A month ago today I lost the sunshine in my life. Love you forever Mum.
New Leaf. New Life.
My name is Jake, I'm an Australian, a marketing graduate, blogger, YouTuber, traveler and human. I'm just a boy, chasing his dreams. Follow me on the adventure.
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Moving your life on after losing someone close is not as straight forward as I once thought. I’m a logical person. I think about things in a logical way. I write everything down, devise a plan, and execute.
I find myself tripping up a lot. It’s hard to shake out the daily habits involving them. I can’t just quickly call to say how my day was. That’s gone forever.
It’s now changed from being all about them and the loss of their lives, and is now focused on me. I need to get myself together. They wouldn’t want me dragging behind. They would want me to rise above it all.
It’s a lot harder than I thought.
A part of being a strong person isn’t about fighting away the demons. It’s about staying in the light when darkness surrounds you. It’s about knowing that it’s okay to fall apart. Falling apart isn’t weak.
We muster strength from the strangest of places. For me, I get it from my friends and my own self-worth. When you’ve been knocked down before you can build yourself up again just as fragile, or you make yourself stronger with self-worth. If you believe that you are worthy of happiness, it will follow.
I know the passing of my mother and close friend is a dark time, but neither of them would want it to consume me. I know, and they know that I am worth far more than that, wherever they may be. Staying positive is the key.
Today I was given a box of things that my mother left for me. Inside were many cards, photos, letters, tapes, but most importantly, about 30 years worth of diaries.
Much like myself, my mother wrote diary entries and had been doing so for most of her life. Pulling them out, I ordered them by date so I can read through them easily. Flicking through a few random pages, it all got a bit much for me. I don’t think I’m ready to read them just yet; I’ll box them up for a later date. I need time to heal before I open up fresh wounds. Mum hasn’t had an easy life and I don’t think I’m ready to read all about it. Not yet.
Pictured below is my mother, about the age of 20, and my father at my age (24), both found in the box.
I am a very lucky person. I was privileged enough to have such an incredible mother in my life for 24 years, and she will live on within me forever. I’m not going to be hateful, I’m not going to go all “fuck cancer” on the world. That’s not what I am here to do. My mother wasn’t a hateful person, and neither am I. It’s a tragedy that happened to someone who had a heart of gold and a strong reminder that life isn’t fair.
You know when you watch movies, or speak to people and they say “I held her hand until the end, I slept in the hospital all night”? I’m sorry, but no. That’s not reality. One thing they never tell you is that it’s absolutely horrible sitting in that hospital room. I’d be in there for 30 seconds before the thoughts of leaving entered my mind and consumed me. It was my own torture that I’d endure for my mother, because I love her so much.
The last words she spoke to me before leukaemia took away her consciousness were “I love you too”. I spent that night telling her how proud of her I am. How she has fought so hard. I told her that I never used to, but I now see so much of myself in her. I am blessed with my mother’s strength, determination, resilience, loving heart, sharp mind and obscure humour.
I am glad to say that when it happened, when she took her last breath, everyone was there. I was sitting next to her and we all knew straight away as the little colour left in her face faded.
Mum, Nicki, my mother… I love you. I am incredibly sad of your passing, but equally relieved. No more fighting. No more suffering. You’re at peace now.
I know that she will be with me always. I’ll carry her legacy, living my life to the fullest, with love and laughter, just as she would have wanted.
While the heart beats, hope lingers.