I was on my way to work when my brother called. She is usually up hours before everyone else in the house; when she didn't come down my dad went up to check on her and found her dead on the floor by the bed. She'd died in the night, probably a heart attack but not sure yet.
I sat with her while we waited for the coroner's people (sorry don't know what they're called). She was so cold. I can't get the image of her out of my head, and at the same time I don't want to. I don't want to remember her like that but I couldn't bear the idea of her all on her own upstairs.
She had long-term mental health problems and had been so ill and so unhappy with this world for so long. I knew this day was coming sooner or later but even so I can't believe she's actually gone. My poor mum. I hope she knows we loved her so much even when it was all really hard. I can't believe this ever feels ok.