By Maeve, whose mother died from Acute Myeloid Leukaemia when Maeve was eight years old
1. Grief never ends, it just waxes and wanes
I was continuously told it gets easier, the pain will pass. I now realise that was a lie. Those phrases set you up for failure because as the years go on you keep asking yourself, when does this start to get easier? Am I grieving wrong? I miss Mam constantly and I carry the pain of her absence every day, but that pain waxes and wanes. It doesn't vanish after a certain amount of time and it doesn't appear only on the socially acceptable days of grieving like anniversaries or birthdays. Sometimes I am devoured with an overwhelming sense of loss and heartbreak but sometimes it sits quietly in the back of my head. But it never ends.
2. Every happy day is tainted
It’s not as bad as it sounds, I promise. Very happy moments are still cherished and celebratory days remain joyous but the deprivation of Mam’s presence is cruel. I can't help but long to hear her tell me how gorgeous I look or how proud she is of me. Every momentous date in the diary fills me with a flurry of excitement mixed with dread, knowing she won't be there to fulfil her maternal duties. Those days are still incredibly enjoyable and appreciated but they’ll always be tainted by grief.
3. The list keeps growing
We’ll never get to go for cocktails,
We’ll never have a Harry Potter marathon,
She’ll never know my new hobbies and interests,
She’ll never get to see me graduate,
She’ll never meet my new friends,
She’ll never meet the love of my life,
She’ll never offer me advice again,
She’ll never cook for me again,
She’ll never meet her grandkids,
She’ll never know me past age 8.
As I grow up, this list gets longer and longer, full of things we never got to do and things she will never do again. It’s so painful.
4. It’s never me who is uncomfortable
The look of terror when they realise they have just asked where my mam is, only to be informed that she’s dead. Is it awful to say I find it funny? The fear that I might just burst into a puddle of tears at the mere mention of my mother. As though I have just heard this awful news…. despite living with that fact for the past 9 years. People get so frightened of conversations about the deceased that they fail to realise, my dead mother was more than her death. I am thrilled when I am given the opportunity to talk about Mam in a normal conversation because it rarely occurs and I often feel guilty for telling a simple anecdote about her in fear of making others uncomfortable.
5. You're not the only one grieving
It’s easy to forget when you're so busy trying to manage your own, but grief is everywhere. Mam is dead and sometimes I just want to tell everyone to go away. Do they not realise the weight I’m carrying everyday? But so many are carrying that same weight, often it’s heavier than mine. It’s difficult, but I have to repeatedly remind myself, I’m not the only person to ever lose someone.
About Maeve Ronayne
"My name is Maeve and when I was eight, my mam died suddenly of Acute Myeloid Leukaemia. Within a weekend, what we believed was a winter flu turned out to be Stage 4 cancer. Two days after the diagnosis, I said goodbye to the most gorgeous, brilliant, influential woman I will ever know. Mam was exceptional in every way, this does not mean she led an extraordinary life, but she had a way to her that made the ordinary everyday, remarkable. She relished in the little things in life and taught me so many valuable lessons in eight short years. I am so often incredibly angry that the world only gave me eight years with her but then I realise it was eight more than so many ever got with her. Being her daughter is the greatest privilege I will have in this life.”
You can follow Maeve on Instagram, @maeveronayne
