January 19, 2009
My mother died just over a week ago. At 2.52pm - the time is etched into my memory - on January 10. She had Meningitis. She was just 50.
I am still figuring out how to come to terms with this; at the moment I'm almost pretending she's on holiday, as if she'll be back in a week or so. She was so full of life and such a big presence that I can't really believe it's possible she's gone, even though Dad and I were with her at the time.
Mum, I miss you. I know the pain hasn't even begun, really. I've been reading your livejournal - all your hopes for the coming year were so hard to read. But it was a comfort, too, to read how happy you had been recently and to see how many friends you had. Kind words have been pouring in from people who knew you (there are so many of them; I bet you never knew just how many people's lives you touched), and they're all saying the same thing: She was so cheerful. She was so positive. She didn't have a mean bone in her body.
It's impossible to sum you up in just a few words, but suffice it to say that I was - and am - so proud of you. You were so courageous and so determined; you must have sacrificed a great deal to be a mother to me at the age of 21, but you never let that set you back, earning your degree and your teaching qualification, learning to drive, setting off on travels abroad, where you made so many more friends. You were a role model, a caring mother and a best friend. One hug from you eased so many of my troubles. If only I could have one of those now.
Mum, Dad is lost without you. You have left a hole that will never be filled. What are we supposed to do now?