My mum Elaine
Written by Ashton Tawton
Trigger Warning: Suicide
My mum, Elaine died from suicide in September 2022. 10 days after my mum's death, my nan died aged 92. The following day was my eldest daughter's first birthday.
Nearly three years later, with another daughter under my wings. I am astonished that I got through the early stages of torturous and traumatic grief, but here I am.
I write this lying on the sofa feeling sorry for myself, recovering from a 24 hour stomach bug. I'm the last one in my household to get it, and I got it bad. The house uncharacteristically quiet, my husband has taken the kids to his parents. I haven't got the strength to load the dishwasher or the washing machine, it's silent. I miss my mum.
Years ago, when living in a small rented flat above a shop on a high street. I was unwell, the now-husband was at work. My mum came round and helped me wash and dry my hair, did the washing up and pushed the hoover round for me. Risking getting ill herself for the sake of her daughter, you can't bottle that kind of love. It's just there.
Grief from suicide has its own complications, nuances and contradictions. Some days I feel fiercely angry at her, comparing my own journey through motherhood with hers. Other days I feel her pain running through my veins as if it were my own, I feel empathetic to a point of discomfort and fear. Will I ever understand her decision? Probably not, and I hope not. The depths of her mental health that day must have been terrifying and heartbreaking.
Day to day motherhood for me now looks like many other mums-of-two-girls. Running around doing nursery drop offs and swimming lessons for my eldest, taking the baby to sensory groups and singing sleeping bunnies day in day out. I love it, my girls keep me going.
But I will always have an undercurrent of sadness, I will always wonder what their relationship with their nanny would have been like. If they would have loved horses like her, if they'd have thought she was cool for riding a motorbike, if she would have stopped wearing such short skirts with the 'grandmother of 2' title (probably not).
All I can do is keep talking about her, make sure they know who she is and was. When it's appropriate, we will make sure they know how proud we all are for battling the darkness in those last few months.
One day, I'll tell my daughters how they got me through the darkest era of my life and I'll never be able to put into words how thankful I am for that.