2018 – The Year I Lost My Mum

I still remember like it was yesterday, it was 2018 – The Year I Lost My Mum – The pain, the heartache and the missing void that remained on that day I will never forget.

The Year I Lost My Mum

The sun was shining on the 10th of September, 2018, just a month after I got the news from a company I’d given 18 years of my life to. Out of the blue, they told me, “Hey, you’re not needed anymore.” It was a real kick in the guts, and I was still trying to wrap my head around it.

At the same time, my mum was really struggling with her health. For nearly two years, she’d been battling kidney problems, which meant she had to do dialysis twice a day. I’ll never forget the pain on her face each time, it was tough for her, and hard on everyone who had to help. Looking back now, there’s a bit of comfort knowing she’s not in pain anymore.

The night before she passed, mum was in so much agony that she needed to be sedated. As you’d expect, it changed her personality a bit, but you could still see and hear her fighting through it. All of us kids were there, along with her grandson, and in the afternoon of the 10th, she took her last breath. Honestly, it didn’t really hit me until I got home. The idea that Mum wouldn’t visit, or call, or need me to set up her VCR to record the Italian channels, that’s what really brought it home.

It’s been almost seven years now, but she’s still in my thoughts and dreams. Sometimes, in those dreams, she’s still bossing me around, some things never change.

Being the eldest of four, I was her executor and had to manage everything after she passed, the funeral, her affairs, the lot. In a weird, almost morbid way, it happened at the right and wrong time. I wasn’t working, having just been made redundant, so I had the time, but it was a lot to handle. Even though I’m used to juggling tasks at work, this was on another level. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

I won’t go into all the nitty-gritty, but closing her accounts, sorting out her bills, proving her death, signing endless documents, and then working out what to do with all her stuff, it was a real slog. Mum was a bit of a hoarder, especially when it came to paperwork. She kept everything, way past the usual seven years. Not long ago, I found a letter from a job I’d applied for when I was 19, she’d even kept the “sorry, you’re not suitable” reply. Back then, you got a letter, not an email.

Each day I would wake and consider the thought that she really was gone. That realisation would hit me afresh, almost every morning, as if my brain had to reset the truth all over again. At first, I told myself I was coping, after all, I was the strong one, the one who sorted things out, who got things done. But slowly, day by day, the weight of everything started to settle in. You wouldn’t think that at all as I cried a river in the shower – go figure.

Depression and anxiety crept up on me like a shadow that grows longer as the sun sets. At first, I barely noticed it, a bit of sleeplessness here, a lack of appetite there. I’d brush it off, blaming the stress of the funeral or the paperwork or just the general upheaval in my life. I told myself I was too busy to be sad, too practical to fall apart. I also had a family to consider and how they were coping.

But inside, I was struggling. I didn’t want to ask for help. I didn’t want to burden anyone else with my feelings, especially when everyone else was grieving too. I figured I could handle it, after all, I’d handled everything else, hadn’t I? But the truth was, I wasn’t handling it. I was just getting by, putting one foot in front of the other, hoping that if I kept moving, the pain wouldn’t catch up with me.

Years passed, and the grief didn’t fade, it just changed shape. Some days, it was a dull ache in my chest. Other days, it was a sharp, sudden memory that would catch me off guard. The anxiety made me second-guess myself, made me feel like I was always on the verge of messing up, even when I knew I was doing everything right. The depression made it hard to find joy in things I used to love, and I started to withdraw from friends and family, not wanting anyone to see me like this.

Looking back, I wish I’d reached out. I wish I’d let myself be vulnerable, let someone else help me carry the load. But at the time, I just didn’t know how. I didn’t want to admit that I was struggling, because admitting it would make it real. So I kept it all inside, and it weighed on me for years, a silent companion I couldn’t shake.

Even now, almost seven years later, I still feel the echoes of that time. But I’ve learned that grief isn’t something you get over, it’s something you learn to live with. And maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to ask for help. Maybe it’s even necessary. Because carrying it all alone is a burden no one should have to bear.

This is my story. The ending will one day come but not yet. The day I meet my mum again in better circumstances. Remember, you are not alone, you don’t need to face this in isolation. Please visit our Support & Resources page to get help.

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