I wake each morning with crushing disappointment. I realise that I am still trapped in this awful dream, and I’m so frightened that I might realise it’s real.
I still cannot believe you’ve gone. It was too quick, too shocking, too brutal. We held your hands and told you how much we love you as you slipped away. You told my children that you love them just half an hour before you were gone.
When I was alone with you, I begged you to come back to us, to wake from your eternal sleep. I am not ready for you to go, I need you.
It is lonely now you’ve gone. I have my friends and family, but my instinct to call you each day, or when one of the children does something funny, wonderful, challenging, is yet to subside.
I shall satisfy this urge to share my moments with, I will write to you often, in the hope that by some magic, you will hear me.
Love you mumsie.