2 year anniversary

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.

 

Doing it all again

I’m not really sure what’s lurking. Only that I’m perpetually tired….like really tired. Like ready for bed by 8 tired.  Last night it was ready to sleep at 6 tired, but I have kids, so that didn’t really work out.  And it may just be that I’m tired. But since my mom died, I’ve learned that crazy tired is actually a sign of unacknowledged grief. So, my guess is that somewhere there’s a pocket of emotion that’s built up and keeps sapping my energy. And the best way I've found to find it is to write....

I’m not really sure what it might be exactly, only that I miss my mom.  I wish I could do Christmas with her again.  Last year was hard, but it didn’t feel hard, I guess because I was expecting it to be hard.  But this year, the grief feels worse.  I remember a woman from my second church whose husband had died.  She said, “The first year of grief sucks, but the second year is so much worse because you have to do it all over again.  I mean, you get through the first Christmas, birthday, anniversary, etc without them, and then you have to do it all again.”

It seems insanely obvious that after someone dies you would have to do all the things without them from that day on, year after year, and that’s true.  But it’s hard to do the work of grief, the expressions and the deep deep feeling, only to realize despite your best efforts, there’s more deep stuff and sadness there.  

So there’s both a deep longing—one where I wish she were here, where the decorations are mostly all a reminder of her…the table cloth she bought me, the napkins, the Christmas dishes, the “our first home” ornament, the clothes, the symbols…so much of it beckoning forth her memory and she’s not here to enjoy it or share it.  And there’s a deep sadness, an emptiness because of her absence.  And frankly, it’s exhausting.  

Yesterday we received a package that included See’s candy. That’s a special treat up here since there aren’t See’s stores nearby.  And See’s was always a favorite of my grandma and my mom.  So when I open the box to enjoy some candy, I’m inclined to offer some to my mom, or save some for when she gets here.  Only she’s not here and she won’t be coming…not again, not ever.  

And there’s the grief.  Hard and fast and strong and deep.  I miss her.  I wish I could talk to her. Appreciate her more.  Ask more questions. Learn more things.  But I can only pull from my memories, and those of others who know and love and remember her. And, for today, that’s the best I can do.