It’s your birthday in 5 days..

Dear Mum,

In 5 days it will be your birthday, except you won’t be here – you’re somewhere else where I can’t reach you, see you or hear you. I’ve been getting by Mom, but I need you to know that I am so, so sorry you have not been put to rest yet. It’s out of my control Mum but I am devastated that your funeral still hasn’t been arranged. I’m sorry you haven’t been given the dignity you deserved. I feel like a piece of my heart has been ripped out, and now people are stomping on it. I hope they will do the right thing soon Mum because I can’t bear this.

The thought that you won’t have been put to rest before your birthday is heartbreaking. Utterly terrible.

I love you Mum

Me xxx


14 days…

Dear Mom,

I’m still waiting for your funeral in the UK; and its so hard. So very hard. I hope you are somewhere beautiful and sunny and warm; that you are happy, and are around family who were waiting for you somewhere on the ‘other side’ with big smiles and lots of aroha (love).

I feel helpless and lost most of the time Mom. I didn’t think I would feel this way, but I feel untethered from the earth, like something is amiss – and, well, it is, isn’t it.

It’s been 14 days now and the pain is no less, though I do manage to get through the day at work out of sheer force of will. Sometimes a sucker-punch of realisation blindsides me though Mom, and I’m reminded yet again in a harsh and heart-aching way that you are gone. Gone. I know its a normal part of grief but sometimes I still can’t believe it.

I’m not sure if its harder trying to fall asleep or waking up? I’m not sure what’s worse – thinking of you  as I finally drift off, knowing you are not there at the end of the phone; or waking up and remembering you’ll never be there again? I think the truth is they are both worse, and both equally devastating.

I love you Mom. I remember your laughter, your smile, your kindness, your love and your sense of humour; but I worry I will forget the sound of your voice.

I won’t ever forget you, but I will always miss you. The kicker is, you’ll never know how much, will you?

Love always


Grief and Loss

The sun rises

Dear Mom,

I watched the sun rise today, and set – as good a reminder as any that life keeps on going without you Mom.

I still feel the same as I felt yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that too. It hurts with the same searing pain, a sucker punch to my chest when I least expect it.

But eventually the cold gives way to heat, and small moments of laughter sneak in – though  I catch myself with surprise still when I feel a smile sneak across my face. I have to admit that sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t feel happiness, laughter seemed so foreign to me only a few days ago.

And while grief and despair dominate all aspects of my being right now, I also feel hope and love. People often don’t know quite what to say, but they say it anyway; and I see empathy and sympathy in their eyes. Kindness spills around me like confetti. I am blessed.

There is no darkness with hope, it prevails always, as does love.  Kindness and love always wins, always.

I think of you Mom, I wonder where you are and whether you are looking down on me? Like others who have been here too, I find myself hoping for a sign that you are out there, and wishing that I could talk to you again

Love always,




Grief and Loss

It’s just like they say…and nothing like they say

Dear Mom,

It’s been 13 days since you passed away now. I have to tell you, it’s exactly like they said it will be, and at the same time, nothing like they said it would be.

When I first heard that you’d passed, the entire world seemed to shift on its axis. Everything changed in that moment, and yet, nothing did – at least on the outside. People I didn’t know carried on around me, living, laughing, finding joy in the smallest of things. Me? well I carried on too, but not in the same way. I have carried on through a haze, a fog, a field of silence, deafening at times. It’s true that the grief encompasses you, consumes you. It’s also true that you feel the pain physically, a deep, terrible ache that you feel everywhere, and yet nowhere at the same time.

Mom, how I’d have given anything to see you, talk to you, touch you one more time. Just once more. How I long for this still, deeply. Do you know that tears keep coming long after you think they have stopped? That the pain stabs at you unexpectedly and without mercy? I wonder how you dealt with your own mother’s grief and feel sad that I never asked.

In the moments since, I have reevaluated everything in my life, not once or twice; but many times. Though fleeting the thoughts are, they press at me in the corners of my heart. They twitch and sear beneath my consciousness and ask: why? are you doing what you want? is it enough?

So it’s everything and nothing they said it would be, all at the same time. The days have blended into wave after wave of grief, pain, regret, what-if’s and the deepest sorrow. This they say it will be, but what they don’t say, what no-one can really express is how it feels to lose you, Mom. I didn’t want to join this club.

I miss you Mom.

Love always,