Let it be a butterfly

I used to pray, I wasn’t sure who I was praying to, but I always made a note that I was thankful, so grateful for my family’s health, I knew I was lucky, I knew it was precious and important.  Now I’m grateful when she has good days, when she doesn’t get worse, but I miss that pure feeling of relief that my family was well, that that heart wrenching tragedy was not mine, I think I knew it would come at some point; and it did.  I miss hanging out with my mum, I miss calling her whenever I wanted, I miss being excited and over the top, I miss being silly and crazy with her, I miss calling her to moan because I lost my keys or my temper.  I miss falling back and having her catch me, I know she still would but I’d crush her, it’s my turn to be the strong one now.  I miss popping over for dinner, I miss being selfish and not even realising.  I miss seeing her whenever I want and I miss calling her everyday.  Sometimes I feel guilty that I’m fine, that I’m carrying on, that the rest of my life is making me happier than ever, other times there is a sickening pit in my stomach and it creeps up behind my eyes making them prickle with tears, my breaths get deeper and I feel the sadness in my bones.  I worry this is forever, when I wallow I worry that I’m a selfish fool for worrying when in time she will get better. I feel guilty I’m not there for my dad, but what it means to be there for my dad makes me tense up and I can’t stand it.  I want her better, I want her better for me so I can feel like her child again, for my dad so he can feel whole before he breaks, for my sister who hasn’t had the chance to learn how lucky we are to have her and for my mum and her kind and firey soul before it becomes crushed by this cocoon.