Alex’s Story

I’m a firm believer that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. My mum instilled in me from a very young age a philosophical outlook on life, and it’s thanks to this that I’ve been able to use my grief for good. The Adult Orphan – my blog (and upcoming book, eek) – is my lifeline to others.

My mum, Jo, was my only close family when she died at the less-than-ripe age of 58. I had just turned 28 and had not long since separated from my husband, flying back home with a heaviness of heart that only our parents can heal. I had no dad, no siblings, and extended family you could count on one hand. We were each other’s everything, so it hit hard when she suddenly ceased to be. Completely out of the blue, here one day, gone the next, no goodbyes. It could not have happened at a worse time, but conversely, I feel grateful for the unexpected extra cosy time we had together in those few months.

The connection my mum and I had was, in a word, intense. I meant the world to her and it made us very close. I’m a sociable person and I was an average teenager to twenty-something. So, at times, I felt her loneliness and like I was letting her down by not being by her side as much as I was as a kid. Those ‘Stages of Grief’ labels we all hear about, yes, my guilt was wrapped up in remembering every time I didn’t call, or chose to do something instead of hang with her. From what I hear, that’s a pretty common regret, which does help some. We didn’t have a pot to pee in, yet she always made sure I didn’t go without. Horse riding club, swimming lessons, scouts, badminton, arts and crafts, you name it. The variety shaped who I am today and I will always be grateful for the sacrifices she made for me.

But the memories I pull upon the most are how ridiculous we were together. To this day, I have still not laughed as hard and as often as I did with her. You know when it physically hurts your face and lungs because you just can’t stop? It’s literally brought a smile to my face right now. Made-up languages to baffle people on the train, absurd games to pass the time on coach trips, so many silly faces, voices and ironic homemade gifts. The photos shared on this page reflect our madness, the importance we held in each other’s lives, and the classical Proms concert for my birthday just a few days before she suddenly died of pneumonia.

I’m a resilient person but I do feel things very deeply. I’m also very pragmatic on the topic of bereavement; the Mum-shaped hole I’ve had for the past 11 years is not going anywhere. She was such a witty, generous, adventurous, soul-searching and independent woman. In the words of her woodland burial stone: Past ends, present begins. Our thoughtful, wise and determined friend. My best mate, my mum. I miss having her around, we were in a way each other’s soul mates. I also miss – on a more clinical level perhaps – having a mum full stop. Having no partner or children of my own, or (blood-bound) close family, you really notice that absence at times. I depend heavily on a few good friends to be my joint rock, and I couldn’t do it without them. I have a beautiful relationship now with my mum’s on/off partner who I met in my early twenties, and we’ve come to see each other as step-daughter/father.

Of utmost importance to me, the thing that keeps me going in this Year 11LAM (Life After Mum) as people come and go from my life and the world around us changes, is that I share my experience with others and remind them that they’re not alone. Not now and not in the future. Writing as The Adult Orphan, I seem to have settled on 11 key reflections on grief that I hope offer some hope. They include the importance of openly bearing your bereavement scars, keeping your mother alive by talking about her (and to her!), connecting with others in the same position (why this Motherlove Project is so special) and to remember people are, by default, awkward when it comes to dealing with others’ bereavements. 

I think right now, the blossoming relationship I’m really digging after a period of ill health and a patch of loneliness is the one I have with myself. I’m my mother’s daughter, more and more as I get older. She was a bit of a lone warrior woman, that one, and I see so much of her in myself. I’m reaching back into my ancestry and nurturing the lil hippy kid of my childhood and of my Celtic roots long past. Joss-stick Jo, as our neighbour friend called her, is very much still alive in me and I’m excited to embrace her even more with each year that passes.

So, here’s to seeing what Year 12LAM brings.