Although it comes around only once a year, it is its built-up presence that fills us lost ones with fear. A whole twenty-four hours solely dedicated to her, I live it, I breathe it, each minute a blur.

As I’ve come accustomed to its ‘come around so quick manner’, when her name is mentioned my stomach flips, my words stammer. As my heart unexpectedly throbs, it ignites a deep, hollow ache. My demeanour shows strength, any minute I could break.

Although it comes around only once a year, it’s that word ’Mum’ that fills us lost ones with fear because we don’t have it in us to re-lay our unasked-for hell, this Sunday we feel silenced, our strength resembling an eggshell.

A day filled with love, appreciation, elation. Roll over in my bed aware of my stolen chance of participation. Not quite made it to becoming a Mother myself, so this celebratory day continues to collect dust on the abandoned shelf.

My thoughts chant I am bitter, can’t be happy for others around, but I have nothing to say this week or on this day, we share no common ground. I get used to the shadow that grows in depth each year, it wakes me up in the morning and watches me hold back the tears.

I cannot put into words how this day can feel worse than their death, just seeing the pink and white tulips, they catch me off guard, how quickly they make me lose my breath. Even after thirteen motherless years, you would think this day gets easier but as time goes on and I reflect on lost time, I only find myself becoming greedier.

Grief has this skill of dividing you from the rest, it arrives uninvited to the party, a faceless, haunting guest. This one Sunday of the year can beat me till I’m blue, I’m well practised now, a motherless pro, this isolated feeling is nothing new.

Although this day comes around only once a year, it’s Mother’s Day that does it, that creates that sombre atmosphere. Whilst others get the chance to soak up all their existence. Us lost one’s green with envy are drowning in their significant absence.

Although Mother’s Day comes around only once a year. It’s when I miss you the most Mum and long to feel you near. Heavy as my heart is, as time has passed I have become stronger but the little girl inside of me deserved to have you for longer.



Christmas has reared its festive head once again and after the year we have endured it is the glimmer of cheer to round off this diabolical year. That time of the year where no matter the mood, the sight of a beautifully lit tree in all its sparkling glory gives you that warm, melancholy feeling inside. Hot chocolates lathered with full fat squirty cream topped with pink and white spongy marshmallows, the standard daily drink which your hips don’t thank you for. More loose corks than presents under the tree whilst Fairytale of New York catches you off guard and you realise your eyes have filled up with white wine induced tears. Conjuring up our Christmas plans, Covid friendly of course and the main priority, a fully stocked wine bar and fridge. It really is the time for appreciating everything you have whilst mustering up the resolutions for the brand-new year.   in our feels

Nevertheless, every year, someone is missing, and I find myself asking again Has it really been another year without her? I can’t even remember the last Christmas with her. Christmas has always been a bittersweet time for me, even though it takes pride in its ‘most wonderful time of the year ‘trademark’. Truth is everyone is really fucking sad, dressing their sad eyes with glitter eyeshadow and covering the hollow hole in their heart with a ridiculous, knitted festive jumper. I try not to trample angrily over the Christmas spirit. I’m guilty for overcompensating for an award-winning Christmas but by the time the day is over, I realise it’s the same repetitive routine and the two-player game of Monopoly went down like a lead balloon. I don’t want a tub of quality street to force myself through before the 1st of January ‘New year, New me’ malarkey starts. What I really want is her back, that woman I once knew. The safety blanket I once had and took for granted. I want her dressed to the nines, glass of Asti in hand or I’ll take her in her comfies, tea towel over shoulder picking at the turkey. Her warm green eyes that squint when she’s concentrating and her short smile that shows her two front teeth crossing, mirroring mine. A chance to hear her voice again saying ‘ open this one next ‘ I would let her voice settle through me and calm me as a lullaby would, capture it and hold onto it and never let it go. That would sure be icing on the Christmas cake.

It’s a love hate relationship with that old devil called Christmas. A yearly reminder another year has passed. Another year without wishing her Merry Christmas, another year of not pulling a cracker with her, another year of not being able to write ‘For Mum’ on a gift tag. It’s the small things that are the most wounding. It was the 2018 Boots advert that was dedicated to Mum that hit me like a ton of bricks every time it came on. It’s the John Lewis 2020 ‘Give a little love’ that glazes my eyes over and I’m whisked away to a better 25th December with her. The whole day is tainted with woe and I catch myself convincing myself that her spirit sits at the table next to me. That the cold breeze across the back of my neck is her playing tricks on me until I see the back door open airing the room from the smoky oven. When Christmas approaches, grief packs its bags with the excitement of a vacation, free accommodation staying inside of Sasha’s frustrated, emotional soul. Grief is the great master puppeteer, it knows without failure that it will be a sell out show. The Christmas spectacular – bring tissues.

My twelfth Christmas without Mum and it never, ever gets easier. If I had known all those Christmases ago when she purposefully hid the very last present of a Password Journal under the stairs or when she made me think I’d lost my Nokia 3310 only to re-open it on the day and discover a brand new Groovy Chick case. I would of hugged her so tight and nuzzled in her neck taking in the Mum scent I no longer know. I guess that’s the lesson in life, we only think about doing these things until its ultimately to fucking late. As cliché as it sounds it could never be more true, you don’t know what you have got until its gone. So, whilst this Christmas will be in true 2020 style and the opportunity of mixing is forever in limbo. Don’t frown at the suggestion of a Christmas day zoom quiz and if you can hug and tell your loved ones how much they are appreciated and loved because the reality is you’ll never be prepared for when the final curtain may come down on the Christmas Spectacular you currently know.



