I’m not ashamed to say I cry at TV shows and films. I cry when something overly happy happens or I cry when something overly sad happens. I cry when people die in TV or films.
But I’m not crying because that character has died, I’m crying because of what the family or friends go through. I’m crying because that feeling of loss and hurt is the worst feeling in the world. Sure, I cry because that character is dead and I’ve formed a connection but it’s not the main reason.
The first film I cried at was Marley and Me. I can’t watch it without crying. Everyone tells me to get a grip, Marley was just a dog…but to that family, he was everything. Saying goodbye to the one thing you held above everything else?
Generally, I cry when it’s the parents who die. I cry because no child should have to experience their parent dying when they’re young. I cry because they should have more time together. They should be able to experience things together. I cry, because I place myself and my mum into that situation.
My mum died suddenly in her sleep, we didn’t get to say goodbye or whatever. I get angry in TV shows and films when the family and friends get to say goodbye. They get to say their last words, they get to say I love you. Do you know what the last thing I talk to my mum about was? It was about my weight.
I know that in TV and films, the deaths are dramatized, but I crumble. Because seeing those people go through what I’ve gone through…it hurts.
It hurts more, however, because I didn’t have a relationship with my mum. And all I wanted from when I was 18 was a relationship with my mum. But she died 6 months before my 15th birthday. I get that my childhood and story is different and I understand that other people have way worse stories than me but sometimes, it feels like mine is the worst.
When my mum died, I had to be the strong one. I had to look after my sisters, I had to get on with it. 5 and a half years on, I haven’t grieved. I’ve just powered on through. I want to grieve but I don’t know how. I don’t feel that I have a right to grieve because I didn’t know my mum. I don’t know what her favourite colour was. Or what she was like in the mornings. I don’t what her hopes and dreams were.
I want to grieve but I still have to be strong. I have to be strong for my sisters. And for my friends. And I have to be strong for me. I’m not used to people picking up my pieces. I pick up everyone else’s and I’m used to picking up my own but I don’t want to pick up my pieces any more.
God loves me, Jesus saved me, I’m forgiven. Sometimes, it’s not enough. I know that God is with me every step of the way and that if I ask, He will carry me. But I’m just so angry. I’m angry for mum dying and I’m angry that I didn’t know her and I’m angry that no one has picked up my pieces.
And I don’t want to be angry, I don’t want to place myself and my mum into TV or film scenarios. I want to get on with my life, finish my degree and achieve my goals whatever they may be. That’s what mum would want me to do.
I’m not ashamed to cry. I’m not ashamed to be angry. I’m not ashamed to struggle. God’s in control, He’s in charge of writing this story.
He’s closing this chapter. Being angry at mum, he’s closing the chapter. And it hurts, it hurts so bad. People will think that I’m not being truthful here but I find that if I’m bawling my eyes out, I need to write it out. Then I can get it clear in my head. So my face is all puffy, and my nose is all snotty and my head is pounding…but God is working.
It hurts, it hurts but God’s working and I know that in the future, things will be better.
Louise Hughes 