Each month, a reader writes to a loved one in the afterlife and Mandy Masters tunes in to share their reply. This month, Carla writes to her mum, Isabel
Never apart from you
Mandy doesn’t read your letters in advance. She is given only your first name and relationship to the person you’d like to speak to in Spirit
Dear Mum
I can’t believe I’m a year older than you were when you died.
Last year was the strangest time. Aged 53, I remember gazing into the mirror and seeing myself the same age as you were when I last saw you.
The fear of getting cancer, like you did, and dying so young scared me so much. It still does. That will probably never go away.
But I don’t like to dwell on it too much. After all, we never know how long each of us will get.
So, instead, I think of all those special memories that remind me of the wonderful person you were.
You were born in Braga, a beautiful city in northern Portugal where all the locals go to spend their holidays. But life wasn’t idyllic for you. Far from it, in fact.
Aged just 13, you moved to Lisbon to work as a nanny taking care of two boys. From there, you began working at a factory making communications cables.
You met Dad and had me and my brother, Oscar. Sadly, things didn’t go well and you left Dad when I was seven.
Life as a single mum was hard. We scraped by, but I remember you always looking tired and stressed. You’d leave us with the neighbours to start your shift at the factory at 3pm.
‘What I want is to be a nurse,’ you often sighed.
But that was impossible. It would mean giving up your job to go back to college — something we just couldn’t afford. We didn’t have holidays except for a couple of visits to your hometown where you showed us your old school and the home that you grew up in. Weekends would be spent seeing your brother, Antonio, who we all loved, or playing on the beach near our home.
As I grew older, I began to dream of moving to another country. I’d never felt like I fitted in here. Maybe a new life abroad was what I needed?
Our neighbours had moved to Switzerland and every time they came back to Portugal for their holidays, telling us their wonderful stories, I’d beg them to take me.
‘Your mum wouldn’t let us,’ they’d say.
‘Nonsense,’ you’d laugh. ‘You must do whatever makes you happy.’
So, as soon as I turned 18, I began gathering together the paperwork I needed, ready to take the leap. In the end, though, I just couldn’t do it. It would mean leaving you behind — something I couldn’t bear.
Life carried
