Wow, it's been 5 months. 5 months since the worst day of my life. I can't quite believe it. This is the longest I've ever went in my life without seeing or talking to my Mum. Sometimes it overwhelms me to know that this is what my life will be like forever.
Even now, I'll still see something or do something and get my phone out of my pocket to phone Mum and tell her. Then I remember.
I dream about her a lot still. Everything is normal in my dreams. The way it used to be. I dream about family days out. Things that we used to do a lot together. And I can tell you, there is no worse feeling than that one about 10 seconds after I wake up and remember what is the quite frankly, shit life that I live now. Those first 10 seconds whilst my brain adjusts to being awake are the best 10 seconds of the day. Because I forget about reality.
At the moment, the only way I get through the day is by trying not to think about Mum. It's hard. Especially with mothers day around the corner. On the way to work I have to walk past Wetherspoons, which has a massive sign outside advertising their mothers day menu, several hospitals with ambulances whizzing about outside and also a big blue signposts that says 'Adult Mortuary' on it. Everything is a constant reminder.
I'm also jealous. Jealous of everyone. Everyone who goes home at the weekend to visit their Mum. Everyone who leaves the room to answer a phonecall from their Mum. Just everyone.
We were never that family. We were the happy family. Yeah we had our own personal issues, but we were happy. Mum and Dad had been married for well over two decades (literally 4 weeks short of 24 years) , there was us three kids who were all doing well at school and university. Then this happened. And destroyed everything. Why couldn't it have happened to someone else. Someone who deserved it? Like an abusive mother or something. But that's just selfish. Because life isn't fair. There is no limits to how much bad or good stuff can happen to us. Some people live their lives with very little going wrong for them whereas others go through hell with everything going wrong for them (by the way, I don't think this is me). Life is not some predetermined thing that balances good and bad.
And we just have to deal with it.
People told me at the beginning that 6 months down the line I would have come to terms with it a lot more. What a load of bullshit. I know that in a months time I will be nowhere near close to coming to terms with it. Hell, every time I go home I get excited all the way home from the train station hoping that it was all a dream and that mum will be in the house when I get back. I know she won't be, but that's how much I am not coming to terms with it.
One of the hardest things about it all is people's awkwardness. If I mention Mum, everyone around me ignores my comment and gets awkward. All I can think the whole time it 'how selfish? Why are you awkward?! You haven't lost anyone!' I know why they're awkward, they just don't know what to say, but I find it selfish. And I feel guilty, like I shouldn't talk about her in case other people feel bad.
In a nutshell, month 5 is no better than week 1. In fact it is worse. Because now, we are expected to carry on as normal as if nothing has happened. Well fuck that. I can't do that I'm afraid.
I know my blogposts are depressing, but I don't write them for anyone else. My blog is a place for me to write my honest feelings and if other people want to read that then that's okay. This space helps me. Helps me release my feelings somewhere without making anyone else upset or uncomfortable about hearing them- something which I get when I talk to anyone in my life.
I will look back on these posts in the future. Further down the line. And I'll remember. I'll remember how I felt, hopefully, I'll feel different. More accepting of reality. We'll see.