Two

Dear Mum,

Today, almost to the minute in fact, is two years since you passed away. Two years since I last heard your voice. Two years since I last kissed you, hugged you. Two years…

A lot has changed in two years. A lot that I know you would have wanted to be part of. There have been holidays, new jobs, new homes, birthdays, celebrations, heartbreak.

You have a new little grandson and he’s perfect in every way. You also have another little grandchild on the way. I’m sure the two of them will get up to lots of mischief, encouraged, of course, by their big brother and cousin, otherwise known as the co-conspirator. I’m also sure that you would egg them all on… if only you were here.

When Rocky was born, we had to do the shasha without you. We spent the day laughing at the memory of making the shasha for Liv. The memory of running around the big glass dining table putting all the lollies in the bags, rushing to get it all done before the children descended on the house. This time, we put more people to work. As I sat, with Liv by my side, putting the chocolates into the bags, all I could think about was how much you would relish being there. You would be head of the table, bossing us all around, giving us jobs.

A lot has changed… and yet so much has stayed the same. Eerily the same. And I find it strange how life can go on so normally following such a trauma. There are days still when my heart hurts so much that I can’t just pick up the phone to hear your voice. I don’t anticipate that ever changing. I don’t believe you’re ever too old to need your mum. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you.

Every day I miss you more and more. It’s harder on days like today. Days where the heartache is so crushing that you feel like you are drowning in a sea of rocks. And yet it’s just as hard on happy occasions, things to celebrate. Because you would be front and centre… if only you were here.

Yet every day, I hear myself sounding more and more like you. And while that’s heartbreaking in itself, it brings me comfort to know that you’ve instilled in me so much of you.

It brings me comfort to know that so much of you will be passed down to my baby. My baby who already knows the sound of its nana’s voice. And whenever it hears you, it does a little dance. I hope it has your loyalty, your vivaciousness, your protectiveness. And I hope that it will feel your love. Because I know you’re never that far away.