Mum's been gone over two months now, her death is still very raw and occasionally inconceivable.
I can't get over Mum's final days and hours. Dark images creep into my head when I'm on the Tube or in the bath, and I agonise for ages over these pictures which show her shrunken, yellowing and in pain. Questions rise like bubbles over the pictures: Did she know she was dying? Was she scared? Could she hear me? The bubbles rise higher, choking me, and it can take hours to recover.
But I had my first counselling session last week, which was great. The counsellor promised me that the images would recede, in time. Everyone keeps promising me that. But they haven't, they're still there, and while they're still there I can't enjoy any memories of Mum when she was healthy.
One way I'm trying to combat these thoughts is by trying to replace them with a happy pre-cancer memory of Mum, where she's smiling, or teasing me, or baking me a Victoria sponge cake. But it's a lot harder to remember those memories than the more recent, more painful ones.
I am determined to do Mum justice this Mother's Day and remember her as I know she would want to be remembered; laughing, always busy, and calling me a 'baggage'.
Happy Mother's Day, Mum. Love you.