Funerals suck. Cancer sucks. Sometimes life sucks.
This year I had the humbling pleasure of celebrating the life of a truly rockin' chic - Oumani Browne. Sadly, she was only there in spirit. She had taken her final breath the week earlier surrounded by her beautiful and cherished son, her mother and her sister.
Being part of the day to honour her life was humbling. I learnt so much sitting there listening to others speak about this beautiful lady, she was and is surrounded by love.
I was in awe of her for so many things. Least not that she was who she was, no pretences, no judgments - she was Oumani. Real. Raw. Energetic. Generous. Beautiful. Funny. Intelligent.
And I hope she knew this.
See Ya Later Mani Browne.
Rock Chic Oumani Brown
The day is fast approaching and I'm feeling the strain of grief, guilt and anxiety as I prepare for the first Christmas without my mum. I want to spend it without the immense sadness and guilt I'm currently feeling.
Sadness is a given. It's still new and raw and there is not a day where my heart doesn't feels heavy with loss. Sadness has given me an excuse for manic moods and "out of character" behaviour. Sadness is easily masked with a burst of energy and a distraction.
I can deal with the sadness because I know it's not my fault.
It's the guilt that is playing games in my head.
I'm guilty of avoiding so many of my mum's Christmas Day's, her favourite day of the year. And it's only now that I realise how I must have broken her heart year after year.
The lead-up months to Christmas were incredibly stressful with pressure on ensuring the day was perfect. Every detail was meticulously planned to craft a day resembling the Marcus Neimen "catalogue perfection".
The tree would be put up on the 1st December and decorated beautifully with expensive baubles. Gifts were lovingly wrapped with the "theme of the year" wrapping paper and assembled underneath the tree.
There were fairy lights. So many fairy lights.
A feast would be planned months in advance. Cold meat platters. Hot meat platters. Cheeses. Salads. Trifle. Fruit cake. Chocolates.
Fortunately we never spoke of which brand of champagne because my parents didn't drink alcohol and this meant I could bring my own. It was Moët or Veuve.
But even with the champagne, I dreaded the day. It didn't feel like "me". I was uncomfortable with the consumerism. I didn't like the stress of having to "perform" for a day.
When I became a parent, I used to plan on a one to two month trip from December to January just to avoid the fanfare and commercialism of it. I'd take my young family to remote destinations for a few months and make the phone call on Christmas Day and New Years Eve from some exotic location, thankful that I wasn't being consumed by a festival I didn't believe in.
Last year, I realise that I'd missed the entire Christmas message. I lost what it meant to my mum that I was there sharing in her favourite day of the year. It wasn't about the Christmas tree or the feast or the beautifully wrapped and thoughtful gifts.
It was about having her family all together for one day. That was it. Nothing more.
Fuck guilt.
It breaks you heart and there is nothing you can do about it.
Fuck grief.
It creeps up when you're not looking and destroys a face full of makeup at really inconvenient times.
Fuck anxiety.
It stomps on your chest without warning.
Fuck Christmas.
Take me back to last year when we knew it was mum's last special day and we sat around in her living room, really living - laughing and loving each others company.
Once again, I'm not looking forward to the day.
