Emma B.’s Story
My mum was vivacious, funny, sensitive, temperamental and kind. Her energy would wear me out but in a good way, over endless cups of tea, walks, gossip and sight-seeing.
We were best friends, spoke on the phone every day and enjoyed the same things. When I moved to the North Yorkshire coast, she would come for day trips to the beach.
On windy days her hair would be alight with the negative ions from the sea, her smile huge and her heart gladdened at the sight of the water meeting horizon. On rare warm days she would bound into the sea, child-like and jump the waves, laughing and waving. On cold days we would wrap up, lean in to the wind and in to each other, cheeks flayed red and voices carried away into the waves.
I would wave her off on the train journey, all part of the novelty and phone her immediately on her journey home. Her large eyes would watch me and find their reflection in mine, her hands holding an assortment of magazines and sweet things to nibble on the journey. My mum died of a rare stage 4 cancer in the heatwave of 2018. A part of me went with her and my life continues to shape itself around the enormity of her loss. There are days I am so angry my words get bunched in my throat and I peer our from a red mist. Other days I am numb, other days happy and dancing.
I promised I would keep her journal with the little birds on it as she is no longer able to. This has evolved into a memoir called 'You Can't Hug a Butterfly: Love, Loss, Grief and Yoga'.
I carry my mum in my large eyes, the shape of my mouth, my sweet tooth, sensitive nature and love of books. She visits me in dreams, fashionable and happy transformed back to her former self and this is a comfort; her spirit strong and part of the nature which surrounds me.
