It's been 218 days since my Ma passed away, almost 7 months, aged 58, from terminal secondary breast cancer. She declined over the year after her diagnosis before passing away at the end of July 2018.

I was and still am 20, in University and living 300 odd miles from home. I was with her all Summer and did everything I could to be around her; I still feel kind of guilty for somethings though. I never got her the last drink she asked for, I never stayed the night at the hospital, my running wasn't fast enough to catch her last breaths at the hospital. I don't think that guilt will ever go away and sometimes I can't help but think about it. 

However, I did do as much as I could for her and I'm thankful for all the time I got to spend with her. I stayed by her side during the day when I wasn't made to go on family outings to get my mind off of it, for the first four weeks of Summer when she couldn't sleep, I slept on the sofa while she watched TV all night; waking up a few times a night to rub cream into her skin for her and watching movies with her whenver I could. I never wanted to go out because that meant missing out and potentially losing her for a few moments.

For the first four months after she passed I think I cried myself to sleep every night before it died down and for two months I seemed fine; my mood was up but lately I go from being perfectly fine to gutted in an instant and it makes me feel sick to think that my mood can change so fast. It's like I'm trying so hard to take a breath but that feeling in my chest never leaves, no matter how deep of a breath I take. I'll see something and be like 'Oh, I should show Ma that' or 'Oh, I should get tickets to that show because Ma would love it' and it just makes me feel *** because obviously that can't happen.

Someone once described it as wearing a backpack that you keep putting books into, it keeps getting heavier and heavier until  you just can't take it and are overwhelmed. You may take a book out every now and then, but ultimately they have to go back in.

I've tried speaking about it to a flatmate/bestfriend and I even called him out on it in frustration once because he never knows how to respond to me; nobody seems to know how to talk about it unless they've been through it. They don't know how to speak about it and although I could speak about it to family, it feels like a burden because I understand they probably miss her just as much as I do and I already feel like it's my job to be the positive, coping one.

It feels like I'm slowly losing her and the person I see in pictures is almost a stranger, I hate this feeling and I don't know what to do about it. I can only just remember how her voice sounds, or how it felt to hold her hand or hug her. She was my biggest comfort and there's nothing that can replace that feeling to me, I just wish she was still around because I need her.