For those of you who read me, you may be sick of my posts about my mom. So I'll add a caveat to this one: it's a post about my mom. Writing - it's how I deal. And in dealing, sometimes I strike a chord with others versus irritating them. Sometimes, I even make others feel as if they're not alone in their own feelings. That's the bonus. Mostly, though, it's how I deal.
I know there are plenty of people who don't have one or more parents here anymore, and they survive just fine - at least on the outside. I'm not sure how they do it - they must be able to cover it better than I can. Or maybe the fact that I don't really have that partner to share sorrows and joys with makes it harder. I'm not sure. I know everyone at some point goes through this and survives. We all survive. But I guess I just didn't realize there would be such a void. Such an emptiness.
Not all the time. But a lot of the time. Still, after a year, Mom, my brain automatically thinks to call you to tell you something good (or bad) that's happened. My heart tells me to talk to you about something I'm struggling with, or to ask for parenting advice. My subconscious tells me I haven't seen you in awhile and I need to stop by with some soup or cookies or something and see the new outfit you got at some ridiculous sale price.
|Snow angel for Mom - March 2, 2014|
Not that Dad isn't fine. He's fine - I mean, relatively speaking. In fact, I'm pretty darn proud of and impressed by him. He's keeping busy and volunteering and helping out all the neighbors just like you know him to do. He still takes care of me like he always did, and I try to take care of him like I promised you I would. He's going on his walks and taking care of my dog and we go out to dinner and he comes over for dinner and I bet he'll be at most every one of Logan's track meets he can over the next few months. (I wish you could see Logan run. He's so fast. You'd be so proud.)
|A love story for the ages.|
I know I put a lot of stock in getting past this one year milestone. I don't know if it will get "easier" per se. Grief - or whatever it's called at this point - seems to come in waves for me. I'm fine for awhile, then something happens and I realize you're not here anymore. My mother. Every time I realize that it's like I'm realizing it for the first time.
I know you see us. I know you're sending us signs. I know you're at peace, and that gives me peace. I know how proud you will be when you watch over that precocious grandson of yours as he graduates from high school. I can almost hear you yelling, "Hallelujah!" Just please always make me feel that way - that you're still there. Because if I didn't have that to hold on to, I wouldn't have much else.
|Daffodils in February - at hospice.|
Thank you for being my mom. I was damn lucky. Thank you for calling me your Sunshine. I'm not sure I ever lived up to that, but it always made me feel special. You'll never know, Dear, how much I love you. Wish you hadn't gone away.