After My Mums Death, I Felt Really Alone at University

After My Mum's Death, I Felt Really Alone at University After My Mums Death, I Felt Really Alone at University It’s a rainy September day, the kind of day where there isn’t even the slightest hint of sunshine. Most of the summer has been like this. You’ve just been told the worst news of your life, and you’re still trying to come to terms with it. Mum is dead. She passed away at 4am this morning. She’s gone. Multiple thoughts and questions run through your head: How could this happen? How can I survive this? How will I ever feel joy ever again in a world where she’s not here? Before driving to the hospice to see her body and say goodbye, we made a quick stop at the high street of the village we live in. I clearly remember walking down the street in the rain, more miserable than I’d ever been in my entire life, when I saw a funeral hearse go by. After the news I’d had, it wasn’t the best thing to see. I’d been due to go back to university in Aberystwyth before the start of my second year, but throughout September my mum’s condition had got steadily worse and made me worry and deliberate over whether I could leave her, and the guilt I’d feel if I did. Some of my university friends had already gone back to Aber, including my new housemates. In the end, I stayed at home a little longer than originally planned, but traveled back in time for the first lectures. I knew my mum would have wanted me to continue with my studies, so that’s what I did. Some people were surprised I didn’t take time out or even quit second year altogether, but I just wanted to continue studying. Everyone was nice to me, but they didn’t seem to know what to say to make me feel better. How do you comfort someone who feels like they’ve lost everything? I told them my mum was my best friend, how I could talk to her about anything. They were supportive, but I could tell they felt awkward dealing with the subject. They maybe even felt a little uncomfortable around me, as if I brought negative energy with me into every room, a direct contrast to their fun-loving personas. My late arrival meant I’d missed that year’s freshers’ week, so the first time I went out with my housemates was in early October. Looking back, I don’t know why I did â€" it hadn’t been long since mum had passed away, and it felt inappropriate to party. I wore a pink playsuit and denim shirt (as a jacket), both of which my mum had bought me, plus the obligatory pair of heels, and posed in the kitchen for pictures with my flatmates, but the smile I wore was fake. There was no joy in me, just sadness and emptiness. I remember feeling incredibly alone and isolated, even when I was in a large group of friends. I went back home for the funeral soon afterwards, and I was an emotional wreck. In terms of my studies, I told my personal tutor and she was very understanding, giving me extensions on my essay deadlines (even so, I still didn’t work on them until the last minute…typical student). She also referred me to counseling services. I attended one or two sessions before stopping (I don’t think I found it as helpful as I hoped it would be). The rest of second year went by, along with numerous nights out, and I was just trying to get on with things, be a student and have fun, like any other 20-year-old. My birthday and my mum’s birthday passed, just a week apart in October. Despite all the socializing, I was incredibly lonely. The void left without my mum was still there, and I know it will never heal. First year Going back to September 2011, when I moved into university as a first-year student, my mum was much improved compared to when she was going through treatment (she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer in June 2010, when I was doing my A Levels). I missed her while I was at uni, but we talked almost every day. Talking to her about uni life was great â€" I took it for granted. Every day I wish I could talk to her and chat about what’s happened. In early 2012, she had scans to make sure the cancer hadn’t come back. It had, and we were told it was terminal. My mum was told she had three to five years to live, but she ultimately died just seven months later, a great injustice. This was despite having treatment aimed at extending her life. After being told about her diagnosis on the phone, I was a mess. I was about three hours away from home when I lived in Aber, but the distance felt huge when she was ill there and I was in a remote Welsh town (although don’t get me wrong, Aber is one of mine and my mum’s favourite places. We even spread some of her ashes on the beach there). Feeling lost This is the truth of losing your mum, or anyone close to you, so prematurely. I was 19 years old (almost 20) when she died, and never again can I hug her, or tell her I love her, or simply call her and catch up on what’s happening â€" there are so many things I wish I could tell her. One of the key words for how I felt back in September 2012, and still feel today to some extent, is lost. Lost because she could have helped me with “adulting”, both simple things like teaching me to cook a dish and more complex matters like going through pregnancy. I don’t believe it’s possible to ever get over losing your mum. Nobody will ever love you quite like your mum does and I will probably never feel the same bond with another person ever again. The only means I found to cope was by carrying on with university life and talking to friends and family, and then gradually over time the pain became a little more manageable. That said, no matter how many times I wish she was still alive, there’s nothing I can do to bring her back, so please, tell your mum, and other loved ones, that you love them. Make the most of the time you have together. Hopefully none of you will have to deal with losing your mum for decades to come, but if the worst happens, talk to someone about how you’re feeling â€" whether it’s your best friend or a counselor (if you’re in the UK, you could get support from Cruse). Don’t put any pressure on yourself to grieve the “right way” or cancel doing things because you think you shouldn’t be allowed to have fun. If someone you know is going through bereavement, it’s important to be there for them, listen to them and offer your support.