Today was more difficult than I thought it would be.
I felt nervous and anxious. I couldn’t focus on anything today. Every inch of my body was on edge; on the defense. I couldn’t help but compare last year, on this day, to this year. The date of her passing is actually the 9th, but Mondays have continued to be hard for me since that Monday last year when I got the call.
Today, on the way to work, I couldn’t help but think, “You drove to work last year, on a Monday, just like this… you had no idea what was in store.”
As I sat at my computer, I couldn’t focus. I was looking out of the same window that I was looking out of when we began to worry… when we couldn’t find her…
I unconsciously wore a very similar dress today; very similar to what I wore a year’s-worth-of-Mondays ago.
I was nervous. And anxious. And physically incapable of focusing.
I am surprised at the physical response to today that I’ve had. I fear for tomorrow. The “real” anniversary.
And that’s the thing, I want nothing to do with this “anniversary.” It’s stupid. Why on earth would I want to acknowledge the day that my Mom died? I honestly cannot, for the life of me, figure this one out. If it were up to me, which it may be if I can get my emotions on board, I will zoom through tomorrow feeling… nothing. Nothing but sunshine and rainbows and love.
But, that’s where my confidence in myself has been somewhat shaken.
My track record of, “enjoying the day” on any of the firsts this past year hasn’t been that impressive.
Thanksgiving – boo.
Christmas – boo.
Her birthday – ridiculous boo.
Mother’s Day – oh man.
Throw in the kiddos school presentations, Easter and a few more holidays and I failed. Miserably.
It’s like for every “first” I’ve tried to amp myself up motivational-speaker-style. “You can do this! Remember the GOOD times! Find a great memory and ‘wrap yourself in it’. Talk to her! Do it for hte kiddos! Tell her you love her! Do something that would honor her!”
I have good intentions. But my intentions seem to be overtaken by at first a whispering reminder that she’s gone… and then by mid-day, the whisper has gotten louder – it’s full-blown-conversational tone and doesn’t let me forget that this year is different; this day is different.
You might as well get into bed now. Who cares if it’s 3 p.m.
I fear that’s how tomorrow will be, too. I’ll try to ignore it; to “rise above it” – but it’s still going to be there.
You don’t forget the Worst Day of Your Life.
And maybe you’re not supposed to?
A year ago tonight, it was her last night to live.
A year ago tonight was the last time I ever heard my mom’s voice.
It’s hard to not think of that.
For me, today has felt like driving on ice in a blizzard. (The midwest never leaves me.)
You’re clenching the wheel… the stress in your neck and shoulders has crept it’s way up to your head and found a nice place to rest in the form of a dull, sometimes sharp, but omnipresent headache.
You have no idea when you might hit a patch of ice, God protect you, and you might spin helplessly into another car or off the road.
You want to pull over, but you can’t. So you keep going… silently praying.
Today was that day for me.
I spun out a few times — I sobbed at my ENT appointment — because doesn’t everyone lose it with their Ear, Nose and Throat specialist?
But, I kept going.
And, if there’s anything I’ve learned in the past 364 days it’s that time marches on and tomorrow is always a new day.
Today, after the ENT sob-fest I heard myself exhaling loudly.
It immediately struck me.
I did that for months after she died.
Sometimes, you just need to remind yourself to breathe.
I’ve been thinking about the one-year-mark for a month or so. I immediately felt that I didn’t want to or plan on acknowledging it in any sort of celebratory fashion. I want to celebrate her life, but I can’t ask myself to do anything more than observe this anti-milestone.
Instead of reminding me of my precious Mama, tomorrow reminds me of our loss.
It underscores that she’s gone.
And I just don’t want to be part of that. At least not right now.
I hope that by tomorrow evening at this time, I won’t be lost in the mire. I hope instead, that I can feel her with me and that I can sit and write about the good things. About the ways that she made me smile. About what we laughed about. About what I love about her. (Love, not “loved”.)
I’ve been meaning to write down all of my memories of her… just everything I can think of, free-style, free-flowing writing…
…maybe I’ll start that tomorrow.
The Story of Loss. On Losing my Mom.
September 30, 2013 :: Slivers of Sunlight :: Post here.
October 6, 2013 :: That first week.Those first days :: Post here.
October 14, 2013 :: 14 days after :: Post here.
October 20, 2013 :: I found a treasure :: Post here.
November 4, 2013 :: She’s been gone for 4 weeks :: Post here.
November 13, 2013 :: I smile and drive and cry and smile and cry :: Post here.
November 17, 2013 :: Weekends aren’t easy :: Post here.
November 26, 2013 :: The holidays, the firsts :: Post here.
December 1, 2013 :: 8 weeks :: Post here.
December 10, 2013 :: The Dream :: Post here.
December 19, 2013 :: Vulnerability and Moving Forward :: Post here.
December 22, 2013 :: The reminders. They’re everywhere :: Post here.
December 29, 2013 :: 2013 :: Post here.
January 1, 2014 :: The New Year :: Post here.
January 7, 2014 :: 2 days from 4 months :: Post here.
January 17, 2014 :: Another Gift :: Post here.
January 25, 2014 :: She would have been 60 today :: Post here.
February 9, 2014 :: Five months :: Post here.
March 6, 2014 :: Almost six months :: Post here.
March 27, 2014 :: One of the Best Gifts Ever :: Post here.
April 1, 2014 :: We’re all in this together :: Post here.
April 24, 2014 :: 7 Months, Easter and Nope, I’m still not normal. :: Post here.
May 6, 2014 :: Mother’s Day without a Mom :: Post here.
June 1, 2014 :: Moving “forward” :: Post here.
July 6, 2014 :: Denial & acceptance & blah, blah, blah :: Post here.
August 20, 2014 :: So, I’m 35 :: Post here.
September 2, 2014 :: 7 days :: Post here.