Mom

Yes, so it´s been a month since I last posted here. It´s feels like so much more, though. I´m a changed person, so much has happened in 30 days that I can´t even start comprehending it.

One thing for sure: there´s no going back, no matter how much I want to. And I want it so bad I could cry. So bad that I´d trade anything for it. To turn back time just a little bit....to give some of my life in exchange for a bit more time for you. But it´s impossible. It was too fast. It was over in four days, less time than it takes to do, well, anything.

18th of March. You were always superstitious about March. Always commented about Grandpa and Great-Grandma, and told me it was a bad month for our family. Now it´s worse, I know.

And now, Mom, you won´t be here to see the test results that you so wanted to see. They come out tomorrow. But I know that you left with the sureness in your heart that everything will be alright. That you´re up there somewhere watching over us, because you left us too early and you´ll want to make sure that we´re doing everything alright.

I love you, Mom. Nothing will ever be the same without you (I´m the only girl living with two the doofus men lumps called Bro and Dad now). I won´t be able to complain about guys or them either with you (or maybe I will, and let other people call me crazy). I´m glad that the operation gave us two more years with you, but can I help but wish that you´d been here for more? Like so many other people who´ve battled the same thing? It´s so unfair. Cancer is so disgusting. I hate it. But at the same time I´m grateful that I got at least 25 years with you. Others aren´t so lucky. But I still feel selfish that way, deep down (or maybe not so deep).I wish you hadn´t gone.

Now I´m trying to get back to normal, as much as possible. But it still crops up in stupid moments, you know. Like miscounting the settings when I set the table. Or commenting on how you like stuff instead of "liked". Or sitting on the sofa and missing our fighting over sofa space or how to set the washing mashine. Or waking you up in the mornings because you´re such an incredible sleepyhead (and Bro´s inherited that). Going down to  the kitchen to work on my class programming and having you comment on it from the sofa and throw suggestions my way as for stuff my students might like; things that you tried out and worked. Having you glare at me while I´m looking at the sewing machine and pointedly asking "don´t you have something better to do?" (which you knew annyoed me and always made me snap "No, I don´t.")

You know how I hate change. I´m scared that this has put me off change even more--because how can I leave Dad alone now? I can´t. I don´t think I want to leave this house yet. I know I´m 25, but I still want a few more years here yet. I guess you´d approve, since you always were such a mother hen. You wanted us to stay together, made Dad promise and everything.

These are for you, Mom, from the trees behind the Church of Sant Miquel, near Cal Franci, our house in your town.

I´ll miss you more than words can ever say. I love you. The trees were blooming on the day of your funeral (see that picture?), but it really did pour later that night. Stupidly poetic and clichéd, but I like to think that the sky really was crying, because such a wonderful person left us. You´ve touched so many lives--you really have--that you can rest assured: you won´t be forgotten, even outside our family.