They’re not you. They never will be. They’re not meant to be.
Sunday night, not long to go now.
I sit here still missing you. Knowing you’re not coming back. You’re never, coming back, not even for my wedding.
The pictures on the walls glare your smile, your eyes jump out sparkling, glistening, glowing. Are you listening to me? Are you watching down? You’re always around me but it’s not enough. Feeling you, is not enough. You’re not here. Today I got reminded of that in a not so pleasant way. Old memories snuck up and shook my vulnerable self.
I miss you dear mum. I get moments, days where I look around me, like a lost puppy, never physically lonely as I’m surrounded by loved ones but agonisingly isolated because you, you aren’t there. Sometimes I walk out into the crowd and I look at all the familiar faces around me and I look for you. Is it you? No. Is it you? No. Will I find it in you? No. The comfort doesn’t come easily. I look and I can’t get what I’m looking for. I yearn. I lust.
Losing you as a child takes me back to feeling like a child. The little girl in me is reaching for you, calling your name, sobbing it.
I’ve learned a lot in my struggle with my own mental health. In my grief from losing you. I get to stages where I think I’m nailing this horrific process, got it down to a T. Then it happens again. Back to lost little me.
Mum, I will write to you sometimes with love, sometimes with happiness, sometimes with pain and sometimes with anger but I will write to you. I don’t give up on people easily as those close to me will know, and I won’t definitely, give up on you.
They gave up on you, mum. They gave up on you. The system, gave up on you. The mental health system. Maybe you’re free in heaven (or the universe as you believed it to be) but your freedom left us imprisoned. Our hearts chained to a life sentence of ache, a feeling of brokenness. That’s what can happen when someone dies by suicide.
Years pass and sometimes we’re all smiles here without you. Sometimes we’re not. Sometimes we are angry. Why aren’t you here? Why am I late at night pondering such rhetorical questions that will never supply the closure wanted?
It’s the reality of your aftermath. Your memory. Bitter sweet, mum. Bitter. Sweet.
I may search for you among others, I may look for faces like yours, features like yours, hair, height, smile, sound, but I won’t find you.
Will I ever stop looking? Probably not. I don’t seem to want to. I don’t want to give up the fight I’ll always lose. The pain won’t go away either way.
I keep you alive whether it hurts sometimes or not, you’re with me.
I love you deeply. I won’t apologise for my anger and pain. I wish you didn’t experience such to take you away from earth, to take you away from you adorning family. We love you so much. So much, mum.
That’s it for tonight. Visit and be with me soon some how. Just make it happen.