I arrived back in the Basque country two weeks ago, and it has been a bitter sweet home coming. Many things I’ve done for the first time after Mum’s death have brought me to tears, like catching the flight to Bilbao, or going swimming.

It’s been nice to be back and pottering about, reconnecting with friends, attending French class again, and enjoying this beautiful city. I have been paying rent to live here for the past 6 months but, when I have been here, I’ve been walking around like a zombie, or too stressed and depressed to wander far from the house.

I’ve been finding it helpful to think about things as “doing them for Mum”. Mum loved jazz, so last weekend, when I went to a Lindy Hop dance event, I listened to the music, and I danced for her.  Mum also loved going to charity shops and antiques fairs, so I’ve done a bit of a wander around those sorts of events.

I had been calling her at least once a day when I was at home (and not with her), and the urge to call her is strong. My brain still sees something she would like, and thinks “Must tell her about that”, even though she is gone.

Sometimes, I’m eating dinner, and I just think, out of the blue “God. I wish she was alive again”.

 

 

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