Alisha shares some of her poetry and artwork that expresses the grief she feels after her Mum died by suicide.
I think of you when the sun warms my skin. When the heavens open in floods of tears, and stars shine in the night sky. I think of you whenever I see sunflowers and daffodils, cherries and strawberries. When I wake, or fall into a restless slumber.
Your memory lies in more places than I can list.
It hurts that we will never take another cheesy photo, cheeks squished together. It hurts that I will never hold your soft hand in mine again, never hear your gentle laugh, almost soundless in brief joy, feel the comfort that only your warm embrace has ever brought. It hurts deeply, physically, overwhelmingly.
I know I will never heal from this, Mum. From the loss of you, of the future you deserved, and that I dreamed of.
It will take a lifetime of unlearning who I was with you.
Everything I owned was for us to share. Everything I bought was in pairs. I’m sorry that none of us could help or heal your hurting. I hope sweet dreams are yours now.
Missing you, now and forever, and seeing you in the sunflowers.
She’s fading already, after only a year and a bit, as if she wasn’t the biggest, brightest, warmest part of me, of us, our family.
She’s fading already, like an old bruise. I press and press to try and keep it fresh, that horrible sweet pain, a reminder. But it fades, purple to blue, green to yellow, until all that is left is the echo of the fall…
She’s fading already, like a late November sunset, my hands reaching out to hold into the lingering embers in the dark sky, over too quickly.
As much as I wish otherwise, she is fading. The golden shimmering light on the horizon, going down, down, down, leaving us in the dark and the cold.
Perhaps she was fading long before her last day, and I cling to the memory of her in hopes that there doesn’t come a day that feels as if she never even existed.
The more I force smiles, swallow chemical happiness, let each day pass in desaturated colours, the more she fades. This overwhelming pain, and the most joyous part of my life, intertwined so much… I wonder who I am without either as a reminder.
Her leaving was the sun setting. The new moon. An icy hand around my heart squeezing too tightly, or not enough.
Wondering is all I do these days. I wonder if that is how she felt – an icy hand heavy on her head, her heart, her hope, and the release for her, was the loss of hope for me.
Without you mum, I am fading too.
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