Mum, or 'diltongal' as she is known on this website, died in the early hours of Sunday morning in my Dad's arms. I said goodbye to her for the last time, only a week ago. I think I knew it would be the last time, because I tried to tell her I loved her, but instead just held her and burst into tears. I hurried back to Sheffield, and began revising for the January law exams. Part of me thinks that it was a mistake to go back to university instead of staying with her, but I was glad that I enjoyed a wonderful Christmas and New Year with her. My Dad said that she would not have wanted me to see her the way she was that night, so perhaps leaving a week before she passed away wasn't so bad.
I'm just learning that our modern lives have no time set aside for bereavement, a process which for me, began long before Mum went. Knowing that she wasn't going to be around forever allowed us to reconcile our differences, and I will miss the loving, caring Mother that she was. I guess I'm like her in many ways; I share her steely resilience and somewhat black humour, and I know this will help me get through the next few weeks.
So, the funeral prep is under way, and my Dad is going about it somewhat manically, refusing to let me help, although I'm in charge of the sarnies for after the service, and have a number of fillings in mind. Half of the Spanish family (my Dad's side) have already descended on our household, and I've been told this is what usually happens in Spain. It's a bit weird, I think they expect a dramatic, open show of grief, but I'm not willing to oblige and prefer to keep myself to myself...don't wear your heart on your sleave etc. I'm dreading the funeral though, as I know my stiff upper lip will crumble and wobble and then the tears will come flooding out, making it impossible to look anyone in the eye or speak to anyone. And I will undoubtedly learn some new things about my Mum from her friends that will make her death all the more tragic.
H
