This year marks the seventeenth anniversary of my Mother’s passing, on the 14th of September, 2006. There’s a commonly uttered sentiment that time will eventually lessen the ache, a sentiment I find more poetic than true. As was so poignantly expressed to me at the time of her passing, “Losing your mother is the edge of the sword.” A line that’s become a part of my grieving lexicon.
The weight of guilt settles in, uninvited, as the years pass. In her final year, grappling with cancer, there are so many things I wish I could have done differently, so many words left unsaid, so many gestures left undone. The guilt of inaction is perhaps as stinging as the grief of loss.
Guilt can be multi-layered, especially when it involves the loss of a parent. For me, guilt isn’t just about what I didn’t say or do; it’s also about the emotional bandwidth I didn’t fully realise I had at my disposal. Could I have been a better listener? Could I have been more present? These questions haunt me, as they do many who have lost someone.
I had thought about sharing the intimate details of that life-changing day. I even had the words laid out, yet, I held back. There’s a part of grief so intensely personal that it can’t, or perhaps shouldn’t, be shared.
The unsaid and the undone loom large in my mind, ever-present in my quieter moments. Conversations we never had. Hugs we never shared. Each one a searing ‘if only,’ leaving me wondering how different things might have been in her final year.
As time goes by, each milestone, each celebration, and every hurdle crossed comes with a bittersweet tinge. The happiness of achievement or the relief of overcoming challenges is forever shadowed by her absence. “Would Mum have been proud?” “Would she have offered wisdom in times of difficulty?” These are questions forever left unanswered.
There comes a point where one must accept that what’s done is done, and what’s undone will forever remain so. Acceptance is a long, gruelling road, fraught with its own set of emotional potholes, but it’s a journey we all must undertake.
In the absence of my mother’s presence, your memories of her offer some comfort. Each shared story and each recounted conversation adds another layer of texture to the memories I hold. So, I invite you to share your remembrances of Linor, contributing to the tapestry that keeps her spirit alive in all of us.
The void left by my mother’s passing remains ever-present, and grief, tinged with regret and unanswered questions, continues to be a hard journey, but it’s a journey I need to make, negotiating the guilt-laden pathways along the route.
