One year and one day of being motherless.
Motherless. How that word pierces my heart.
I keep expecting the days to get easier. The memories to not hurt. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes it doesn't.
Over this past year I'm so grateful for my husband's persistence, patience, and love. For keeping me from drowning--for encouraging me to keep going. For being there.
I'm so thankful for my sister's smiles, silly stories, and willingness to cry.
I'm so appreciative of my friends who made the year possible by watching my kids, bringing me dinner, and loaning me their pop-up campers.
For those of you who let me talk about my mom without feeling compelled to say "I'm so sorry," for those of you who noticed that I've worn a piece of her jewelry every day for a year, for those who just let me rage and cry and laugh. Thank you.
One year. I've done it.
But I'm more afraid now than ever.
I'm afraid it won't get easier. Now the year is up like some sort of deadline and I'm afraid the people who have been patient this past year, well I'm afraid they are getting tired of me telling the same stories or reminiscing about my mom or wearing the same jewelry.
I'm afraid to be the Debbie Downer who can't let go. Who won't let go.
I'm afraid it won't get easier. That I'll still be haunted by firsts and 21st. That I'll always be just a bit more empty than I used to be.
I'm afraid that at some point and time, the brokeness I feel over my mom could cost me relationships because, hey, who wants to be around someone who seems 99.9% okay, except for the brokenness you can just feel radiating off of her?
It's more than that. What I'm afraid of most--the thought that brings me to my knees in angst is that it WILL get easier.
I'm afraid that some days, I won't remember at all. That I'll forget to put on her jewelry. That the sound of her laugh will slowly fade into memories of good old days.
That slowly this process of saying goodbye and letting go is actually a severing--of giving up the past to move on with the future.
I hate the ache but it reminds me how real her love was and how good her life was and that I had a mom who raised me well and would be proud.
But when it gets easier, it gets harder because I forget the ache.
And without the ache, I feel like I forget her.
What I think is loss is so complicated. A year later I'm afraid people will let me go if I hold on too much to my pain and sorrow but even more so, I fear letting go of the pain means I can't hold onto the memories.
Thank you for letting me Pour My Heart Out.