that your passing would change me; with a little distance I believe that change was for the better. I’d swap it all for you.

Mum believed in an afterlife, and got a lot of comfort from that. I hope she is right and I’m wrong, I love you mum.