Today, I walked past and visited some of the last places I went to with my mum. Because I was away travelling or living in Australia since 2014, I realised I didn’t actually get to spend that much time with her before she died.

I went to the cafe we last had brunch on Hackney Road before I told her my plans to move to Oz.

I walked past the All Bar One we had dinner that one time ages ago, after work.

I walked past my old flat near Broadway Market where she and my dad helped me move out last.

It hurt a lot. Sometimes I felt like those moments were just yesterday. Sometimes I thought I might burst into tears, (but I didn’t, because I’m in London right now and Londoners donotshowemotion).

I miss her so damn much. I’m so angry I want to punch someone — but alas I cannot punch cancer in the face but I can call it a fucking see you next Tuesday.

It’s not all bad. Remembering these times did make me smile because honestly, I know i’m biased, but:

My mum was my A1. I hope I’m half the woman she was.

 

 

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