Death elevates the deceased to foreign heights. As if death makes our vision hazy with unfound glory making the deceased ten times better than they were when they were alive. The early death of a rock star suddenly sees them as legendary. In death people become immortalised and somehow get better than they were in life. It’s important to me that I remember my mother correctly and mourn what she was and not what I wanted her to be. And there’s a fear as time goes on the shards of memories will become dormant and then inevitably fictionalised. I am aware that this state of all-consuming grief can create memories that I wish I had had as well as the ones that I do have. It is a great irony that the death of your mother is the most grown-up experience you’ll ever have and there’s no other experience that will make you feel more like a child.Īs still picture frames of my mother swiftly pass through my mind, I have become conscious and obsessive about the accuracy of my memory. These are the first tears my mother will not be able to wipe. A pain that has silenced any other pain I have ever felt. A pain that sees me doubled-up holding my chest on my bedroom floor in agony. These unremarkable, innocuous images have now become inflictors of the greatest pain I have ever felt. I see images of my mother collecting me from school, stirring pots in the kitchen, her greeting smile when I visit, the way she looks in the mirror when doing her hair and her infectious laugh.
Sorty your missing your mom in heaven movie#
My mind races like an old home movie with years of film crackling away, frayed at the edges by time. The age-old mechanics of night morphing into day is a great divider of what you’ve had…and what you’ve lost. Gone was the colloquial ‘mum’, she had become iconic and mythical, no longer tangible, but an object of deep and painful longing. In the weeks that followed the death of my mother, I noticed that ‘mum’ had turned to ‘mother’. Overnight I learned to speak a new language and had become a member of a club that I didn’t want to join.
I told the lady sitting on the opposite table that my mother had died, she told me her daughter had died from cancer two months’ ago. I told the priest who sat for lunch that my mother died, he gave me a blessing. I told the waiter my mother had just died. My mother has died! She died! My mother died! I cried unashamedly as I sat in a café drinking coffee while waiting for the town hall to open. I didn’t understand how the town hall clock could strike midday, how people could still wish a ‘merry Xmas’ and how the traffic lights could carry on changing. I walked the streets feeling that my life had suddenly gone into slow motion and the rest of the world that was frantically doing their Xmas shopping was running out of synch with my world. Xmas Eve was spent collecting bits of paper that confirmed my mother had really died. If you’re going to leave this world, you need a lot of paperwork to make your exit it’s your passport to the next world. But death is a formality with rules that must be adhered to. All these tasks that one must do seem cruel and inappropriate when you have just been brought to your knees. The rest of Xmas Eve was spent trying to sort out all sorts of formalities that must be dealt with when a person dies collecting paperwork from the hospital, the death certificate from the town hall and contacting funeral directors. Such is the bond between the mother and her child. Like the pain she felt with me entering the world, I felt the pain of her leaving it. I knew what it was when the phone rang half hour later, my mother had died. The pain was so intense I felt like running into the road and getting hit by a car to release me from it. I was in excruciating, unfathomable pain that made me howl like an animal. I can pinpoint exactly when my mother died in hospital from cancer.
It has become a veritable jungle that I must try to navigate and find shelter, but there is no map and I’m without a compass. The umbilical cord that connected me to my mother, and to the world, has been brutally severed and the world as I knew it is no more. No one told me about the physical pain I would feel from losing my mother.
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