None of them wanted me to know, none of them wanted to have to hold me as i cried, but they had to tell me. They never really did tell me, never came straight out with it. "She's dead"
No, they couldnt do that.
"Your mother has gone to heaven", my aunt Kristen told me.
I didnt care where she had gone, I couldnt even comprehend it. She wasnt here, that i understood. Heaven, in all its greed and selfishness took her from me. Stole her from me. She was mine. What gave anyone the right to her? Was heaven not full enough? No one realised how much i needed her. My backbone, my protection, my friend, my mother for gods sake. I couldnt imagine ever being as close to anyone else as I was to her. I couldnt let anyone else in the way I did her. I didnt have to be ashamed around her because everything I was, she had created. I was an awkward communicator, couldnt really talk to people, but that was ok with her because she always knew what I was thinking. No articulation necessary.
She kept me very sheltered, I didnt go to school, didnt know anyone my age. I saw my mothers family alot, her two sisters and my grandmother. I never knew a man, didnt know what a father was. We never talked about it and they didnt either. Not in front of me anyway.
My mothers funeral is a blur in my mind now, ritual made no sense to me and often still doesnt, I find it easier to act on my immediate emotions. I remember the open casket, though not being allowed to go near it. When the priest was saying the blessing before they closed the coffin they took me into the room, not close enough to see. I immediately asked to leave. I was too young to completely understand what was going on, but children seem to have that kind of intuition, i just knew i felt a horrible atmosphere in that room, one for which i did not want to be present. Beyond that, any memorys I have of that day I think im more likely to have made up in my own head. The harder it is to remember the details of something, the more inclined we are to use our imaginations.
I was six years old when I began living motherless. My aunts and grandmother took great care of me. They were worried. That memory is more vivid than any other. They constantly worried about me, had all kinds of psychologists telling them what was best for my 'healthy develoment' Didnt think to ask me, what would i know? It was only my feelings after all. I was devastated. All i wanted to do was live with my heartbreak. What could a child think to do beyond that? I didnt have a disease. I didnt need a doctor or a miracle cure. I needed a mother and she was gone. They couldnt fix that. The more they tried, the more I resented it.
They spoiled me for a while after that. Took me out everywhere, bought me everything they could imagine I wanted. They almost did it obsessively. As if once they bought enough sweets and toys and days out it would eventually equal the value of my mother. The thought was absolutely ridiculous.
It was then I started to be able to comprehend the permanancy of death. Something children cant usually do. When it had fully sank in that I would never see the light of my life again, it felt like she was dying all over again every single day. I woke up every morning and felt a stab in the chest which said "Dont forget." I never would. If i lived to a hundred I would still remember her face, her pale skin which I would rub against my cheek to feel how soft it was. Her moisturiser smelled so strong of camomile. I have never smelled that since, I hope I never do, out of fear of what it might trigger in me. I would never forget her hair, how i giggled loud just so she could here me when she put it in curlers. I wouldnt forget her clothes, and how lovely pink looked against her skin. My mother was the only beauty i knew.
I wont ever have children, because though it is often inevitable, I never want anyone who I care about to have to look down at a parents grave. I will never wish that pain on another soul. People say that its the natural course of things, but I have always saw something quite unnatural about it. Is it natural to lose a limb? A big part of a person can disappear with the death of someone they love. Living with the new you which has the piece missing can require retraining, and often huge life changes. Its true we all have to deal with this, and death will never be gone from our lives. But that doesnt make it ok. . . does it?