Peach coloured rose up close

It feels like just yesterday that you were driving me to dance classes then going for a walk along the beach with your friends while you waited.
It feels like just yesterday that you were talking to me about the bullies giving me a hard time at high school.
It feels like just yesterday that you were both delighted and surprised by my high school results.
It feels like just yesterday when I finally left ‘the nest’ to move to Melbourne and you laughed when I returned home to visit carrying just fresh underwear and my handbag.

It feels like just yesterday that I grew up and started understanding the wider family dynamic and all the disappointments that came with that.
It feels like just yesterday when you met my now husband, who you embraced with open arms and loved him as if he were your own.
It feels like just yesterday when you helped me plant my first garden – as small as it was – when you realised you hadn’t passed the ‘green thumb’ gene onto me – except when growing food may be involved.
It feels like just yesterday that I was calling you, intoxicated, from a foreign country and you entertained my scattered train of thoughts.

It feels like just yesterday when you drove 4 hours to meet your brand new grandson for about 30 minutes before you drove back home again.

It feels like just yesterday when I realised how blessed I was to have a mother who allowed me to explore parenthood for myself, offering the very wise advice that times had changed so much since you had done it and that my instincts would serve me best.
It feels like just yesterday that you praised me for questioning everything, for thinking outside the box to discover my own answers, rather than that of society.
It feels like just yesterday that I asked you a gazillion questions about the right way to raise my son and you offering the very wise advice of not just a mother, but a teacher.

It feels like just yesterday that we found out you had cancer. When I began my grieving process. When I realised I wouldn’t be blessed with you as long as I’d hoped.

It feels like yesterday when I decided I was going to study a kinesiology. When you told me that if I never earned a dollar working as a kinesiologist that it was worth it purely for the benefit we had received from it as a family.
It feels like just yesterday that I would see you here, in Melbourne, at your appointment at Peter Mac. When you’d be so positive, so strong, so determined to fight and so trusting in me and your team.
It feels like just yesterday that you were in ICU for Christmas. When I ran the streets of Geelong to beat the helicopter landing on the hospital roof. When you started the almost 20 weeks in hospital. When I first noticed just how big and beautiful your eyelashes were.
It feels like just yesterday when we shared all the stories of your life in a book after you’d decided you’d had enough. When you said your beautiful goodbyes one after the other to all the wonderful people in your life. When you shared the most wise and beautiful words one could ever speak. When my sister and I realised the extent of the impact you had made on other people’s lives.

It feels like just yesterday I was helping you wash your naked, dying body. You were so unsure of how you could survive like that. Me not knowing what else to do but try to encourage you.

It feels like just yesterday that I balanced you and spoke to you last. When I left you in bed, tired, worried.
It feels like just yesterday when I got the call. When you’d slipped into a coma. When I realised I’d never speak to you again on this earth.
It feels like just yesterday that you slipped away just before 8pm. With my sister, my dad and I by your side.
It feels like just yesterday that we celebrated your life in a ceremony before your body was lowered into the ground.

It feels like it was just yesterday, but it was a year ago. And I’ve not gone a single day without thinking of you. I’ve not gone a single day without missing you. I wonder what you’d say, what you’d remember, what you’d do.

I’m still waiting for it to get easier, but I suspect that will be a while yet.

I love you mum. And I miss you.

 

missing-mum-large

Just yesterday
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Phillipa Huynh

Phillipa, a kinesiologist working in Park Orchards and Thornbury, Victoria, teaches you how to make your life ‘fit’ again. A big believer in positive change, Phillipa teaches you how to understand your past so you can map your future.

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