i mean this in the nicest possible way but i am glad that you’re dead.
i am glad that you’re not around any more. and here’s why…
i am glad you are not here, struggling and alone, in this new and worrying ‘reality’ or ‘regime’ we now find ourselves locked firmly down under.
i am glad you’re not here as this new way of living would terrify you. it would defy you, deny you of your independence and the canny, simple and loving life you once enjoyed. and you could never do the whole social distancing thing. you loved us all too much.
i am glad you are not here, in the beautiful rural family-run care home that you, sadly, had to spend your last weeks in. i am glad because at your age you would have, most likely, fallen prey to this COVID-19 virus that is sweeping the Earth. this, with the added confusion and isolating delirium of Alzheimer’s and advanced vascular dementia, i am glad you’re already dead as this would have been even more terrifying for you. in isolation. and i would not have been able to have held you close, as you slipped away.
you would have been a real nightmare, mum. a real worry.
either we would not have been able to ‘contain’ you, in your little house. you were stubborn; or you would have been worried to the point of hysteria, reading daily newspapers and watching the BBC. choking on the fear. calling us countless times a day to ensure we are all safe… and still breathing.
… and can you believe that bumbling blond buffoon that you once used to laugh at is now running the UK, and making a real cunt of things like you once, jokingly, predicted?
you would hate this new regime, mum. not being able to visit family, neighbours and friends. and not having visitors round for a cuppa tea and a carry on! i know, it would kill me not being ‘allowed’ to visit you. you would be considered one of the vulnerable ones. a high risk.
in a sense, you have been protected from all of this. but who knew your death would bring relief at this time for me, and my brothers and sister.
i miss you, mum. don’t get me wrong. i miss you so bad some days, the pain as raw as it was that Sunday evening in July 2017 when your heart stopped beating beneath my hand…
… but today, like yesterday and the day before and the day before that, i am glad you are not here.
(c) Kat McDonald 2020