She loves me, she loves me not

The passing of a loved one is always painful, the passing of a parent is so much worse. The initial confusion I felt when my mum died suddenly was soon accompanied by other emotions that crept up on me. Regret, sorrow and shades of anger.

I felt alone, really alone, the person who’d carried me both inside and outside her being had left me, right when I’d needed her the most. My unasked questions though were at the time the one thing I couldn’t cope with.

Sat here 23 years later and the feeling is the same, though the questions would be so very much different. To think for 21 years I thought I knew my mum, then to discover I only knew what she wanted me to know, was her past really that bad that she couldn’t talk to me about it?

I never once told my mum I loved her, our house was one of little if any outward displays of emotion or affection, I have hated myself for this, but have just remembered she never told me either, I appreciate those three words now, my only brain ache is if it’s better to say them or hear them?