Yesterday I woke at 5:30 and started my routine of getting ready for work.
I washed my face, applied moisturizer, foundation, eyeliner, eyeshadow, blush ... I reached into my makeup bag for the last step in war paint application: mascara. I grabbed the purple tube of mascara, unscrewed the lid and had the wand centimeters from my eyelashes when I realized what I was doing.
This wasn't waterproof mascara. This was REAL mascara--the kind that would run down my face and make me look like Alice Cooper if my eyes so much as even thought about getting teary.
It hit me. My mom is gone and I am broken and no matter how much I'd like to be strong and carry on, I'm just not there yet. It has only been a week and I feel like it should be getting easier but somehow it's more suffocating, this sorrow. I know no one expects me to pretend that everything is okay but no one exactly wants to be around someone perpetually blue, either.
I look at the mascara wand and I'm utterly in shock. Will I need a reminder every morning that something is missing--that a part of me is missing? Will it ever get easier? Am I doomed to never again use this purple tube of mascara?
Sighing I put the wand back in the tube and tucked the mascara away for another day. A day when I can think of her without my eyes welling with tears. A day when I'm with people who are safe to cry in front of--who don't care if I cry so hard I look like a member of Kiss or that my nose runs profusely.
Today is not that day. I pull out the orange tube of waterproof mascara and apply the thick goop to my eyes. Now I can cry silently. Alone. And people won't know unless they know me too well or look too closely.
Waterproof mascara: a reminder that no matter how surrounded by love and support I am--I simply can't share the burden of this loss with anyone.