The loss of a parent. It’s a big one. It’s the one we all tend to lock away in the back of our minds, wanting to avoid yet knowing in our hearts will be our collective reality one day.
This post (the first in way too long) is as much for myself as my treasured readers! It has been another period of deep introspection, unexpected anxiety, the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. As those who know me well will recognise, such is the ebb and flow of a life lived with depth, pain and always open to growth.
It was 18 years ago this week that my fragile, broken 48 year old Mother was no longer able to fight the cancer that had slowly destroyed her body for 6 years. She died in Gosford Hospital in the early hours of the morning on the 15th of January 2000. 18 years … sounds like a long time. Most days it does actually feel like another lifetime, an alternate universe, surreal and disconnected from the life I have rebuilt since that day. Other times I can easily recall the smells and sights, touching her forehead moments after she had died, spending time on my own in her room gathering her things in the hours after she left us.