November 4 1983 was hands down the worst day of my life.
My wonderful mother passed away.
It's been thirty years and the pain is not as keen as it was in 1983 but it's still sharp and it still reduces me to tears.
Maybe we never get over traumatic events from our youth. I was 26, yet to be married, yet to become a father, yet to travel and see the world. I was a very young 26. I looked 16 and I felt, on that day, like a person who would forever be lost.
How do I survive without a mother?
I'm still wrestling with that question.
I manage to do it by following my crooked path from November 4 to November 4 to the water's edge.
Love and peace mum - your loving son.
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