The after

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“There are moments which mark your life, moments when you realise nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two parts; before this and after this”
It’s now eighteen long and lonely months since you closed your bedroom door and made the decision to end your life.
Before you left, life was so straightforward, so normal. I look back at that normality now with such affection and fondness. The laughter and love, the arguments. Normal.
What are we supposed to do now Neve? What did you think would happen? Did you think our lives would snap straight back into that same normality once you’d left? No, we entered a place called, the after.
The after is a frightening place. It’s a place where every morning you wake up and the first thought vibrating through your head is, she’s gone. It’s a place where before I can even do the simplest task I must check on your brother to stop the urgent, anxious whispers in my head telling me history could repeat itself and I could find him the way I found you because the after has taught me that life is fragile and sad and can destroy you in an instant.
The after is as constant as the stars above, the stars I now stare longingly at and hope with all my heart that one day we will meet again but the after is a despondent being that implies nastily that life is life and death is death and once you’re gone, you’re gone. It paves a bleak and hopeless path.
The after makes me cry, a lot. When I wake up, when I’m in the car on my way to work. At work (sometimes). In the car on the way home from work. In the supermarket. Cooking dinner. In the shower. A lot! The after sees tears stinging at my eyes like hot, sharp needles at some point. Every. Single. Day.
The after sees me listening to conversations with tired disdain. Sometimes I’ll join in but nothing seems particularly important anymore.
The after has a voracious appetite. It’s not happy with the fact that our lives will never be the same again it makes the simplest of things hurt so very much. Joyous occasions are always shrouded in if onlys. Such as your friends birthdays, the after amplifies the fact you’ll never be twenty and their birthdays are living testament of that. You’ll be forever eighteen my beautiful girl.
New music that I hear and want to excitedly share with you just leaves me with an ache that soaks into my bones. Yes, the after is a truly terrifying place where I must get up everyday, take a long, deep breath and knowingly live yet another day without you in it.
So I walk through the after, gently touching the things you touched in the before as if they’re sacred, because to me they are.
Now, I live for us both in the after and all I do, I do to keep your memory alive.

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

Mum x











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