2020

Lost for words. That’s how it feels. I haven’t written to you since September, not that I haven’t thought about it, I just haven’t had the words. Today is New Year’s Eve, the second without you here, the second without your laughter and excitement.

Christmas holds its own demons for the grieving. When you’re missing such an important part of your own family, to be force fed happy families and even happier times, it makes that already gaping hole in your chest feel like its been filled with an arctic blast of epic proportions. Saying that, this year wasn’t as bad as last. Ive learned that taking each day as it comes is the key, not planning anything, expecting less. Christmas is all about planning the most amazing time with your family and friends but our family is no longer complete without you so, sod the planning, we’ll just take a smattering of happiness from time to time.

We got through it, there were tears, lots of beautiful, precious memories and surprisingly, some smiles and laughter too. We managed to watch National Lampoons Christmas vacation, your favourite film, the one you’d belly laugh at even though you’d seen it so many times. I found listening to fairytale of New York heartbreaking and I found the task of writing Christmas cards impossible. A grievers dilemma I suppose, torn between writing your name alongside ours, because you existed and still exist in our minds as if you’ve just popped out to the shops and you’ll be back in a bit, to appearing like the sad, distraught loon you feel because people really don’t want to see you writing your dead daughters name on a card sent at such a joyful time of the year. So no cards this year Neve and I don’t think ever again because I can’t bring myself to deny your existence by never writing your name again.

So, 2020. A whole new decade. While everyone joyfully celebrates the end of the last decade I feel horrified its gone, another grievers dilemma I suppose, the thought of leaving your loved one behind. You see Neve, you’ll always be 18, always be stuck in 2018 with the beast from the east, a royal wedding and yet another failed attempt by England at winning the World Cup. All the while, life goes on, your friends grow older but you’ll remain 18 and thats the real tragedy of suicide isn’t it? You decided to leave just as your life was getting interesting. I feel responsible somehow that this amazing, caring, hard working, beautiful young woman felt she couldn’t take anymore and thought her only option was to leave, I feel I failed as a parent because I missed something somehow and did something wrong whilst you went through your transition into adulthood and thats the worst feeling in the world but a feeling so familiar for those bereaved by suicide, I’ve found that what was a major irritation has now become the norm, sadly I now find remembering the old me, the old us, harder.
I look at you smiling with Lucy, Shannon and Storm from New Years Eve two years ago and it feels like a lifetime ago. I wish I could see you roll your eyes one more time when I ask how are you getting home or your laugh and smart arse answer when telling you not to mix your drinks and to make sure you had something to eat, (Don’t mix your drinks mum, make sure you have something to eat) if only life had remained that simple.
As we leave 2019 and this decade behind I’m letting go of being worried what people think about me or my grief and I will speak my truth in the hope that it helps others. Grief is after all a messy business. A contradiction of no words and too many words.

Love you past the moon and miss you beyond the stars Nevey

Mum x