The day that death took her

I was the little girl hanging on to Mummy’s petticoats. She was my role model. Not just because she was my mother, no, because she was the most beautiful soul I ever met. A bright light in this dark world. The kind of person who can transform your life in a few seconds. She was a ray of sunshine. She never stopped smiling, no matter what.


And then she got sick. So sick. A few months of struggle, visiting all kind of hospitals and that was it. The end came. She was living her last days. Her face was pale, her lips dry. Her belly was so swollen from the drugs she had to take. Strangers always thought she was pregnant.

Her last confession

One day, lying on her white bed at the hospital she saw my tears and asked why I was crying. I nervously laugh and said „well, you’re obviously gonna die“. She looked surprised, caressed her tummy and reply „of course not! I’m gonna live. This is like a birth. A new beginning“.

She died three days later. I was so angry. She promised she wouldn’t leave me! I was eleven and I trusted her. It took me more than ten years to heal my wounds and to reinterpret this last confession. „A birth, a new beginning“. She was right. My childhood died with her, and I started a new chapter : the journey of my healing. I learned to be strong.

A new chapter

It was the end of my childhood, the awakening of my soul. And here I am. Fulfilled and radiant, traveling the world with the love of my life. Stronger than ever. I’ve forgotten a lot about her since she left this planet, but her strength will always stay in my mind.

My mother was a warrior. A peaceful warrior. She never gave up. Why should I?

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