I’m engaged. This weekend we’re having a party at grandmas, or I could say – ‘mine’.
(Grandma took my beau and I in so that we could save some money and build a life for ourselves.)
I’ve been meaning to visit you since we got back from Iceland where the question was popped but I couldn’t do it. It’s not exactly easy for me to sit cross legged by your name on a plaque and talk out loud telling you all the things I will always … long to tell you face to face.
You were technically the first person we told though, as we rose our glasses of champagne to the ceiling and said your name.
I’m engaged, mum. 14 year old me was the last time you saw me in the flesh and left us all to pick up the pieces and somehow navigate an ocean of grief that surrounded your suicide. It wasn’t exactly an easy ride learning how to love when the person you love the most takes themselves away from you. I know you’re at peace, mum. But I bloody miss you.
We’ve made our theme ‘sunflower’ and safari, so that you’re all around the room in the pretty sunflower bunting that my aunt has kindly put together in your memory, mum. Notice I’m saying ‘mum’ a lot here, I miss saying ‘mum’. Let me say it…
The last few months we’ve been surrounded by our glorious families who love us to bits, mum. They put all the shattered pieces back together as much as they possibly can, mum, but it doesn’t bring you back. It’s not meant to. You were you. They are being them, a family, families.
One thing you never ever believe in the beginning with grief is that ‘life will move on’, but it does. You may question whether I believe it as I draw on past pains of you leaving, but I do. I’m making a life for myself. I have a family of gold and friends to match.
It doesn’t replace you. It’s not meant to. You need to be acknowledged. You are not forgotten. You are with me. With all of us who’s lives you were in. I talk to you, I write to you, I will never ever stop wishing you were here in physical presence and secretly slightly believe that somehow there is a teenie chance that you will actually come back because… I miss you and I want you. I need(ed) you. When do you ever not need your mum? In ways that you don’t expect or don’t think of that you may take for granted when they are alive. Be thankful. Like for that cup of tea and a cuddle that made it all better that day with no judgement. That, “it’s going to be okay” look with those beautiful eyes. That, “I love you to bits”pep talk.
I’m trying to stop the ‘need’ like one human trying to stop an entire avalanche. I don’t want to need something I will never get. I want to secure my own needs, mum. In a way, I’m on my journey.
I’ll be marrying a man who brings me so much comfort and joy. He looks after me with his smile and reassurance. He doesn’t judge my spells of depression and anxiety. My agony of missing you that cut deeply and makes me question my trust for loved ones incase they make a sudden exit as you did. You can trust him though mum. It takes a lot for me to say that. I cling on to past memories – good and bad – but this man I’ve put my faith in as he’s given me his.
We’ll start a family, mum – one day. A family. A unit. From our partnership. All strong words and bonds with meaning.
I’m going to be okay, mum. I’m in safe hands and you’re all around me. I know you are. I’m more up and down than a yo-yo attached to a slinky but I know I’ll be okay.
I’ve got my girls. I’ve got my man. I’ve got my family. And somewhere around is you. The sky is everywhere mum. And that’s where you’ll be tomorrow.
You can meet the family, the community I am joining in our union as he joins ours and has been welcomed with open arms.
I’ll visit soon. I promise.
Love Abs X your engaged daughter. 💙