I miss you.

Your nurturing touch, your comforting words and your smell.

I miss being able to pick up the phone to ask how to cook something.

I miss having you in my life, period.

I’ve got used to it now though.

Nothing will bring you back. I’ve learnt to accept that as the years have passed.

It took a long time though, I won’t lie.

Sometimes a woman would catch my eye in the street that I thought was you. It would catch me off guard and temporarily floor me.

It was traumatic losing you.

You were taken when you were far too young at only 53 years old.

At 24, I was a lost and confused soul following your death.

I had to grow up as a woman without a mum to enjoy life with.

I felt robbed of that very natural relationship; mother and daughter.

Even now I occasionally feel the pang of envy when I hear friends spending time with their mum, enjoying the simple pleasures like coffee and cake!

I know you’re not suffering anymore but it took me a long time to find comfort in that. I had you for my childhood and some daughters don’t even have that time with their mothers, so I’m grateful for that too.

I remember you were taken 10 years earlier but they bought you back with the defibrillator in hospital.

I have recited the story to friends that you told me afterwards. That you knew you were passing when you experienced going down the black tunnel incredibly fast and coming out into a garden of flowers — you even smelt them.

You were smiling when you told it like you weren’t afraid anymore.

But I’m glad they bought you back then from a selfish point of view, as I had you for another 10 years.

Although sadly, the next brush with death was final.

I will never forget the Police telling me the news.

I was in my room living in halls of residence at University.

The weeks and months that followed were all a blur whilst going through the motions and various stages of grief.

I eventually went back to Uni, albeit a bit numb, and I got my degree in radio production.

I drank too much occasionally, sometimes alone, as I thought the answers may be in the bottom of the bottle.

Needless to say they weren’t and it just made me cry. Waste of money really but it felt comforting at the time.

I remember all the support and encouragement you gave me to follow my heart and do work I love.

I went on to be a high achiever, unsure if that’s a good thing, but I had a successful and fun career in radio and events, winning awards, etc. I’ve done well in my personal life too, I’m happy, healthy and in love. I like the simple pleasures life brings.

For a while I was existing in life though, not really living.

I knew something had to change.

It was down to me as I was responsible for my own life.

But I was still sad, confused and sometimes angry.

Even though I had lots of brilliant things in my life, there was a void.

I only had the courage to see someone about your passing in my thirties and the pain and healing has taken a while to process.

I hope other daughters in the same position don’t wait as long. I tried to get help straight away but it was too raw.

I had worked so hard for so long that I eventually hit burnout and decided to give my own business a shot.

It’s turned out pretty well and I love being my own boss with the freedom and flexibility it offers.

I saw you do it and you inspired me. I know you were a free spirit. I think I have that part of you too and I much prefer living my life now.

I was existing in it before and it was passing me by, but now my lifestyle is magic.

I’ve travelled as you always encouraged me to explore the world and open my mind. I continue to do so and have lots of trips on the bucket list!

Although I have to say the world has changed since you parted. You wouldn’t recognise it.

Thank you for being such a great mother to me and for raising me into a decent human being with a vibrant human spirit.

You nurtured me as a child and bought me into the early stages of becoming a woman, with good values and morals, to look out for people and help them where I can.

I don’t particularly like the commercialism of Mother’s day to highlight mums everywhere. I appreciate that it focuses the attention on mums for a day though and the incredible job they do. Hat off to them because I don’t know how they do it!

I prefer to hide from social media and day dream about what you would look like now, what we would be doing if you were here, but alas, I just cherish the memories and thank you for being the best mum ever.

Originally published at medium.com