When the Light Went Out: 42 Months of Living in the Long Shadow of Losing My Darling Mum

When the Light Went Out: 42 Months of Living

in the Long Shadow of Losing My Darling Mum

Mum, happiness is a visitor that has moved on, but your love is

my permanent residence, and even in the abandonment

I am learning to find my way around the rooms of that home in the dark

Happiness has abandoned me

Ma, 42 months have passed since you left this universe, suddenly, unexpectedly, and far too soon, if I am honest with myself, that devastating day 42 months ago, my world did not just crack, it detonated, in the vacuum left by the explosion, happiness, my old, familiar friend, that particular, specific, golden quality of being, simply vanished overnight, as though happiness has abandoned me, not temporarily misplaced, not quietly waiting around the corner, abandoned, because in that damn fateful moment, I did not just lost you, I lost the version of me that existed with you, and I lost my ability to feel joy, as the happiness walked out the door with you and it has never truly found its way back, not in the same way, not with the same ardour, not with the same sense of ease

 

Ma, the damaging truth is, for 42 months, I have been living in a world that feels perpetually grey as the colour was ripped away, one of the cruellest tricks of grief is, how it steals joy by constantly comparing now to then, before that day, happiness was something natural, innocent, pure, effortless, that I rarely noticed it, as it lived quietly within everyday life, an ambient background noise, and it was the warmth of the sun on my skin, the satisfaction of a delicious homemade meal, the anticipation of telling you a funny story about my day, because happiness had a home, and that home was the knowledge that you were simply there, the centre of that contentment, your laugh was the crescendo, your delight was the reward, you were the amplifier of every good thing in my life

 

Ma, the happiness that once existed as a natural state of being, vanished from that traumatic moment you were stolen from us, 42 months ago, it was not dramatic, it was not loud, it was simply gone, every attempt at happiness now is measured against that memory and found wanting, because it used to be shared, but now it feels solitary, something fundamental has shifted inside me, a quiet collapse of the emotional structure that had supported my sense of happiness for most of my life, I remember what it felt like before, sitting at your kitchen table, and talking about nothing and everything , I remember the way your face lit up, when I walked through the door, and I remember the safety of being so powerfully, unconditionally loved by you who had known me my entire life

 

Ma, the truth I have discovered over these 42 months is more complicated, your existence in the world created a sense of emotional security that I took for granted, every piece of good news, every success, had a natural destination: you, every frustration, every worry, had a place to land: your understanding, every celebration felt complete because you were part of it, but without that exchange, happiness now feels unfinished, like a letter with no address, it is not that I do not want to be happy, it is that pleasure, as I once knew it, required your presence, and you are here no more, every happy moment now carries a shadow, the instinctive thought that I wish I could share it with you, and then, reality intervenes, that realisation arrives again and again, sometimes with painful force

 

Ma, 42 months later, I do not want to sound like there is nothing left, there is, it is not that life contains no pleasant moments, but what remains is something more fragile, as I live with a different emotional reality now, one where love and grief exist side by side, where moments of joy still occur but never fully replaces what was lost, because there is always someone missing, even when there are still people to care about, still things to appreciate, still moments of beauty in life, there are even small pleasures — a peaceful morning, a telling conversation, or the comfort of familiar routines, but those moments feel smaller somehow, happiness, once so easily accessible, now feels out of reach, it is like trying to hold onto water, it slips through my fingers no matter how tightly I grasp

 

Ma, this abandonment of joy has birthed an ugly, uncomfortable truth in me, for the past 42 months, I have become jealous, grief, at this stage, is like living behind an invisible wall, I can see the rest of the world through it, and I see people making plans with reckless abandon, feeling the simple joy of being alive, happiness, in its unadulterated form, feels like a language I used to speak fluently, but have now forgotten, as I hear other people speaking it, I daughters laughing and shopping with their mums, I see them arguing over minor squabbles, I have to look away, and I feel a pang in my chest so sharp it takes my breath away, I am happy for them, logically, but emotionally, their delight highlights the void, where mine used to be, a mirror reflecting my own emptiness back at me

 

Ma, so, where does that leave me at 42 months? It leaves me in a strange purgatory, happiness, in your absence, feels like a dangerous emotion, and I wonder if I will ever feel joy again without the burden of grief, right now, it feels impossible, like something that belonged to another life, the life I had when you were still here, but for you, I will sit with the ache of your loss, I will acknowledge the grey, and I will let the rare laughter happen, because you are the only reason I would ever want to find it again, even as it remains elusive, happiness may have packed its bags, and left me standing in the dust of that horrible day, but I have not abandoned you, in that unwavering loyalty, I will find a peace, one that whispers, I remember you, I love you, and I will carry this weight for you, forever