Christina Kenny will be no stranger to Her.ie readers.
She first came on to our radar last year when she opened our In Her Own Words series with this powerful post about her relationship with her mother and how bravely they both battled the implications of a mother’s illness.
Christina now joins our contributor panel and in her first piece for Her.ie, writes a very special eulogy to her mother Alison.
Dear mum,
It came slow at first. The fog. For some time it was just misty, it was light, we could still see. Sometimes we strained her eyes and sometimes our vision was blurred because of it. We could still see though. Eventually, the fog got heavier. It got heavier so slowly that we didn’t notice for a while. It was slow at first. Eventually, it was so thick and heavy that we didn’t notice until we were choking. Until we were coughing and hacking. We noticed when we couldn’t breathe. But, by then it was too late mum. It came slowly at first. It was manageable. However in the blink of an eye, this fog was out of our control. It was heavier and denser than we could have ever anticipated. We should have seen it coming. Now that I think back, I think you saw it coming mum. You tried to tell me but I was convinced the fog would lift because it always did. It came slow at first then all at once.
There are some things I want you to know. You have taught me more about love and life than I could have ever anticipated. Losing you has been like losing a huge part of myself. I don’t know if I will ever get that part back. I don’t even know if I ever even want that part back. That part is yours now. Let it go with you, be yours, rest in your soul. Your name, your voice, your soft hands, your silly grin, your warm, open eyes are etched into the fibres that make up my every being. I will never be able to shake them. They are components of my make-up and for that, I want to thank you.
Everyone told me that losing someone was hard and I thought I understood but I really didn’t. In fact, I had no idea until it happened. Until we lost our sight because of that fog. Now I know. It felt like someone had punched me as hard as they could in the stomach. It felt like I would never breathe normally again. Then, after the pain, I just felt empty. You would have hated to see my zombie-like state and I knew it. It was this detail that forced me to push through and shake off the heaviness in my heart. For you, I continue. For you, I survive. For you, I will learn to love the world again. I promise. Just not today. I need more time.
I am not done with Cystic Fibrosis yet. It has met it’s match in me. I will do everything I can to take on that fight you lost.
Oh and thank you, I owe you more than I can put into words.
Your best friend,
Always,
Christina.
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