My Mother wrote me a letter

In March this year, it´s been exactly 30 years since I lost my mother to cancer.

Her final 6 weeks, I moved in with her and did my very best (which sometimes exceeded my own “truths” of what I thought I was able to) to care for her and make her comfortable.

I have always said that I hold the utmost respect for people working in somatic care, that this is something I could never do. And I still say that. Bless them!

Caring for my mother though, was very different. I did that with such clarity and sense of; it´s a given.

She was always there, caring for me, and now when the hospital could do no more for her, this was my final opportunity to give her all my love and care back. With help from the Swedish healthcare system, in the form of nurses making house calls twice a day, fixing with her meds and drips.

We got 6 weeks together. I did not sleep through an entire night during that time. I have no memories of eating, but I must have. She slowly got worse and the last couple of days she was not conscious. We got closer than ever. Mostly in silence. Sometimes words are overrated…

One morning as I woke up in the room next to hers, I knew. I felt it in my entire being.

She was gone.

She had been sick for a number of years. And I knew this was coming. I had been telling myself I was prepared for this… A very cognitive reaction. Of course we can´t be prepared. Not emotionally. And losing your Mother, changes you. I was 27 then. Had lost my father when I was 20. No siblings. Less than a handful relatives, none of them close to me. This is not something we get over. But we learn to live with it. Little by slowly.

This turned out to be my final year and a half before I started my personal recovery. It was brutal.

In September the following year, I started my recovery, and I have strived since then, to grow into the kind of person that my Mother was. Loving, compassionate, kind, gentle, soft spoken. What I already shared with her, was my love for music, my sense of humor and a whole lot more.

2 months ago, I went back to the Motherland for a week, to sort out some things. I had not been there in 8 years. I went through a lot of my personal belongings which was in storage, that I had not seen for the past 8 years. Sorting, throwing out, giving away to charity and deciding what gets to come back to Malta.

I knew that I had a letter there somewhere, that my mother had written to me about 30 years ago, under very special circumstances. And I was wondering if I was going to find it, during those days. I wasn´t just wondering, I was hoping – with gusto – that I would.

And I did! Along with all my photos, in albums and without albums. The paper versions of photos. I had not seen those for about 9 years. And certainly not gone through them all. My entire life, since I was a few moths old up until we got smart phones….

So I went through them all. One by one. Picked out those that got to come with me, back to Malta. Threw out all the rest. Including the albums. Some of these photos I had really missed, and it dawned on me how much our history is connected to memories triggered by our senses; vision, hearing, smells, touch, taste (and in my book 2 additional ones´; common (sense and sense of humor), though these were not so much involved here).

If you come to my home now, you will find plenty of photos all around the house. Because I haven´t seen them in a really long time and this is how I reconnect with me and my history. When I see the photos, it triggers emotions – warm and fuzzy ones. All representing different times of my life. They will eventually get placed in collages on the walls.

The letter. I had it here at home for a couple of months before I could bring myself to read it again. No rush. A little afraid of what I would feel, because I didn´t remember the content. And then I read it, maybe 3 weeks ago. Tops.

And it was so my mother. Loving, compassionate, kind, gentle, soft spoken.

An idea came to me. How about I choose some of her words, with her handwriting, and I put it as a tattoo on me…

Her handwriting was a bit off, due to the cancer meds, so a little bit off, but still I would be able to pick it out of millions of others.

So I did that. Got the tattoo, yesterday. By the only female tattoo artist on this island. Her birthday, is today btw. She is exactly 30 years younger than I. I was turning into her age, that year when I lost my mother. We had a genuin and spiritual connection and moment, while she put my mothers words, gently on my arm. My mother was in the room.

I am grateful. Beyond words. For my mother. And for everything and everyone that comes into my life that gives me an opportunity to do my very best to be like her.

I grieve her. I celebrate her.

She lives in me.

Translation of the words:

“Dear Lotta,

Take care of yourself. Know that I am thinking about you a lot.

Hugs, your mother”