Dear Mom,
I miss you. A LOT. Some days it feels like I could just call you up and ask your advice, or that we'll see you on the next visit. And other days I get hit with a ton of bricks...you're not here and you won't be here. And I should have appreciated you more. Seen all that you did with greater clarity. And Lord knows I should have asked more questions. You were so smart. So learned. You understood people and systems and things. And I wish I had you here. I don't have another you.
Grief stinks. Ok, so maybe it doesn't. It helps you move through all the emotions and remember the people you love. it can humble you. Teach you. And make you more grateful. It can even help you live better, more appreciative for what you've lost, more attentive to those you still have. The part that stinks is the losing. More specifically the losing and not getting back.
Friday was two years since you'd died. Approaching the anniversary didn't feel so bad. Even the day of was OK. Until the fatigue hit...the one that marks my grief in an odd way. I'd expect uncontrollable tears, but those only come when I write. Instead my grief comes as this crazy thick fatigue where I can barely keep my eyes open. I'm sure if you were here you'd know the science and physiology of it to explain it all to me. But instead I have my questions still unanswered.
