On the 28th February 2023 I lost my mum to suicide. A light went out in my life, that I’m not sure will ever shine again. This page is just simply letters from here to the other side, and perhaps my attempt to find a way to start turning that light back on.
Mumma.
Something happened to me that I know has happened to you. I’m so sorry that I didn’t realise how much it changes you at your very core. I’m so sorry that I didn’t realise how much it changes your own sense of self. I’m so sorry that I didn’t realise how much it changes everything.
I miss you, now more than ever,
Kirsty x
Mumma,
I can’t believe that I am saying these words. But I wish you had died of cancer. Sounds awful doesn’t it? But with cancer you would have got sympathy, you would have got drugs, morphine, treatment.
But because you suffered with your mental health? Well you got thrown a perfunctory lifedraft full of long waits and ‘you need to do betters’, captained by people who honestly just didn’t care.
If you had cancer, you would have been treated by a service that was at least fit for purpose. People would be donating money and running marathons to aid in curing you. Your bravery would have been recognised, applauded. No one would have said you were weak and questioned your character.
And then, if after adequate treatment had failed, and you died, we would have had a chance to say goodbye, I love you, you did your best. Instead you, my beautiful Mumma, was forced to feel like she wasn’t good enough. Instead you were pushed to such despiration that you felt your only option was to leave this world alone, in that little bathroom, without the chance to hug your loved ones goodbye.
As far as I am concerned mum, you didn’t kill yourself, you was killed by a mental health system that systematically and repeatedly failed you, over and over again. You was tortured by a government who know the price of everything, but the value of nothing.
That room in which they held your inquest should have been filled with the politicians and executives who have led the system to be so dangerous. Those who have stripped bare an already failing mental health service, and left it unable to even provide the most vulnerable members of our society with a place of safety. But instead those, words fell on the ears of people who have all the will, but none of the power. Really, the true cause of your death was never heard. Your death certificate should not read suicide, it should read criminally negligent homicide. As far as I’m concerned, you did not kill yourself. The state did.
I miss you mum,
Kirsty xx
A million times
I’ve needed you
A million times I’ve cried,
If love alone
Could have saved you
You never would have died.
In life I loved you dearly;
In death I love you still.
In my heart you hold a space,
Where no one can ever fill.
It broke my heart to lose you,
But you didn’t go alone
Part of me went with you,
The day god took you home.
– Author Unknown.
Mumma,
You were always the one who made hospital admissions bareable. I used to spend all day waiting for you to come bustling into my room, with a big smile and gifting me a big hug. It was the highlight of my day, and no matter how unwell I felt, with you holding my hand as you nattered away, the whole world felt a little more manageable.
I’m in hospital at the moment, and I am reminded of how much I miss you and your visits. I put off being admitted for quite some time, especially to RPH. I’ve spent vast amounts of time there, and just like my home, I have so many memories of you there. I can close my eyes now and see you wandering around the room, tidying something and then tidying it again, or hear your voice as you chat away with a cup of tea. But I also have memories of you deteriorating in front of me whilst there. I was in RPH when you took your first overdose, and was in and out of Papworth as I watched you loose your sparkle and everything that made you such a wonderful person. You died in February last year, but we really lost you long before that, and my memories of the slow loss of my favourite person are punctuated with hospital admissions.
I’ve been dreading seeing everyone and being faced with having to explain what happened, or deal with the condolences of those who already know. I don’t think I could explain it over and over again. Just having to update my next of kin when I arrived, replacing your name with Marks, felt like I was hammering the final nail in your coffin.
Today is one of those days when I can’t help but cry when I think of how difficult being in hospital is, without you casting your ray of sunshine on my day. Most of those tears are tears of loss and grief, but I have to admit, some of them are tears of anger. Did you care about me so little that you didn’t care about leaving me to deal with life’s pain without you? Did you not want to hold my hand and comfort me through the storms? What on earth made you think that I am strong enough to walk this path alone? Surely you, who knew me better than anyone else, knew that I couldn’t do this without you?
I wish I could say that I have come to some great realisation that because you didn’t mean to hurt me, it’s okay that you did. I know you would never seek to cause me pain, but you did. So right now I am in a place of anger and pain and I am beginning to learn that it’s okay to sit in that pain, and to feel it. But at the same time I hope that I go back to a place of understanding soon, because sitting in anger at you is beginning to hurt my heart.
But despite all this Mumma, I love you, now and always, until the end of time.
Kirsty x
Mumma,
It doesn’t feel like a year since you left us, yet I can remember that day like it was only yesterday, and every day I miss you more and more. I can’t believe that I have existed for a whole year in a world that you don’t, and that the hole in my chest hasn’t swallowed me up.
Im sorry when I get angry with you. I know that you didn’t mean to hurt us, but sometimes I can’t believe that you would leave me to face all my challenges alone. But I am never angry for long, because I remember when the pain replaced the sparkle in your eyes, and know that you tried your hardest to fight your way through, but the darkness was just overwhelming and you saw no other way out. My biggest hope is that wherever you are, you have found peace.
We are doing okay down here. We’ve kind of formed a team, and we are all looking after each other. I’m going to rehab, so that I can get back into my wheelchair, and then we will be able to find somewhere peaceful to put you to rest.
The wedding is drawing closer, and although we will all be aware of the empty chair in the room, we will still celebrate them just like you you would have done. Oh, and don’t worry, I’ve taken on your role of nagging mark to get things done, and we are getting there!
I would trade everything I own to have just 60 seconds with you. For one last hug, to hear you say that you love me, and for me to say that I love you back. I’d stare at your face to take in every inch, and I’d listen to your voice, because I am so scared of the day they begin to fade from my memory.
Moo joined you the other day and at the moment all I feel is pain, but knowing that she is probably there sitting on your lap is my only comfort. I know you will take care of my baby, like you took care of me in life, and I cling on to the hope that when she died she knew she was loved.
Thank you so much for being my mum, and not only that, but my best friend too.
Mark has become such a good man, and he is an absolute credit to you.
Thank you for always being there for us, and raising us both with such unconditional love.
I miss you mum x
Letters to my mumma 