A letter

Mum these all things I should of said

Dear Mum,

I miss you. There are so many things I wish I could tell you, share with you, and just talk about. You missed Rachel’s wedding—you would have loved it. I know you would have liked being a grandma. I miss your cooking, your cackly laugh, how nosy you always were, constantly asking what I was up to, like I had some big secret. “What else have you got to tell me, then?”—you’d ask that all the time, and I used to find it so annoying. But now, I’d give anything to hear you say it again.

So what have I got to tell you? I miss you so much, Mum. Honestly, it’s overwhelming. But the one thing I need you to know, more than anything, is how much I love you and how important you were.

Mason came into work the other day and asked how you were. I had to tell him you’d passed away. He said seeing you at school used to be the best part of his day. You’d read books to the kids whose families, for whatever reason, couldn’t. You gave so much to people—food banks, groceries, community centres, lifts. You never asked for anything in return, not even recognition. Even in your darkest days, when depression told you lies about who you were, you’d go out litter-picking, convinced you needed to “make up” for something. Depression is such an ugly liar, Mum. You were never a bad person. You were so kind, so selfless—except to yourself.

I want to show you my poetry. I want to laugh with you. I want to cuddle you like I did when I was little, bake cakes together, sit in the garden and talk. Wherever you are now, I hope you’ve found peace, that the demons in your mind can no longer reach you. I still see you in the robins. I feel your presence in the trees, in the sunlight breaking through the branches. Sometimes I even catch the faintest linger of your scent, and I know you’re near.

I don’t believe in God, but I do believe in energy, and I know your goodness still shines through in all the beautiful places in this world. You’re always with me, woven into my DNA, and I’ll carry you close until, one day, I hope I get to hug you again.

I’m starting to think you’re controlling the weather in Egham, Mum. Honestly, it’s been ridiculously dramatic lately. Dad reckons the purple sky is just a dust storm, and Niamh thinks it’s someone’s garden lights. But I’m convinced it’s something much bigger—cosmic, maybe even supernatural. Of course, I’ve decided not to share this theory with the psychology team because I’d rather not be sectioned (again, thanks).

You would have found all this hilarious, though. I can just hear you laughing at me now, saying, “What nonsense have you got in your head this time?” I miss talking about weird things with you.

I love you, Mum. Always Charlotte x

x

Update mum a girl at work told me it was the Windsor Light Illumination but still saved myself 30 pounds so I am happy 😊