An evening thought clear out

Today would be my mums 55th birthday, it's been 10 years this November since she died, I think sometimes I should be used to the anniversaries, but I've learnt somewhere along the way that it doesn't quite work like that.

Some occasions pass by quietly, with contemplation and gratitude. Others like today are encased in fury and sadness where despite all of the habits Ive put in place for dealing with difficult days, I can't lift my head above the waves to keep afloat.

When Mum died, I had just turned 22, I had a 6-year-old son and had spent the last 2 years firmly sticking my head in the sand regarding her prognosis. She was an unstoppable force when she wanted to be, small but mighty and I couldn't imagine a world where I didn't have her. Of course, through her illness there were bad days, really bad days. The kind of days that I still dream about now but as a family we always found a way to enjoy the little things - going to the sandwich shop and then putting the world to rights in Mums Garden over a Bavarian slice.

Our mum was the parent that others seemed to gravitate toward, she took no nonsense but would help anyone, she forged friendships with the most unlikely people and was fiercely loyal. She had a wicked sense of humour and doted on her grandchildren - She would be in her element now. She would also be skint as she spoiled them daft.

Being a young adult without mum was and is difficult, the milestones they and you miss out on. There has been a myriad of times I have felt as though her loss is magnified, good times and bad. Her son's wedding, the birth of her grandchildren, milestones in their lives like going to school, gramps dementia diagnosis, the death of her parents and our dad.

These are all times of either great joy or sadness so i expect to feel her loss keenly, but I find that the times I miss her most is in the quiet, when things are calm, and I can reflect on the kind of relationship we were so privileged to have. She was more than my mum and though it sounds incredibly cliche, she was my friend too. I miss that more than I can put into words.

Often times it's been said that losing parents at a young age makes you hard, and for a while I guess it did, until I realised it wasn't the person I wanted to be, or what they would have wanted for me. I remember vividly my mum asking my dad to take care of us when she had gone, he in true Dad form laughed her off and told her she wasn't going anywhere but agreed because he knew it was important to her. And for the next 8 years that's what he did, to the best of his abilities and with a strength that I will always admire. During the last few days of his life, in one of our conversations lay on his bed next to him my Dad told me in barely a whisper not to bottle it all up, and I like to think I've followed that instruction to the best of my abilities.

I consider myself very lucky to have the parents I had; I know that not everyone is so lucky. I am not someone who thinks we should honour and respect our parents just because they of the fact they are our parents, respect is earned and works both ways. I often try to explain to friends who shy away from speaking about their relationship with their parents that I am not here to judge or project my own experiences. they are my friends, and their experiences are valid and respected.