Bits

The events immediately following from my mum’s passing are quite clear in my mind still, but only that evening itself. I don’t quite remember the days following. One of the things I remember thinking almost immediately after was: I am my mother’s daughter. It kinda gave me a sense of grounding, a silent stillness that directed me about making decisions for the wake and funeral, arrangements with people, calling the extended family and receiving their responses. It was strength-giving at that point and something that I hoped would have made my mother proud.

But the other side of remembering that I am her daughter is also this: I am not my mother.

I do not have to resign myself to living her life, lived or unlived; I do not have to make her mistakes, suffer her circumstances, or to martyr myself for people in her life as she did. That was her heart. I’m not sure it is mine, but for now I must know that it is not the only life for me. It is not my destiny to be exactly as she was; I must not keep thinking of that love she had poured out again and again into the same person and the way it went back to her. That was her decision, her life. I was her confidante. I am not her.