So here I am on the phone in an interview for a survey on my reproductive health – I know, but I love surveys and helping out surveyors from Universities seems the least I can do if it helps my sisters gain better access to medical treatment and support.
Anyway we’re discussing the influences on my own decisions, and bang, I’m overwhelmed at the thought of the influence my own mum had my decisions. I start crying. Now my Mum died when I was 28 – a lifetime for me ago now. I’ve been so good, being able to talk about her now, and really embracing her life and all that she contributed.
But right there on the phone, I was hanging there, overwhelmed and shaky of voice for what I had lost, and for what she had given me – the power to choose my own reproductive health. She had empowered me – even though we disagreed on a lot of issues, but she had given me the gift that I now embrace.
So I choked on my grief, felt that burn that comes with a wave of my own grief, for what I have lost, what has been lost by her death. I feel for everyone who is experiencing the raw grief now, and those of us who have moved past that and into the grief that comes out of nowhere and catches us out. But it’s a sign of how deeply an impression that person has had on our lives, that makes this grief appear.
I finished the interview, and the interviewer was so very kind to me, as I blubbered quietly, and drank my glass of water to get me back on track. I’d mentioned to her that grief is another one of those issues that isn’t spoken about, just like a woman’s right to choose her own reproductive choices. It’s a taboo, and so when it does appear, we all scurry away from it – all of those who aren’t embracing it, and accepting it as part of who they are.