A letter to… My mum

Dear Mum,

My last memory of you is in our living room.

It was March 2009 and you were losing your battle with breast cancer.

Yet, still, you gave me a smile – kindness pouring from your face.

At just 9, I was too young to realise it was going to be the very last time I’d see it.

I hugged you, said, ‘I love you, Mum.’

‘Love you, too, darling,’ you beamed.

A few days later you were gone, aged 47.

Dad, 64, did his best to be both mum and dad to me and my older brother Dan.

But, sometimes, only a mum would do. I missed you terribly. All your little mannerisms, or how you gently played with my hair as I fell asleep on the sofa next to you.

As the years passed, there was so much I wanted to talk to you about.

I’d started to come out of my shell by the time I went to Bournemouth University in September 2018.

No longer a shy little thing, peeking out from behind your legs at family dos.

Dan and your sister, Aunty Carol, helped move me into student halls.

Aunty Maria and Aunty Lucy pitched in as well. I was so grateful. But as I passed the other mums fussing over their kids, I really wished you were there with me, too.

I’d sit in my new room feeling

so homesick I wanted to leave and never look back.

Then I thought of how brave you’d been. If you could face cancer with a smile, I could get through this.

I stuck it out, gradually making friends.

I hope you’d be proud, Mum – and of Dan, now 21, too. He’s doing an apprenticeship back home.

After you died, we bickered constantly. Typical teenagers!

I’ll be the first to admit I picked most of the fights.

I was angry, desperately missing you.

But over the years, we’ve grown close, putting petty squabbles aside.

Now, if I’m sad or happy, he’s the first person to know. My brother and best friend. We advise each other, the way you used to counsel us.

And it’s only now, through my adult eyes, that I understand more about who you were.

Do you remember that time my friend tripped over in front of the corner shop?

Immediately, you picked her up, wrapped her in a bear hug and told her she could get whatever she wanted from the shop as a treat.

At the time, I didn’t understand why. But now I know. You just wanted to put a smile on her face.

That’s all you ever wanted to do, Mum – to make everyone feel better.

Dan and I both try to live our lives like that.

For the past two years, we’ve done The Moonwalk, raising money for breast cancer causes, in your memory.

We even got Dan to dress up in a sparkly bra!

In May 2019, we’ll be doing it again, for the third time.

I hope you’ll be looking down on us with a huge grin on your face.

Last year, I came across the silver bangle you always used to wear, in an old jewellery box.

It now sits on my wrist. It’s a little piece of you that’s always with me.

It’s difficult to think that you won’t be here when I have kids of my own.

But I’ll make sure to tell them everything I know about their grandma.

Right down to your baked-potato-tea Tuesdays!

Mum, I love you and miss you every single day...

Love, Aimee x

Aimee Bolton, 19, Epping