Hope Architect

TW: I speak of death in this story. Please stop reading here if that is uncomfortable for you, I won’t be offended. 💜

Growing older brings you many things; the joys of watching your nephews and niece grow old, the sadness that comes with burying grandparents as it becomes their time to go back into the vortex and the ever so often moment of wisdom that you get as you realise you’ve got something that was once difficult figured out. It brings moments in life that you can’t wait to have, while giving you some that you almost wish you could give back to whoever or whatever decided you needed to experience it.

On Friday the 12th January 2024 my brother received a phone call from our Mum’s support worker letting him know that they were unable to get her to come to the door and had been waiting outside for almost an hour. My partner and I decided we would head over and see if we could get Mum to come to the door – she had a constant battle of dodging her support workers so this just felt like another one of those days. We were about halfway to her house when I had this thought almost inserted into my mind that I needed to hear the song ‘Marjorie’ by Taylor Swift (Of course it was Tay Tay). I popped it on and got to thinking about what the meaning behind my need to play this was. I remember at some point looking at my partner and saying ‘something doesn’t feel right’, I didn’t know it at that moment but something was communicating a message to me. Only a month earlier she was involved in a horrible car accident, but I knew inside of myself that she was okay, that she would make it through. This time as I drove toward her house, it felt different. I kept trying to shun the feeling I had, the fear of knowing she hadn’t answered the door.

Arriving at her house and spending the next 30 minutes trying to get her to come to the door, realising she had blocked all the windows, locked all the doors and closed every single curtain made that feeling grow even more. My brother arrived with a spare key to her house and we let ourselves in, and as we walked through the door we found Mum, lifeless on her bed with the most peaceful look on her face.

Its been less than 4 days since that moment and the grieving process I’m moving through is fucking tough. I can feel the sadness of the young parts of me coming to the surface. I feel the sadness of knowing that my phone is never going to light up with Mums name again as she tries to call. The sadness that the small family I have just lost another member.

Despite this I also feel a great sense of peace knowing that Mum no longer has to suffer with the demons in her head, no longer has to live in an environment she never deserved to live in. Mum and I weren’t close in the way that I wished we could have been, her mental illness blocked her from being close to anyone but I feel a great sense of pride in knowing that she was my Mum, pride that If I’m completely honest I’m really sad that I never got to sit down and tell her face to face that I had. I know I wasn’t able to tell her physically but I feel she understands now, wherever she is.

I look forward to celebrating her life in the coming weeks, learning things about her that I never knew and laying her to rest where she would have always wanted to be; right next to our grandparents. What I wouldn’t give to be able to go back to some of the memories I have of her and tell her all the things I wasn’t able to tell her. I think there’ll be a part of me that will always hold some sadness that when she was here I wasn’t able to have that conversation, but I realise now that the pain she was in would have never let her feel the words I had to say.

Mum, thank you for everything, it wasn’t always sunshine between us but you saved my life with all the actions you took. I never got to tell you that in person but you did. I wouldn’t be here without you.

For what is grief, but love persevering.