Oh, Mother.

Sometimes I really miss my Mum. I don't really know what to miss, since she passed away when I was a year old. But I guess I miss having that closeness that all my other friends seem to have with their Mums. And I guess I miss having that person, the one and only person who knows me inside out. Well, that's what I'm hoping would've been the case, had my Mum survived her cancer.

There used to be a time when I hated her. I hated her for leaving me. For abandoning me. For dying. I hated her for letting me live in a world where there was no room for someone without a Mum.

I hated her for leaving me with a Dad so filled of mourning over the wife he'd lost, that he forgot about his child due to alcoholfumed nights, mornings and afternoons.

I hated her for leaving me with my Grandparents who only seemed to think I was in their way (I now know that wasn't the case, but feeling abandoned as a child can make you think weird things. Although I'm not saying my childhood with them was easy with a Grandfather who bullied us into submission and a Grandmother too respectful and maybe too scared to stand up to him.)

And then I started hating myself for hating her. Because I knew, it wasn't her fault. She didn't choose to get cancer. She didn't choose to die. She didn't chose to leave me. It just happened.

As this dawned on me, that it just happened for no reason, that it wasn't her fault or mine, I started to hate God. Why would he take her from me? Why couldn't he have taken someone elses Mum? Why take someone at all? Because I needed to blaim someone. It's easier to cope that way...

I used to lie awake at night, fantasising about it all being a mistake. My Mum would come and get me. My Dad would stop drinking. And we would all live happily ever after. Realising that my fantasy would never ever come true used to kill me a little bit inside every day. Until I stopped. Until I realised. Things happen for a reason. (Be it destiny or fate.)

I became a mother myself. I looked down at her little face. Filled with this love I realised that without my history, without all that happened to me, I wouldn't have had my daughter. I wouldn't get to feel her tiny arms around me, whispering "I love you Mummy". I wouldn't get to wake up each and every day with her warm breath against my cheek.

Because of my own Mum passing, I get to experience what she never did. And I believe that through me, if I just wish hard enough, she gets to feel what I'm feeling when I'm holding my daughter... Hoping that she is as proud of me of what I've accomplished as I am of myself!