It's 17 years this month since my mum died. She died very suddenly, on a Friday afternoon. I was at work and got a phone call from my dad, saying mum had collapsed on the landing and "he thought she was dead!". I flew out of work and into my car, driving well over the speed limit to make the short drive to their house.All I could think of was that I knew CPR and dad didn't and that I could save her. God must have been watching over me on my journey as I was unforgiveably reckless in my attempts to get there "in time."
When I arrived at the house the paramedics were working on mum.All I could see were her bare feet sticking out from the hem of her nighty. They told me I had to be a brave girl for my dad...and I knew, although it wasn't until we got to hospital that we were told she was dead.
That night I thought I would die of grief. Physically I hurt so badly. If it hadn't been for P holding onto me all night I think my own heart would have burst too. I changed libraries soon after that as I could no longer bear 3 pm on Friday afternoons in that particular place - especially if the phone rang.
Of course, time has passed and I survived; I think of mum with joy and laughter and gratitude. But I still miss her and I still need her and that has never eased. I am sure I'd be a better person if she were here and there are many mistakes I would not have made if I'd been able to talk to her about things.
So this post is for Mum - I love you, Mum.