This morning was a funny one. Not in the traditional ‘ha ha’ sense. More in the odd sense. A rush of emotion did not hit me like a tonne of bricks like it had been. Their was no dramatic clutching of the heart sensation. Just a little whimper, and a small wave of sadness. All very quiet, All very subtle, all very potent.
The origin of this restless whisper came in the most mundane of places. I was standing in my bathroom brushing my teeth. A generally normal activity in the morning for most. I was planning my day in my head. I do some of my best thinking either before I have a shower or in it. I don’t know what it is but it seems to be the place where all my masterful schemes all come together. I have always been a thinker in the shower. The only time my brain truly quietens down is when I am asleep. Sometimes it is rather exhausting as my brain is constantly whirling around like a CD, churning out thoughts at a rapid rate. I was thinking about different options for new bedding. I want to refresh my bedroom look and was thinking about colour choices in my head. Then she snuck into my thoughts.
It was a subtle little twinge to the head. Like a little thought worm had crawled through my ear and planted a little suggestion. My mummy.
I looked in the mirror, paused and kind of let out a gentle sigh. I hadn’t really forgot about mummy at all. She is in my thoughts quite a lot through the day. This time it came from nowhere. A little wave of sadness flowed over me. I dwelled on all the things we didn’t have a chance to do. All the things we loved doing that we wouldn’t do again. I thought about her birthday, Christmas, New year, my birthday. All those things that will probably sting the first time, and perhaps keep on stinging. I had my shower and got ready for work, the thoughts lingered as I made my way down the road. I seen a little lady on the footpath. A normal little old lady waiting for a bus. She had grey/white hair, small in stature and a little granny mac in duck egg. I started to think, I wonder how old she is?
A bit unusual thing to be thinking about a perfect stranger really. Though I find myself thinking about age, in particular older ladies ages all the time. I think to myself, “I wonder is she older than mummy?”. The reason is completely selfish of course. I think why is she alive and my mummy isn’t. Why was she younger than her when she died? The thoughts are not intentional and I know I shouldn’t be thinking them, however the thought worm has an insatiable appetite for all things inappropriate. I look at these ladies and I used to feel anger, now anger has been replaced with a quiet melancholy. I do not wish these women any harm, I just question their age in my head. Are they older than my mummy?
Questioning the logic of death is inevitable. We think to ourselves why has this happened to me? Death and atropy are inevitable. We will never be ever sustaining creatures. We hear about it everyday. It is usually far removed and although we can feel empathy we rarely let is inside. We know it happens. It just never happens to us. Its something that I think about a lot and in particular the seemingly cruel nature of it all. My loss was rather sudden, for that in many ways I am thankful as I know my dear mother did not suffer. It still does not take away the hurt and the wishing for one final phone call. Just one more conversation with mummy.
I do still talk away to mummy as it happens. Some may call me mad I’m sure. I have no response so don’t worry, I am not the next Norman Bates. I don’t plan on raiding her cupboard for chiffon skirts and silk blouses while rocking in a chair at some dodgy motel. I talk to her sometimes telling her I wish she was here. I did that this morning after I brushed my teeth. I felt melancholy. That restless whisper.
I know she listens. I just wish I could hear her.
xx
A Grievers Guide to the Galaxy 