It’s that time of year again when I am reminded of a loss, a great loss of a mother that I once had. 11 years this year and it doesn’t get any easier with each year passing people lie they say it does but it doesn’t, you get reminders everyday. The days where my children miss out of having a grandma that could have been close by that could have asked them how their day was, would have popped over or picked them up from school and she could have taken Tilly shopping and played games with Finn, baby sat and for me and Dan and taken the children on days out and spoilt them. I feel that they miss out of a family member and I feel that I could have had afternoon tea with my mum and just chat about the silly things, that daughters and mums should, she could have bought me a top that I didn’t like but wore it because my mum bought it for me. I miss that thought of my mum. But reality probably would have been very different, who knows maybe we would have bonded more and she would have understood me because it wasn’t my fault I had a disability all along and that’s why we fell apart, that and her illness maybe my disability was too difficult for her? But it goes so much deeper than that it’s the thought of a mother I wanted and it’s that I miss that the most. I miss my mum.
Since my diagnosis I have gone through different stages a sort of loss that’s sparked because I can’t talk it through with my mum or anyone really no one has asked me how I feel about it all.
I went through an awful stage of memories and a reminder of who I am because of what I have been through and if people knew back when I was a child, would the outcome have been different?
Then I went through anger, anger that they should have known back then and helped me, would the outcome have been different?
The next stage was guilt I felt guilty for my behaviours as a child and growing up and that my diagnosis wasn’t picked up and it was my fault, would the outcome have been different?
Then I went through relief, that huge relief I wasn’t mad, there were times I didn’t want to live and looking back it was just because I couldn’t cope with being me, would the outcome have been different?
I am different I know I am and yes, no, maybe the outcome would have been different but it doesn’t matter because I am me because of everything that has happened and I have to live with that.