Going Home

Tomorrow I'm going home for the first time in 6 weeks.

When Mum first died, I wanted to be home all the time. I came back from Uni every weekend from mid October to Christmas. It was draining. It cost so much and took up so much time. I also missed out on socialising with my uni friends every weekend. So after Christmas I made the decision to stop going back as often. I went back once in about early February.

The thing is, it was easier for me to stay away from home. Being at home is weird. The whole dynamic has changed. Everyone's miserable and a massive part of our lives has gone. At uni though, everything's the same. And that is easier for me to bear than going home and having to face the reality of what's going on.

It's selfish really. It was so selfish of me to leave my Dad, brother and sister alone in their grief whilst I swanned off back to Manchester to pretend that everything is alright. I worry about them a lot. And I feel guilty about leaving them a lot. But ultimately I know I had no other choice but to go back to uni. I just couldn't give up my degree. I'd worked too hard to get to where I was.

I'm not trying to make anyone feel sorry for me. Believe me when I say that I HATE sympathy so much. I know people mean well but I don't like it.

Anyway, I can't wait to go home tomorrow. I am apprehensive though. At uni I can get away with not talking about Mum and what not, but at home I just can't avoid it. I can't wait to hug my dogs and cat though! Well, and my family of course!

One of those nights

I'm having one of those nights. One of the lonely, sad, grief stricken nights. One where I find it all too hard to believe and come to terms with. 

I just read a blogpost about a woman who lost her babies. It struck a chord with me. Sometimes I find it hard to accept that my mum's death is something I will ever come to terms with. Reading posts like this makes me realise that coming to terms with it is possible. I just need time. Today is 4 months (1st February) since Mum died. I can't believe it. A third of a year. I feel like I should be over that initial grief now. I'm not. 

Mum dying has destroyed my life. Imagine a bomb hitting the town you live in. Destroying your house, killing friends and family members, destroying your place of work etc. Then you have to rebuild your life. That's what it's like. 

People are initially shocked. At first they ask you how you are every day. Then as time passes in becomes more infrequent because they are over the shock and ultimately, it hasn't affected their lives much if at all. Here I am, trying to pick up the pieces. Trying to make everything fit. But my life is like a jigsaw now, with the middle missing. It's hard. Everyday is a struggle. People think that I'm okay and doing fine but they haven't got a clue. I laugh, I go out, I join in, all because I don't want people to know how I really am underneath. Sometimes I let it slip like when i was drunk on Wednesday. I told some of my friends about how hard it is to talk to people about because they get so awkward. But usually, I have my guard up. I don't want people to think I'm pathetic or to feel any sympathy towards me. I know I am the girl who people say 'oh yeah, that's Alice, her mum died bless her'. I don't want sympathy. No matter how well intended it is.

On that blog (http://www.amyantoinette.com/), I had a look back at her early posts from when her babies first died. I wanted to know if she felt anything like me now, so I could believe that one day, life won't be as hard for me. I found this poem on it:

'A Pair of Shoes'

Author Unknown

I am wearing a pair of shoes.

They are ugly shoes.

Uncomfortable shoes.

I hate my shoes.

Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.

Some days my shoes hurt so much that I do not think I can take another step.

Yet, I continue to wear them.

I get funny looks wearing these shoes.

They are looks of sympathy.

I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.

They never talk about my shoes.

To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.

To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.

But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.

I now realise that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.

There are many pairs in this world.

Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.

Some have learned how to walk in them so they don’t hurt quite as much.

Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think about how much they hurt.

No woman deserves to wear these shoes.

Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman.

These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.

They have made me who I am.

I will forever walk in the shoes of a daughter who has lost her Mum.

I changed the last line from 'a mother who has lost her child' to what is there now. Because my line is more relevant.

Sometimes I think of all the things I miss about mum. Tiny insignificant things like when we used to go to Sainsbury cafe together and get a belgian bun each. Or when we used to go for meals out. We used to go on road trips to places like York in the car together. I miss these times so much. I don't think anyone understands just how much I would give just to see my mum again one last time. To say goodbye. 

I think of all the times in the future when my mum won't be there and it saddens me so much because what happened should never have happened. And sometimes I am selfish and I say 'why couldn't it have happened to someone else?'  I worry that I will forget my mum. Her laugh, her smile, her little mannerisms that made her the person she was. 

I hope no one reading this, ever goes through this in the circumstances that I have. Because it feels like hell.