It doesn’t matter how prepared you think you are to say your goodbyes, it falls to nothing as that pain slams like molten hell in your gut. When the little boy is screaming inside, begging that his mum doesn’t die. Please, please, don’t take my mummy. Please, no. Please. When your memories tumble right the way through you, all the things you wanted to do, all the things you wanted to say. All the things you’d said and wished you hadn’t. All the things you are losing, when your rock of a mother takes her final breaths.
