There are just seven days until the first anniversary of my mum's death. A week. It's nothing really. And yet July 15 is looming. I have that day off work. Perhaps I'll feel fine and be functional, but there's also a real probability I'll end up stuck in bed. And to be missing that person in my life, who would just arrive at my front door and say, "we're doing this today, you're going to be okay," means I don't know what to do.
There's something that changes in you when you lose a parent. It doesn't matter if you're 13, 36 or 65. That person who cared and loved you unconditionally is gone. It leaves behind a huge hole.