There is a sadness inside of me, an anticipation that one day my mother will no longer be here. I will no longer be a child, her daughter. I’ve watched her grow old this last year. And the realisation that the inevitable is getting closer has been gnawing away inside me filling with me with a constant dread. When my dad died it was so painful, and still very much so, but I had my mam, I was still someones little girl. What do I do when my she has gone too. The sadness, the emptiness, the hurt, the pain, how do you cope with it all. The photographs, the memories, the house I grew up in, they are all there, waiting to inflict the utmost grief on me.
And then there is the pain at the here and now. When we are young we all think our parents are invincible, that there is nothing that they cannot put right, that they are going to be around forever. You feel safe. But nothing prepares you for when they grow old. Nobody tells you that the roles will be reversed and it will be you that will look after them. The wrinkles, the old bones, the unkempt hair, the walking stick that helps to keep them upright most of the time. The times when they do fall, and you make that mad dash to their side, and struggle to get them up again. Like the dread of the inevitable these things are a constant in my life. So is the guilt. That’s something else they don’t warn you about. The guilt that you may not be doing enough for them, the guilt when you enjoy days out or holidays and they are sat alone at home.
These are the thoughts in my head that no-one ever hears. This is the pain I bear for loving my little mam.