Mum I thought about your grave today. We haven't visited it since that seventh day. We came for your one-month Mass and I rushed back, in indecent haste not wanting to stick around. I'm sorry. I thought about you today, lonely, in your magnificent coffin, with all that earth piled on top of you. Lonely, because none of us had visited. I felt like I had let you down.
Mum, I don't know how to deal with your death. There is no manual. They tell you the stages of grief. It starts with denial.
Was that what I was feeling? Maybe, that over here, I could pretend that maybe, maybe...you were still there, because I didn't have to think of you, didn't have to deal with the reality of your absence?
Mum, I need to go back. I need to buy flowers. I need to drive to your grave. I need to place the flowers there. I need to weep and pray over you. Alone.
Strange things have happened since you were gone. An unravelling process of all you kept together with sheer willpower alone. Was it supposed to unravel?
I know you're not here anymore. I know you've moved on. Thank God, I say, you no longer need to look down on this world that disappointed you so. You no longer need to look at us. It's time we grew up, fended for ourselves.
Mum, I'm sorry.
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