the irrefutable end
My Mum died on May 26th, 2018, early in the morning. 20 days after my last entry on here.
I remember I had had a late night on the 25th watching some Netflix movie I didn't bother to remember. So about an hour and a half, after I fell asleep, Dad walked into my room and said 'Mum just took her last breath.' I can't even explain what went through my mind. I'm not sure if it was that I knew this was going to happen since she was in a hospital for over a month in a coma or me being a heartless creature. But I remember not really feeling anything. It didn't feel real but felt too real all at the same time.
We ended up driving to the hospital because I asked my family if once she went, I could see her one last time. When I walked in the room I could almost feel it. Smell it. Taste it. I wasn't sure if it was just my mind making up something to try and explain what I was going through, or if I really was sensing it. But that wasn't the most confusing part.
The part hardest to comprehend was when I walked up to her. I stroked what was left of her hair and tried to tell myself that this was real, and not all at the same time. I held her hand and it felt cold. Through chemo, her hands always felt cold, but this was a different type of cold. Like a hollow cold. In that moment of hollowness, I really thought about it. Her veins were still. Her lungs were at rest. Her heart had stopped... the most involuntary thing we have in our bodies, just stopped. And even though I knew what was happening, there was still this part of me that thought she was sleeping because she looked so peaceful. So darn peaceful.
I can't get that out of my head. It literally feels like a piece of me, that I didn't even know existed, is crushed and crumbling inside me in the most painful way. Because while I know she is dead, there is and always will be this part of me that thinks she is just sleeping and will come home soon. And I'm scared that feeling will never go away.
Because of that, it hits me in the weirdest of moments. At one point I just started bawling my eyes out on the bus to school, with no trigger. Or I'll start tearing up in class.
When she was alive and trying to fight this, I started writing a story to keep me grounded. That was the time when I felt most clear. I put my emotions into my characters and got them to fight through it, which gave me the courage to. But now, words are foreign to me. I struggle to get a chapter done in a month. The character Violet Markey in All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven said that when her sister died, her words died too. I never understood that. But now I do, and that terrifies me.
I feel like I've lost the biggest part of me and it is still chipping away and I can't vent in the way I once loved. I want to see the school counselor but can't bear to make an appointment.
I miss her.