“I must have flowers, always, and always.”
– Claude Monet
It was March the Twenty-Sixth. Six years ago, we had one of our last meals with my mum.
I woke up suddenly, after snoozing my alarm, grabbed my phone only to see 3 missed calls and 10 messages from my aunt. I grabbed my clothes, washed up and made a dash for the bus stop.
Close to ten minutes later, my aunt pulls up to the curb and I hopped in. It feels like any other weekend.
We pulled up at our family home, my aunt quickly dashed into the house and proceeded to hustle everyone out of their jammies and breakfast.
“Quickly, we are running late. Your dad is almost on his way” says my aunt.
As I sat in the car watching everyone scramble to the car, I wondered, How can it be six years already? And why does this feel so normal?
After a good 10 minutes, everyone piled into the car, and we are off.
As we drove down the road that leads into the Church, the car fell into silence. The carpark was relatively full and we pulled up into the last of the remaining lots.
The way to Mum’s spot is familiar to us, we are drawn instinctively to Mum’s place, as though it has a pull on us.
I look at Mum’s plaque. It’s unchanged, it is always the same.
As everyone hustled around, I rushed around to wipe the dust off the little trinklets that we’ve brought her over the years – the 2 schnuazers to represent our dogs, a model fruit that that I brought back from Taiwan, my brother’s miniature baton, and mum’s favourite Little Miss.
I always liked to be the last, it was my moment with my mum.
I sat down silently, I know I had to be still instead of hiding it away to let myself feel. I gave myself time to remember, to feel, to weep, to grieve, to question, to rage and at the end of it all, to try to accept once more.
With tears dripping down my cheek, I touched my mum’s plaque as I speak.
“I love you, Mum. I love you more than I’ve ever expressed and I wish you were here to see all that we’ve accomplished. I hope that you are proud of everything we’ve done and no matter what I do, I would always keep you close in my heart because you were my first love. I will forever be your child. I wish you were here to snuggle up with me in bed with a book in hand. I miss you mummy…”
I walked towards the rest of the family and watched on as Sam plays with them.
As we drive through the gates of the church, I feel as though we are leaving mum behind again, even though I know in my heart, that we were the ones who was actually left behind.