The other day, my mum left the house just like she does every morning. Earlier that day, she texted me to ask if I’d had breakfast. I replied, “Yes, we’ll talk later,” and carried on with my work. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

The other day, my mother stepped out of the house just like any ordinary day. That morning, shed sent me a message asking if Id had breakfast. I replied, Yes, well catch up later, and buried myself in work. She wasnt ill, hadnt been hospitalised, no worries, no farewells. Just another simple day, the kind you think cant change anything at all.
At four oclock, my phone rang from a number I didnt recognise. It was Mrs Whitfield, the neighbour. She said, Your mothers had an accident. I asked where she was and Mrs Whitfield gave me the name of the clinic. I went straightaway. They told me shed fallen on the street, hit her head, and nothing could be done. No drama, no final words.
There were no last sentences. No hugs. No time to say anything. I stood staring at a stark white wall while the staff explained paperwork, signatures, and procedures. My voice quivered as I called my brothers, uttering the hardest sentence Ive ever spoken: Mum has died.
The true blow didnt come at the clinic. It was when I walked alone into her flat, collecting her belongings. I opened the wardrobe and her clothes still waited to be washed. Her slippers sat by the door, her purse hung behind the chair, shopping bags half emptied. Everything stopped in the exact moment life was cut short.
I took one of her jumpers to pack it and caught the scent of her soap. I stayed like that, holding the garment, unable to move. I sat on the bed, staring for ages at the floor, feeling an unexpected anger.
Then came the tiny things that sting the most: dialling her number by habit and remembering its gone, coming home from work without anyone to ask if you got back safely, passing her doorway and not going inside. Nothing prepares you for this silence.
People say: She was called away in her time, God knows the reason, Shes resting now. But I dont feel any peace. Only absence. Its as if she left on a random day, without permission, without warning, without time to soothe my heart.
And that is what hurts most: it wasnt a farewell. It was a sharp, dry cut.