A year ago, I knew you were ill, and I knew it wasn’t good, but I never imagined the day would come when I couldn’t cuddle you or hold you close.

 

There was something rather beautiful about our relationship and it altered throughout the years. 34 years you spent with me and it wasn’t enough, and it will never be enough. At the time of this publication, it is around my birthday and a day that will probably be my hardest day of all the days since you died.

 

You used to ring me and sing “happy birthday” and I would roll my eyes while listening to you sing down the phone. We’d usually go out but in the last few years that wasn’t possible, but I always came to you.

 

Last year was the first year you couldn’t write a card and you apologised for it. How silly.

 

This month is a huge trigger everything around me reminds me of you. We have your Christmas tree and you gifted me the beautiful hand carved nativity set when I turned 30 as I always asked for it.

 

I can’t tell you how hard it is to unwrap these treasures. The kids have the snow globes, the personalised baubles you made by hand and the trinkets you gave them each year.

 

So back to now, Momma, I never called you momma before this year and before that you were “mum” or “mam” but as you got sicker and sicker you became “momma.”

 

I’d nuzzle into you telling you I loved you and I’d call you momma because it seemed sweeter and gentler.

 

It was my way of recognising that we had changed. I was now minding you like you had minded me when I was a little girl.

 

I miss you.

 

 

I can’t begin to put into words how much I miss you and as a writer, you’d think I could, but I can’t.

 

I miss you so much my heart aches. It breaks when I think of you and honestly, I try not to think of you often as it hurts too damn much.

 

We all miss you.

 

I can’t believe you aren’t here and some nights I wake up feeling so angry that I want to kick and thump my pillow.

 

I am so mad I lost you and I am so angry that you went through agony and pain for so long before you passed away. I wish I could go back and stroke your hair, hold your little hand and tuck you in like I used to. But I can’t.

 

The girls miss you too - so very much and they talk about you all the time. Admittedly, we laugh about the times you did silly things! What we had was incredibly special, Momma, and I am so grateful for the memories.

 

I guess they must be enough this Christmas and please stay by our sides as I can’t bear to live in a world where you aren’t with me.

 

I love you so much and that will never ever change. I’ll think of you this Christmas Day and I’ll smile too as you never did like to see me cry.

 

Merry Christmas, Momma XXX