The day my mother died I felt relief. She died much too young, and she had been a marvellous mother and a wonderful person. She was loved by everybody.
She died of cancer. The last year of her life was misery. She knew she was going to die. She had pain, she suffered, and she feared the end. The last months of her life was spent in hospital. Gradually and mercilessly the cancer did its horrid work. At the end she was on morphine most of the time.
I was a university student at the time. Living in another town and busy with my own life and myself, and my future, as I believe most young people are. I did not go to see her in hospital every weekend, because it was a journey of several hours, and I had work to do (or was it parties I wouldn't miss?).
I was there the day the died though. The hospital staff had let us know that the end was imminent. And I felt relief when it was over.
I felt ashamed of myself. I felt relief, but I also felt I ought to be grieving my heart out for the wonderful mother I had lost.
Later that year I passed my exams. Every time I got a good result, an imaginary conversation started inside my head. I was imaging how I would pass on the news. "I told you not to worry, I can do it Mom .......". Oops!. There was no Mom, there was a void where she once was. The one I would most have liked to please by doing well was not there. The one I most wanted to tell the good news was not there. That's when her death hits the hardest. That's when the real tears came.
Later in life when getting my first job, getting married, becoming a father etc., I have always thought of my mother and how I would have liked to share those moments with her.
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