Submission 05

Mum,

It's been 8.5 weeks since I lost you. I think about you every single minute of every single day. I can't help thinking about the last time I spoke to you on your 62nd birthday only two weeks before you took your own life. It was a conversation full of hope and optimism and I was so proud to hear that you wanted this to be your year after suffering so much last year with both your physical and mental health. This made the news all that more shocking but really I wasn’t shocked. I knew it was something that had been on the cards for years and it was a matter of time before you did it. 

You told me a few occasions where you had taken an “accidental” overdose and even told me earlier this year that you “didn’t want to die”. You just wanted a break from the suffering you were having to endure every day which I understand. I don’t blame you at all for what you did. I’m not angry or disappointed. I believe you did what you felt was right; it’s just heart breaking to think of how you did it and the circumstances which lead to you hanging yourself. A word that haunts me.

To learn that you died by hanging is the most painful thing I’ve ever heard. I always assumed that if you were to take your own life it would’ve been by an overdose as this is the only way I knew you had tried in the past. Call me naïve but there was something peaceful in the thought that you would drift off to sleep and be at peace. I know it sounds weird to people who don’t understand. Hanging feels violent and final. It expresses to me that you meant it and that you were desperate. You needed it all to be over.

I carry a lot of guilt with me because I was always so frustrated with you for being so self deprecating about motherhood and losing your temper with me so easily. I know you couldn’t be there for me growing up and you resented Dad and I think me also for being so close, but I understand early on that you weren’t well and how much you loved me and wanted to be there but you never believed me. I never felt like I didn’t have a mum even though our relationship wasn’t traditional like some mothers and daughters. No matter what you were still my Mum and you did your best to be there when you could. 

Your absence is like losing a piece of myself. I can’t imagine my life without you and I often think “I should message Mum to see how she is” but I can’t because you’re not there anymore. I’ve tried to be strong in the weeks after your death because I had so much I needed to organise but now I am feeling it all and I can’t lie, Mum, it feels horrendous. But I wouldn’t want you to worry. I know I will be ok over time but I won’t ever get over losing you.

I just wanted to let you know one other thing. On my wedding day, I’m going crazy with the flowers. I know how proud of your garden you were and in your honour, I’m organising the most impressive to table. I can’t imagine you not being there on this important day. I never got the chance to ask you to walk me down the aisle with Dad. But it’s ok. I know you’ll be there with me, in my heart.

I love you lots and lots, like jelly tots.