It's just one of those days. I miss my Mom. In moments like this, when the world is falling off its axis, I wish, of all people, I could talk to her. I imagine our conversations. I talk to her in my dreams. If she were here, we would sit on her bed watching a marathon of Netflix, laughing at the cat (Simba) and come up with new inside jokes. We'd talk about delicious foods we wanted to eat and some exotic plan for dinner. It's a good night for lobster tails or filet.
I've been quiet lately. Grief is waves and I have been feeling the build. Mostly I (still) can't believe my Mom isn't here with me...with us. I battle with a reel that plays in my head; the last two weeks. The time in the hospital with my Mom; a blur of being awake and being asleep. A blur of errands to get coffee downstairs and calling family to tell them more bad news. The weight of the world on my heart. It's so heavy.
I replay the look in her eyes. She never cried- not at the end. She was at peace. I remember in the beginning when she learned the bad news, she said, "and the saddest part is leaving you all behind. It was just starting to be so much fun".
Tears are streaming down my face. How cruel the world is to give us bad news. And bad news without the comfort of a Mom's hug, is unbearable. It's just one of those days.
I know I can't stay in this dark and if my Mom was here she'd tell me to practice gratitude. She'd remind me to go outside and listen to the birds, watch the deer- they aren't worrying about their 401k's. She'd remind me that I have Rob and Kate and a few cats that love me very much. She'd encourage me to paint and breathe, to practice some yoga and call Julie. She'd ask me to cook something sweet and watch something funny. She would say all the right things. Moms always do.
I remind myself to be gentle. It's OK if it's one of those days. Be easy. Breathe. Repeat. It's ok to feel anxious and unsettled. Just let it be.
So another day, without you. It's still impossible.