Good Material

by Dolly Alderton

“I don’t know how to get over it, Mum,” I say. “At this point I’m so tired of myself. I don’t know how to let go of her.” “You don’t let go once. That’s your first mistake. You say goodbye over a lifetime. You might not have thought about her for ten years, then you’ll hear a song or you’ll walk past somewhere you once went together—something will come to the surface that you’d totally forgotten about. And you say another goodbye. You have to be prepared to let go and let go and let go a thousand times.” “Does it get easier?” “Much,” she says.

I’m sorry that I loved you so much more than I liked myself, that must have been a lot to carry. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you the way you took care of me. And I’m sorry I didn’t take care of myself, either.