I know it's been a long time, but lots of things have happened in these last two months. We're in our new house, but I'll write about that later. What I have to tell you today is that....
...today I finally buried you.... Please, don't take this the wrong way... You know how terrible I feel that I wasn't there when you died... I didn't have time to say one last "hello" or one last "goodbye" or one last "I love you". I was too late for your funeral. Thank God I will never remember your ~ pale? yellowish? purplish? ~ beautiful soft olive-skinned body lying there, cold, lifeless, surrounded by flowers, inside an ugly coffin (aren't they all ugly?). I am so glad of that! I may even try to picture it all, like trying to imagine what the most horrible nightmare or accident or tragedy would be like. But gladly, it will always be only in my imagination; not the real thing. To my eyes, you will always have a beautiful smile and a grumpy face in the morning! =)
So, how did I bury you? And why did I only do it today?
As you know, tomorrow is my MA graduation. You were supposed to be here, remember? But don't worry. I've got your ticket safe. It will be in our "treasure box". As my graduation presente, Craig is going to give me a writing shed! To put the writing shed in our garden, we needed to prepare the base, so we measured the size of it on the floor and we have to fill it with earth, from one of the corners of the garden. I saw him doing it and it reminded me of an undertaker throwing earth inside a grave with a shovel. It gave me goosebumps and I felt a know in my throat. And I asked him if I could do it myself.
Mother, burying you was hard. Physically hard. Emotionally hard. Craig wanted to take over it, but I said no. I put all my strength in it, digging hard and throwing the earth inside the base box. It brought stinging tears to my eyes, and the more I thought of you the harder I did it, thinking that that was the least I could do for you. I buried you under my writing shed, Mother, so you can be with me whenever I sit there to write, and to cry. And I will speak to you and you'll listen to me. And I'll read all the letters and cards and notes you've ever sent to me.... I've got them all, Mother; inside our "treasure box", which I will keep over your "overseas grave", under my writing shed.
Mother, 5 months next Saturday. Dad's 68th birthday. How ironic...
He's ok, by the way. Looking much better now than right after you died. I was heartbroken when I saw him last, Mother, but now he's looking fine. Please, Mother, keep looking after us from Heaven.
I'll be thinking of you all day tomorrow. You'll be in my heart and watching me graduate through my own eyes... You will be missed.
Love you to bits.
Your first-born daughter,