It’s hard for me to speak about this. But I can write about it. I’ve always tried to write out the sorrow in me. This post is for a person that was super important in my life – my mother. It’ll be two weeks soon since she decided it was all too much for her and her heart stoped beating. It isn’t easy, but I’ll make it. It will probably never be easy, but I’ll keep going forward with my head up high, proud of myself and my mother.
My mom was born sick. Her heart wasn’t like your or mine, it was special. And since her heart was special, her lungs addapted and with my mum was special too. I won’t lie and say she was my favourite person all the time, she wasn’t, and we sometimes fought really badly. Why? We were too much alike, we both had our own right, our own hormones and problems. But I can easily say she is the bravest and strongest person I’ve met.
You see, she was predicted to live around 30 years. But she was stuborn and she had them 55. She experienced a lot of amazing stuff, but last year was a strugle for her. She fought with pain, fatigue and knowing she’s coming to a stop.
My mom decided a few years back she doesn’t want a funeral. She signed and gave her body for students to learn. It was clear her organs weren’t a good donor material, and that way at least somebody, somewhere will maybe learn something from her. She doesn’t care anymore what they do with her body.
But she was wrong. The best news on the worst day of my life came in the evening. My phone rang and my fathr told me my mother will still be seeing this worlds for a while. They called him and asked if they can take her eyes for a boy who can’t see. I smiled trough the tears and I felt a bit easier. There is a boy somewhere that will be able to see everything that is beautiful in this world. Because of my mother. And it is easier.
It hurts, but I will go on. Slowly, step by step, day by day, with the help of people that care for me. I am not the only one that is hurt and I am not the only one grieving. But I am my mother’s only daughter, a living memory, someone who looks (and is) a lot like her.
And I hope that she is as proud of me as I am of her!