RACHEL E. BROOKER

It’s now been a month since my depression kicked off, and I am eventually going to reveal why.

On the 4th February, my Mum passed away.

As a rule, she loathed social media, but after the funeral last week, I think she wouldn’t mind me posting the eulogy that I wrote and read out during the service.

This is all I’m going to say for now. At another time, I possibly might release my thoughts, but that’s to be determined.

Mum,

There are so many things I wish I could say to you, and I thought you wouldn’t mind me saying what they are now.

The first is that nothing will ever be the same again, because everything I once knew has moulded into another reality, a warped, lucid version of myself, and the world, and I struggle through the days in the only way I know how, keeping busy.

What else can I do?

As a Mum and her daughter, you and I were the closest you ever could be.

I would tell you my secrets. You would tell me yours. We would laugh, non-stop over something that nobody else would understand, whether that was giggling at Daffy Duck in Robin Hood tights as he smashed into trees; or voicing inanimate objects in a repertoire of funny accents.

There were times when I would go, “Yes, I’ll do it in a minute!” as you reminded me (for the fourth time that afternoon,) to bring my towel downstairs. There were also moments where I would be ready to go out, dressed in vintage attire. You would look at me and exclaim, “Really? You’re going out like that?” A pause. “I do worry about you….”

At the time, of course, I would groan out a near-incomprehensible teenage-like, “These are my clothes! I can do what I like!” but I know why you acted like that, you worried about me, because you loved me, and (in your defence!) sometimes, your words weren’t without justification. I would often be about to head outside, the bottom of my jeans rolled into my boots, lipstick wonky, and Harry Potter socks accidentally showing.

For my sixteenth Birthday celebrations, you arranged for me to have a surprise Hogwarts themed feast. My friend and I were upstairs. We heard music, came downstairs, and the soundtrack was playing. You hadn’t only set up the cd though. There were candles. Everywhere.

That’s the kind of person you were, going above and beyond to make someone smile, no matter the amount of work that was required in order to make it happen.

I feel so privileged that I was able to share so many wonderful times with you, that I got to witness your bubbly, friendly, and giving nature. I like to think I mirror you in a lot of respects. You were always creative and imaginative, seeing life through a unique perspective that challenged the boring ‘norm.’

I am very proud to be your daughter, to have inherited that kind heart. Yes, you had your demons, but don’t we all? I know, beyond a doubt, the person you really were; and I will always cherish that. I used to call you my ‘rock’, and you would never understand, but as I said to you, even rocks have chips in them.

Sorry Mum, you’d be really embarrassed by all of this. Well, tough. You have to put up with it, and yes, I know my room is a tip.

I’ll do it when I get home.