Here I am again, almost five months later. Mum died on February 19th, she took her last breath at the hospital, with me and my sister by her side. Life became so much emptier when she left us. She never did regain consciousness after those last words to me in the living-room on the 18th of February - "Det blir bättre" - "det blir bättre".. it's mum in a nutshell, but how can it get better? Time pass, and now it's not everyday that I start crying because I see or hear or find something that reminds me of her, it's not even every week, but then something happens, and the loss is there. The realization that I will never speak with mum again, that she won't answer, even if I will continue to talk to her..
I logged on to livejournal for the first time since mum died and went back and read old posts. So very few were tagged "mum" even if she was mentioned in many more. Dad's illness came and took over, he was, and is, always the one that got the most attention. But mum was always there, and she was our steady rock, the one that fixed everything, that made life bearable, that made the house beautiful, the one who got all my literary talk, who finished my sentences, and who had the best laugh ever. How on earth will we be able to celebrate Christmas this year? she was so ill last year, and she didn't really manage to do her usual stuff, but she was THERE, she sat in the sofa, and we got our hugs.. it was terrible to have Easter and Midsummer without her. Mum's and dad's wedding day passed and we could only be happy that they got to celebrate their 40th anniversary last year.All these special days that now will have to be remembered in another way..
In some ways it's been extra good that we still have dad to take care of. We haven't been able to wallow in sadness, which at least I probably would have done otherwise. Dad misses mum a lot, but I think he was more prepared than we were, since mum apparently talked to him several years ago. In hindsight I can see that some of his anxiety over where mum were probably came from this. But sometimes I think he forgets that she's gone. And it feels terrible to have to tell him she isn't here.
I haven't been able to write about mum's death until now, and it still feels inadequate and quite strange to make this post. But I think I need to try to write about it a bit more. Mum, and life after mum. The strange sensation I had in the weeks just after her death of someone touching my feet to wake me up in the middle of the night, and then waking up and hearing dad crying. Mum continues to look out for him, and her love is around inside us. Finding old postcards with her handwriting. Bickering with my sister over what to save and what to throw away. Not being able to make those decisions so instead putting quite a lot of mum's stuff in boxes in the attic instead. Crying tonight when we watched Father Brown and they sang Christmas carols, since I realized I'd never visit St Andrew's Anglican church with mum for their carol singing at Christmas again..
So many small things that just won't happen again.
In mum's obituary we quoted one of her favourite poems by Emily Brontë, it's mum for me in so may ways:
No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world´s storm-troubled sphere
I see Heaven´s glories shine
And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear