Poem #016: The One That Left...
15 years ago to this day
was the time you left our lives.
I didnât know Iâd never see you again,
never got to say goodbye.
Life cut short at forty-eight,
fate can be a cruel mistress.
I didnât ask why or react at first,
before by delayed-reaction my tears burst.
My dad wrapped arms around and wept.
You walked out of life with calm reassurance,
a headache shrugged off âIâm fineâ you said.
No one saw that two weeks later youâd be dead.
The pain inside remains.
My soul is clasped in iron chains
locked with no key to release it.
It hurts much harder when thoughts of you hit.
I was playing a game when the call came,
You shouldâve been home in 40 minutes
and I waiting to hear the front door
knowing instinctively you were in from work,
rushing down stairs to hug you home.
Instead you was being rushed to hospital
I was rushed away to stay with my aunt
as though I was in the way.
Never once got to see you before you died.
I always regretted that.
Always will.
Annieâs Song played at your funeral.
The words have darker meaning now:
The forest has burnt,
the mountains have collapsed,
the rain has ceased,
the desert is wrought with death,
the ocean is acid.
When I look to your photo for good memories to see
I donât feel happy,
only pain and sorrow,
only empty and hollow.
You're not here where you should be.
The loss of you I still feel.
the hole never will truly heal.
The role canât be refilled.
A broken pillar that we canât rebuild.
I donât think Iâll ever get over it.
15 years youâve been gone.
Life has moved on
but I havenât.
I still miss you.
It still fucking hurts.
I never got to tell you these precious few words:
âGoodbye mum. Love you, will always miss you.â
So... authorâs note. Usually I have one, so I guess Iâll feel Iâll add more background to this... if it wasnât blazingly obvious from the poem what the topic is about.
About 15 years and two weeks ago today, at approximately 5.30pm, when my family was gearing up for Christmas, my brother had my first nephew on the way and I was looking forward to the Christmas holidays from my first year of secondary school, a phone call came through to the house phone. I was sat upstairs at the time playing a video game, before i received a shout to turn it off and come downstairs.
The phone call was from the hospital, whoâd just rang my dad to tell him my mum had been rushed in after collapsing in the supermarket on her way home from work. I donât know if it was my dad trying to protect me from the whole commotion of rushing around, or if he felt I would just be in the way, or whatever, but I was sent to stay with my aunt around the corner, not completely understanding the situation itself. Iâm assuming itâs because he wasnât in much of a state to look after me with the stress of everything.
I recalled him telling my brother, or my aunt that he shouldâve told her to go to the hospital earlier in the day, when she complained of a strong, sharp sudden onset of pain in her head. Instead she shrugged it off as nothing, told him it passed, she was fine and went off to work. Guess what, it wasnât fucking nothing.
The death certificate, lists it as a subarachnoid haemorrhage, a rupturing of a blood vessel that causes a bleed on the brain, an aneurysm. Life threatening and in need of emergency surgery. Without release, it causes a build-up of pressure, that left untreated eventually causes loss of consciousness and irreparable brain damage. Typically these are made at greater risks by weaknesses in the cell walls. Theyâre not guaranteed to burst, but theyâre at risk of it. Risk factors also include smoking (she was a smoker), family history (her mum died of it, from what I heard, in front of her), head injuries, excessive alcohol consumption and high blood pressure. It doesnât necessarily come on over time either, it is sudden when it happens and that kinda makes it harder to accept, because not everyone sees it coming. Itâs kinda the reason why Iâm a little bit adamant when it comes to people who have chronic headaches or something to get them checked.
There is usually a 1-in-3 chance of survival (if treatment and diagnosis is received immediately), to make a full recovery, 1-in-3 chance of survival with varied loss of brain function, or 1-in-3 chance of death (if not caught in time). Hers wasnât caught in time. She was in intensive care for two weeks before there was no detectable brain activity. She was essentially brain dead with only life support keeping her heart going when my dad OKâd them to turn the machine off.
Never once in that time, I saw her in hospital. Maybe my family wanted to protect me from seeing her with so many tubes and pipes and whatnot, not responding to people. I donât know. I never asked him, itâs not something I perhaps what to get into a discussion about. The only thing I do know now is that I wish I had.... because perhaps it wouldâve helped down the line. I donât know. Itâs speculative, but itâs something Iâve deeply regretted ever since. I never saw her again
My dad came to see me after that decision was made, to tell me she had gone. He wrapped his arms around me and wept for a few minutes, I sat motionless. I didnât react immediately. It didnât register until afterwards, when my cousin entered the room, and asked if I didnât care. It took that for it to register completely and I cried into her arms.
The funeral was held a few days before Christmas. She was given a cremation, her ashes still sit in a small casket at home with a little doll sat on top, sat waiting for the day when it is time for my dad to go, to have their ashes mixed, reunited and sprinkled on a favourite holiday spot of theirs. She was cremated to John Denverâs Annieâs Song (you know, the on that goes You Fill Up My Senses).
Her photo has stayed with me in my room ever since though. Sat there, with a small lock of her hair in the frame. That photo is probably the one thing that will follow me to any place I move. Unfortunately the lock of hair is becoming loose and move around in the picture. I need to find a way to rebind it (somewhat) and secure it there again, but Iâm also a little bit reluctant to open the frame and take it out because itâs something I donât want to lose and it is easy to lose. Itâs the one possession in my life that is never going to change, never going to disappear.
Truth be told, I donât think Iâve ever properly grieved, even to this day... or perhaps itâs because Iâve never properly talked about my feelings. Iâve kinda left them to one side over the years and there is perhaps only one other person who I have told. They might eventually read this when itâs published and reblogged to my main, if theyâre awake and scroll past it at some point if their time zone allows. They know who they are, theyâll probably mention it to me at some point in fact. I want to give them a massive thank you for the help theyâve given me over the years figuring stuff out. Thank you.
I want to round this note off now. There is a truth that is probably left unacknowledged to some, that people who have experienced profound loss come to realise in time. That truth is that the pain of loss, it never ever really truly goes away. The hole it leaves is never ever able to be filled. Time may be called a healer, and it does help a bit, it closes up a bit, but it always remains with you, that one person youâve lost in your life that can never be replaced. Be it parents, friends, partners, pets, etc. You learn to cope with it, you accept theyâre gone and not coming back, but you will never stop missing them. Never, no matter how much time has passed. It may not be every single day, but there are days, moments in life you will wish they are there.
As much as that hurts though, itâs also still acknowledgement of the bond you shared. I guess if there is a comfort somewhere in it all, there is that. But still, it remains shit to feel sometimes and there are still times it pulls at you to remind you it is still there.
Anyway thatâs it. Iâve said all I can on the topic.
Love you mum, always⌠and Iâll miss you, always.
