Cer­tain books can help us artic­u­late what may be too dif­fi­cult to put into words.” mum died of can­cer when I was 19. It remains the worst day of life so far, and it will take a stu­pid­ly-shit­ty thing to top it. At first it weighed on me phys­i­cal­ly, bent the world seemed with­out her in it. I want­ed to vom­it all the time, but it was a spir­i­tu­al and emo­tion­al sick­ness, and couldn’t be eas­i­ly expelled from my body. As the years passed, the world grew into a new shape. No less con­fus­ing or sad, and no less frac­tured, yet of a  set of new bless­ings I could recog­nise. I found new peo­ple to call my fam­i­ly, to and pro­tect dai­ly, with a new appre­ci­a­tion, and admit­ted­ly fear of, how short a life can be. I often about how I got through, and am still endeav­our­ing to get through, the most part of a decade with­out her. There is no real cure, I realise. Time cer­tain­ly helps, although with time pass­ing also comes the fad­ing of my mem­o­ries of her, which sucks, and cre­ates its own pain. of syn­chronic­i­ty […]