Dear sixteen year old me,

In over one night you became an adult prematurely. You instantly set yourself a set of rules to live by and the pressure you put upon yourself for a sixteen year old was heavy. It’s ok to behave the way you are. It could go one of two ways and the fact you are choosing the ‘throw yourself back into life’ way is admirable. In all honesty it is completely understandable if you were to choose the vulnerable mess who locks herself in a room for days on end and you struggle to see a way forward.

For a hormonal girl who has just lost her life line, her comfort zone, her Mother. The feeling of guilt is going to really grind away at you. You shouldn’t feel guilty for being in a relationship and focusing your mind on other things for distraction. You shouldn’t feel guilty that you chose not to listen, not to understand and not care more. You knew deep down what was happening, but you chose to ignore it just as any other girl your age would do. The ending was inevitable and no other scenario would have eased this pain you are going through.

It’s a shame you went to counselling only once, stole a book and never returned. You aren’t ready to talk and you don’t know how yet and that is ok, you will find your own therapy through writing. Later in life you will probably wish you had stuck it out. You could probably make more sense of it now than when you are older because you will have a lot more responsibilities and pressure. Mental health issues will take its toll and you will find it extremely difficult as to why you think, do and feel the way you will, but such is life.

There is nothing wrong with being independent and feeling as though it is you against the world, but let people in. Don’t hold your experience of loss against people that love you and suspect the same outcome. People do care and when they say they aren’t going anywhere they can often mean it, go easy on them.

Grief is going to hit you at the most inconvenient time throughout your life and there will be a voice that will often remind you out of the blue that your Mother is no longer here. The angry you inside is going to be resentful, blameful and furious that she left. How dare she leave you alone in this world? As if she had any control over the situation. It’s ok, I am sure she forgives you.

It will never, ever make sense. It will always be a blur. It will only get harder the older you become. It will take you longer than 10 seconds to really remember what her voice sounded like. The photos will always be the same and you will feel like you are running out of options to keep looking at and keep the memory alive. There will always be a deep, dark hole in your life that will never be filled and life’s up’s and downs will feel ten times harder than the usual.

If there is one thing you should know is that you should be proud of yourself. You will make it to 27 and have a story of achievements, joy and adventure to tell. You will be as strong as you said you were going to be all along. You will have a deep spiritual connection and intuition which will guide you and answer all your questions asked. You will be lucky enough to know when she is around and right next to you and you will find a deep comfort in that.

16 year old Sasha, you cannot see any light right now but the determination within you is burning. You will succeed, it wont be easy but somehow you will make it out the other side. Keep going girl, your Mother would be so proud of you.

Love, Twenty Seven year old you x



In a world without you, Mum is to wake up every single morning knowing you no longer grace this earth, it’s not having used the word or called the name Mum for the purpose it should have. It’s having an extra role to play, a responsibility to take on when It comes calling, the griever, grieving. It’s accepting the fact that the figure who is meant to teach me things only they can is no longer here and the unbreakable Motherly daughter bond resides within my heart and in my heart only. It’s accepting I am a Motherless daughter and having that underlying name tag attached to me wherever I may go and eventually people learning of it whoever I may meet.

In a world without you, Mum is having to remind myself that the one phone call away privilege is no longer. It’s remembering all the times before I abused it and sometimes never even used it. Mobile phone minutes are currently left pristine the only hopeful communication being through dreams. The world is a scary place for any living, breathing human, and having to live it alone is sometimes intimidating. I could be surrounded by as many faces I can’t even count and still feel like it’s just me unheard, no matter how loud I shout.

If I could see my own heart, I would look away disturbed. The huge gaping black hole staring back at me unnerved. I used to try and fill it, desperate for repair. Then I came to learn that it’s unfillable, forever painfully there. In a world without you, Mum it’s having to guess for guidance, no opportunities to physically ask what should I do? It would be the comfort of hearing your valued advice, your singing green eyes wouldn’t have to tell me twice. It’s having to feel whether you would agree with my life choices, relying on intuition, listening out for voices.

I have an outline of hurt that’s settled itself around me, lightly pulsating reminding me what is out of place. In a world without you, Mum it’s seeing life through different eyes, it’s forever surviving, a broken heart in disguise. It’s all of the drunken wine bottles we should have shared, it’s the sisterly arguments that caused temporary despair. These scenes I yearn for, a part of my life eternally obscure. No little girl should be without her Mum, I am patiently waiting for the day, the day we meet to gracefully come.

In a world without you, Mum I’m still learning how to cope, still learning to withstand hope, to attain a zest for life, not mope. A flicker in the corner of my eye, a specific time or a prominent breeze are all soft reminders that you still surround me, I take great comfort in these gentle signs as they aren’t by chance, they are simply divine. A slither of optimism that you still dance within my existence, our realms aligning, we are within reaching distance. In a world without you, Mum I am surprised I still produce tears, I could fill up oceans with what I have cried over the years. It’s hearing the word ‘Mum’ and my heart habitually drops, haunting memories of your last moments, those moments I had no power to stop.

In a world without you, Mum I have learnt to be indefinitely strong, I see, think, believe, and feel what others may see as wrong. Every time I see my reflection, I deep down see fragments of you. Your curvy body, slanted eyes, and humour as witty too. I continue to keep your memory alive, I long for our past to simply revive.

In a world without you Mum, I live for you, I live through you.

Thank you for taking the precious time to read this poem dedicated to my LOVELY Mum, Tracey who left us on the 15th June, 2008. Please feel free to share this post by clicking below if you enjoyed.

thank you as always x