Her Funeral

​​Mummy wanted her funeral to be a happy one. She asked my aunt to tell everyone to come dressed in bright colours and wanted people to play board games at her wake. I met uncles and aunties whom I had never crossed paths with, nor even heard of. They all spoke so fondly of her. I wondered why I never heard those things before.

Throughout the 5 days, I wore a smile on my face and told myself I needed to be strong.

ok en so this is what is going to happen. You will be sad and you will miss her and then you will get your shit together and continue to thrive in life. You are not going to let anyone worry about you.

People were exceptionally nice during the funeral. I think my aunt requested people to bring gifts for me and my sister. Maybe she wanted to cheer us up. But I questioned why we deserved to receive gifts for our mum dying. That logic never really made sense to me. Some included messages, like a carebear given by an auntie who said that it reminded her of my mummy and that keeping it close to us would comfort us when we missed her. Some gave us musical boxes and pencil cases. We received an assortment of 12-year-old goodies. Yes, I appreciated the gifts. I was grateful, but more so confused.

I knew acutely that they were being nice to us because it “must be hard”. Many people said, “I'm sorry”. That made me feel awkward.

I wondered why they were sorry when it was not their fault. I knew the default response was to say,

“It’s okay, she is in a better place now”

to demonstrate maturity and okayness. But deep down, my response to that would be, “You didn’t kill her. Maybe I should be the one saying sorry, for contributing to her death”.

Thoughts like these swarmed my existence. I blamed myself for the times I made her angry, for causing the cancer cells to multiply within her fragile body. I blamed myself for making her worry. For not appreciating her enough. I blamed myself for not knowing all these good things about her when she was still alive. I blamed myself for not being a better person, a better daughter. I blamed myself for not asking her more questions.

Amidst this blame, I felt abandoned. But I banished thoughts of “If only mummy were here”. Instead, I focused on creating a new life without her. I never really let myself think about her being gone. I channelled all my energy into getting my shit together, and continuing life the way she would want us to. I was determined to deal with this. Not being able to do life was not an option for me. The deepest safe in my heart held the thought “I miss her”. It scared me to think that I could not be okay without her. The very thoughts I buried were those that I felt in my gut. Yet I denied myself the time to grieve because I told myself I needed to get my act together and continue living a good life.