So, last year at this time I was thankful that Thanksgiving was over with. One holiday down. And I was bracing myself for Christmas.
My Mom had been dead for about 2 months and 20 or so days and I couldn’t imagine why or how I would every “celebrate” again. It was an exercise in going through the motions.
Fast forward to now: my Mom has been gone for one year and 2 months and 21 days.
Is it easier? No. Not really.
It’s just merely fact. She’s gone. I’m here. Life seems to move forward no matter.
It’s that simple.
It’s incredible what time can do*.
*There’s a double-edged sword lying in wait within that statement. Time is both my friend and my enemy. As time goes on, the sharpness fades, sure… but the loss, oh the loss, it becomes far more permanent than what I could have ever imagined. I had no idea then that “forever” meant forever. (And I’m sure that 10 years from now I’ll look back on this time and think, “Oh, Kylee… you thought you understood what “forever” meant back then… but oh…”)
My Mom is going from this earth… forever.
Last year at this time I was barely keeping my head above water; I look back and I read the posts and I’m speechless. I feel the feelings all over again. The raw emotion. The sheer devastation. The physical feeling of your heart breaking over and over and over again.
…and then there’s now.
There’s some guilt with “now”:
How did I get here?
How have I been living my life without her here?
Shouldn’t I be crying every.single.day still?
Doesn’t she deserve tears? Tears all of the time?
Am I doing this right?
Am I grieving properly?
Is there a time limit for all of this?
Then there’s the understanding:
I’ve been living without her and I miss her now more than ever, but most of all, I now know and comprehend that when you die, you die. No one ever talks to you again. It’s done. It’s finished. It’s over. DEATH means no more here on earth. No more. Done.
As time has been going on and life has been moving forward I’ve noticed that my wailing tears and physical pain has been replaced with long stretches of silence.
Of quiet. Of remembering. Of listening. Of straining to hear her voice. Of straining to remember.
This is the part I feared.
I remember this part.
I remember after my Dad died… that I would close my eyes tight at night and try, try, try to remember how his laugh sounded. How his voice sounded when he’d laugh at Saturday Night Live.
And then I find myself there again: I am silently willing myself to remember, remember, remember…
But I know, since this isn’t my first rodeo, that the memories will fade. As will the voices. As will the sharpness.
I hate that so much.
The painful sharpness of loss seems to joins hands with the sharpness of memory and they slowly walk into the sunset leaving you alone with whispers and faint memories and photos of what “was”.
But maybe that’s what makes grief easier? That the sharpness fades?
No matter – it still is horrible.
After she died I wrote because I wanted to a.) record the chain of events of what happened and b.) because I wanted to be able to go back and re-read my feelings and feel them just as intensely all over again. I want to feel the pain, the desperation, the sadness, the fear, the shock… because those feelings are so closely tied to her. They’re my last physical connection to my Mom.
As time goes on, the ties are loosening and… well… it’s scary.
Healing comes with time, but with times comes space and distance from the one we’re missing.
The one who we can never speak to again.
There is no resolution, there is no silly “closure” there’s merely me and this road that I’m traveling – the road that so many have walked and crawled before me.
I’m thankful that today I know:
It’s ok to get swept away in the tears.
And it’s ok to get swept away in the smiles and the memories.
And it’s ok to some days, to not get swept away at all.
It’s just, ok.
—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.
September 8, 2014 :: The Day Before a Year :: Post here.
September 9, 2014 :: Hello, one year :: Post here.
October 11, 2014 :: The brain is funny :: Post here.
November 6, 2014 :: Love :: Post here.