A letter to my mammy

Written by Ann-Marie Curtis to her mammy a few weeks after her death

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Dear Mammy,

You were born on the 12th and you died on the 12th, I somehow think that’s important. You were dignified until the end. You were gentle, caring and fair. You were clever and witty. When your memory became broken, you started to worry that people would forget all the things you did. I would reassure you, but your fragmented memory would forget and this would unsettle you.

Towards the end however, you found a new confidence that was wrapped up in confusion but nevertheless was comforting to you and to those around you.

The sadness of knowing you are now just a memory makes my heart ache. This causes a longing and pang within me that will never be filled. The good days are good and the bad days are awful but nonetheless either way, the days will never be the same.

I miss our chats about everything and nothing. Sometimes we had no news but we still managed to spend over an hour on the phone all the same. We would both find this funny and would joke about how long a call would be if we actually had news.

I miss having no one above me to seek approval from and to mull things over with. I feel lost at times and I often feel a need to rush back to Ireland quickly to somehow get to you, but I know you’re not really there. You’re in heaven, where you’re meant to be now. I feel the need to suddenly grow up now and long for that element of my childhood to come back. I dream about you and wake up and remember that you’re not there and I cry.

I hear your voice in my head all the time and the expressions you would use are now on the tip of my tongue and at the forefront of my mind. I’ll never be the same without you, I am forever changed. I know that I am a better person because of you and I know you are always with me, this I am grateful for.

I hope I will be able to be fully happy again or at least content without you, but it will take time. Others ask me if I’m better now or ask me how I am, but I can’t explain how I feel and even if I could it’s unlikely they would understand. The ones who ask still have their parents. They mean well, but they are blissfully unaware of the pain of such grief, so explaining how I feel to them would be pointless to say the least. I sometimes find this infuriating but then I remember to be patient with others as they just don’t get it and that’s not their fault. I too thought I would know how it felt to lose you after such a long health battle but I really didn’t and am completely blind sided by this grief.

I still worry about you like I did when you were alive. It’s funny how my feelings haven’t caught up to the reality yet. Maybe my mind is not fully ready to accept things how they are now. You always said that I wouldn’t be happy unless I was worrying.

I miss you Mammy.

Love you,

Blue