My mother was diagnosed with lung cancer just days before the first lockdown and as she lives in another country I wasn't able to see her all during her illness, partly because she was shielding, and also because it would have involved leaving my 6 year old daughter for weeks on end while quarantining on arrival/return.
About six months in, i.e. last August, my mum's treatment was going well but she needed to go into hospital for a drain procedure, where she developed pneumonia and was suddenly told she had only days to live. At that stage we had thought she would at least make it to Christmas, if not another year. I went from being told not to go and visit her to suddenly being told by the doctors to jump on a plane. I managed to get to the hospital a couple of hours before the morphine properly kicked in but she wasn't really lucid. The doctors thought she might last another few days so I went back to her house that night to sleep, only to be phoned a couple of hours later with the news that she was gone.
The funeral was a couple of days later and I was back home in England within a week.
Since then I've started a new freelance business, sorted out my mother's probate and tax affairs, and homeschooled my daughter for 3 months. I've done anything, it seems, but grieve – or at least it feels like that.
I've barely cried and it feels like it never even happened. I'm worried that I'm basically a cold, pragmatic and possibly selfish person, and starting to have horrible thoughts that I might be like this even if my daughter died. Is there something seriously wrong with me if I'm crying more about newspaper stories than things happening in my own life?