My mum passed away this January. She became ill about six weeks earlier, and because of her age—89—her body slowly grew weaker. They said it was simply the frailty of age, but those words don’t come close to describing the pain and sleepless nights we lived through. Her strength faded, both physically and mentally, yet she remained brave throughout.
One day she told me, without a single tear, “I’m not afraid of dying. You’re strong, and you know there’s no recovery. I’m looking forward to new adventures.”
I replied, “I hope I can be strong, just like you.”
I’m trying, but I miss her every single day. Our family isn’t the same without her, but I find comfort in feeling that she’s still near, wherever her new adventures have taken her.
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