Internal Monologues

Well, it was inevitable, wasn't it?

You were going to go sometime, and it might as well have been whilst we were away on holiday. At least then your grandchildren had the swimming pool to take their minds off of things.

But where did that leave me? I was stuck in a bloody holiday centre with nobody to comfort me this end of the telephone. Weeks without being able to console dad, or have a quiet word with the guys at work. That hurt me inside. It left me imagining the whole thing playing out before it did. It filled my mind each day we were gone and, if I'm honest, it still does. Still, at least we're all closer together again.

We didn't bring the boys along today. We decided against it at the last minute. They hardly knew you, anyway, how could it have helped them to see their father cry? Don't worry, I'll tell them all about you when they grow up, what an inspiration you were, and how kind your heart was. It's best they don't know too soon, mind, I don't want to be talking about it right now.

Then again, there's a problem with all that. Did I really know you well enough to pass judgement? Yes, you were my mother, but it was so hard to see past that. I couldn't understand you beyond what you had to be to me. I expected you to look out for me, I knew you'd be concerned for my health, I took that for granted. But were you the same with anyone else? You never went out with friends, I know that much. I didn't see you socialise. Who was the woman behind the mother?

I couldn't ask dad, he'll never speak about it. I wouldn't expect him to, poor sod. But then who does that leave? I don't have brothers or sisters, not that they'd have seen another side of you, and your parents are long gone. You never kept a diary, never had a phone book for friends; you never had the time or the need. All you ever occupied yourself with was my social life, and the house.

I suppose, in a way, that means you’re gone. Not just physically, though, I mean spiritually. I guess I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did, and now I never will, and nor will anyone else. God, it sounds so cliché, but it’s true. So true, in fact, that it frightens me. No, it’s more than that. It chills me to the bone. Why? Because I don’t want it to happen to me, too.

We’re all going to pass on eventually, but I can’t bear the thought that I might be misunderstood. It’s all about the kids; they have to learn about us, I want them to remember all of me. I don’t want the man to die, with just the father living on. Yes, he might be a better man in ways, but he isn’t me. I want me to live, not him.

Christ, look at me. This is the last time I’ll be this close to you, and all I care about is myself. That’s what caused this whole problem in the first place.

I’d miss you, mum, if I’d known you.