6:35 R.I.P.

Ma mere est morte.

For some reason, writing it in a foreign language makes it easier to deal with.

My mother is dead.

She died at 6:35 yesterday morning.

Just that word. Dead. She's gone. She's really fucking gone.

The sight of her body. Laying there. So empty. Just a shell of the beautiful, strong woman she used to be.

Phoning my sister in Manchester. Both of us broke down. The almost hysterical, wretching tears as I told her that she went peacefully and wasn't in any pain.

We registered the death this morning, and now that beautiful, strong woman is a piece of paper and a name on a database.

I have to keep believing that she's left this world to be with my step father, that she's happy, and that she's looking down on us right now with that wise old smile. I cannot comprehend my darling mum just ceasing to exist.

So, mum. I love you. I always have done and I always will. You were a wonderful, brave and inspiring lady. You will never be forgotten, I promise.

xxxx