My mum passed away four years ago now when I was fourteen. It was without a doubt the worst day of my life and I don’t think I’ve fully recovered. She knew she was dying and she didn’t even tell us. I still feel betrayed by her which I feel bad about because I don’t want to think poorly of my deceased mother, but I can’t help feeling some resentment to the fact she never told us.
I would’ve taken our last few months together so much more seriously. I would’ve learnt everything I possibly could about her so that I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life wondering like I am now. But she took that opportunity away from me, away from us, and I am still angry at her for it.
I didn’t know that she knew she was going to die until her best friend gave me a letter on my birthday. She had written it before she died with the intention of giving it to me alongside some custom Melbourne made earrings each year. My mum’s best friend, who has been like a mum to me since my own mother passed, told me she had doubts about giving the letter and earrings to me in such a vulnerable state. I still remember her face when she gave it to me knowing it was going to break my heart. She didn’t want to hurt me.
As it turns out, my mum wrote my siblings and I letters for every special occasion up until adulthood. I’ve opened a letter from my mum every birthday since she passed, and I am about to open my eighteenth birthday letter. Without a doubt, the letter will come with a pair of breeze earrings or something similar that my mum thinks represents the next year of my life. I’ll admit, she has a great taste in earrings and she’s always gotten it right, but I just want her to come back and give them to me herself.