Letter to mum

Five weeks after my sister passed away, my mum left under the cover of night, years of suffering at an end. A brain haemorrhage had taken her voice and paralysed most of her body, and yet she stayed. For my dad. For us.

Relief and grief swamped me, my heart ashes. When asked who wanted to write something for her funeral, it stirred like a Phoenix, and I said yes. The words wouldn’t come though, the mind too overwrought. Until one early morning, the sun waiting to kiss the day awake, a letter tumbled out of me. Straight from my heart and onto paper, my vision too blurry to read it until I had typed it up. And even then, the tears wouldn’t stop.

The letter didn’t just touch my heart, it touched everyone who read it, everyone who heard it at the funeral. Because we’re all daughters and sons. All born through our mothers, all connected from beginning to end, and even beyond.

Dear Mum,

I miss you. Your laughter. Your voice. Your embrace.

Your hands, how they hold me, how they caress my hair, my face.

Your words, how they protect me, strengthen and love me.

Your heart, how it carries me.

Your ears, how they listen to me, so patiently, so lovingly.

Your eyes, your gaze, filled with love, with light, illuminating my days and my nights.

Your softness, your strength, how they permeate me.

Your love, how it let’s me grow.

I miss you. In the small moments. In the big ones. When I look at my children, in whom you continue to live, who awaken you inside me.

I miss you. In the stars that bear gifts to the night sky, in which I find you.

I miss you. Your touch, your soul, simply you. Your presence in my life.

And even if you’re far, far away, are you always here, always close. In my heart, well protected. Always nurturing. Always loving. Always loved. Never forgotten.

Thank you, Mum. For all that you were and are.

I love you.

Your daughter Elisabeth