Advent Calendar, Day 19

socks on the feet

Every now and then go away, have a little relaxation, for when you come back to your work your judgment will be surer. Go some distance away because then the work appears smaller and more of it can be taken in at a glance and a lack of harmony and proportion is more readily seen. – Leonardo da Vinci

Tallenna

Tallenna

Dear Mom in heaven (or wherever you are)

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Dear Mom.”

It’s almost 2 years ago when we lost you. Never did I think I would have to lose my mother to a decease called cancer. Even if I’m already an adult, loosing you was the worst. You had still years to live. When you said in the hospital that there were still things you wanted to do, I felt sad. At the time it still wasn’t sure if you would survive or not. I still remember the day when you got diagnosed, you said no one seemed to care. But I did care. That’s my biggest regret that I didn’t say it out loud. I did care. A lot. I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to be in the same situation that some of my former school mates were. I didn’t want you to have cancer. You were suppose to grow old with dad. Not be taken away so soon. Life is unfair. Diseases shouldn’t happen to good people. You were the unlucky one.

I still needed you. I could tell you things. Ask you things. We were like best mates but still you were a mother. I miss the days when we went on cycling trips or took long walks. There were times we didn’t get along. I called you names or screamed at you. I apologise I did that. Sometimes I felt you fussed too much. I knew you were worried about my future but I didn’t want you to interfere. I knew what I was looking for but I didn’t know how to find it. I wanted you to be patient but like you said a lot of times, life is short and soon old age will come crawling. I understood that. I was worried too and still are. But I still have years to do something with my life. Unfortunately you’re not there to see it.

You were still a great mother. You were there to give be support. No matter what I did or said, you stuck by me. I want to thank you for that. You taught me a lot of things. I learned how to cook. That was something you were worried about how would I manage that. I tell you, very well. Helping you in the kitchen was the best education I ever had. You taught me the value of money. How to save money for a rainy day and so on. You taught me how to respect other people and treat them well. I’ve learned so much from you and I still would if you had been here today.

I watched your strength fade away. Once you were strong and could do a lot of this. Dancing was one of them. You loved that. Seeing your suffering was heartbreaking. When things went worse and you had to move to a hospice I knew that would be your last trip. After one week things became worse. One day you still could sit and talk but the next day you could hardly breathe. Seeing you like that, was difficult to see. Later the same evening after me and dad visited you in the hospice, dad’s phone rang.  It was then I knew you had passed away. I couldn’t hold my tears any longer. Even now thinking about it makes me sad. I wish I could have been there when you left this world. I feel sad that you had to be there alone. I will forever regret I left in such a hurry the day before. It was just the stupid bus. I could have stayed a little longer. I could have said these things then. But no one knew things would turn around so quickly.

Sometimes I think it was easier that you didn’t have to suffer for so long. Some might suffer for years or they get better but still are at risk to get sick again. For you it only took a year. In that way you were lucky. It was also a relief. It would have been better if you didn’t get sick at all. But some higher power decided otherwise.

Wherever you are right now. Thank you for everything you’ve done. I’ll miss you forever. You didn’t think there’s nothing after death. But I want to believe there is. It helped me cope with this sorrow. Maybe one day we meet again.

(she didn’t speak English so she wouldn’t understand what I’m writing)