It’s been a week since my mother died. It’s been the longest, hardest week of my life, and the person who always gave me strength and who always knew what to do wasn’t there to help me.
At least, not physically. It would be a lie to say she hasn’t helped me this week because she has, over and over, in so many ways.
Mum had a diary. Most of the entries in that diary read like an early social media account — they detail her meals and the weather. They indicate where she was (because she was nomadic and moved regularly), and they talk about reading books and playing Rummy with her partner.
But occasionally they discuss deeper things, including death.
I’m ready and I’m OK and if it my time its my time and The rest of you will just have to carry on with out me. I love you.
The picture that has been painted for me in the last 7 days is of a woman who had reached peak happiness. She was doing exactly what she loved, with the man she loved. She was practicing mindfulness in a way no adult colouring book could ever help any of us more ordinary folk achieve.
She was also ready to die, if it was her time.
My mother left all her affairs wrapped up with little bows. Before she died she managed to finish the job of cleaning up my grandfather’s shed — a job bigger than Ben Hur — as well as sorted out the family finances to leave us all in a better place.
She left us all with messages of some sort. On the day of her funeral, a postcard arrived for my grandmother. It was written 3 days before her death, and was postmarked the day after.
She loved us all, and she was happy, and at peace.
I still feel robbed, but at the same time, I know she would have been happy with the end to her story. If I could go back in time, sit in her Bedford, and tell her exactly how it ends, she would smile.
I‘ve learned a lot in the last week. I’ve been asked how I am a lot too.
I’m pretty gutted to be honest, but filled with hope. My life will go on. I’ve now got a whole new set of responsibilities that come with being her daughter and executor. They’re daunting — I’ve got meetings with lawyers and accountants to have — but I know I can do this. And that I’m not doing it alone.
I’ve got friends and family to see. I’ve got roadtrips to have. People to meet. Challenges to lead. And music to dance to.
Mum’s here with me — she’s going to ride shot gun for a while — and we’re going to hit the road again. I’ve got 3 months ahead of me in which to roam and wander and work and to mourn.
I wonder who I’ll be at the end of it.
“I’ve Been thinking about what it might be like when I No longer “have” to go back there — Then/When I am Totally Free to wander endlessly around and a round. Can’t wait. — But I know it will be Different.”
