This is a tough time of year for me.
Almost three years ago, my angel mother became an actual angel.
Many people have asked me to share more, to tell what it's like to have someone so close to you be gone, and how I coped with it. Many sweet, sweet people have told me they're going through something like this too.
So as a disclaimer, this post is full of real life thoughts and feelings. It's my version of the truth, and I don't claim that the experience of losing someone close to you is universal or easy. This is just my feelings, my reality. And I'll love you whether you read on or not.
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For a while, it doesn't sink in. There are too many relatives, too many funeral and other arrangements to be made, too many people bringing you dinners. But eventually, that dies down. People move on with their lives {as they should}, and that's when some realities hit you.
//we found ourselves sitting around the dinner table, the food getting cold, waiting for that last person to come sit so we could start. Eventually, someone would realize that everyone who's going to be there is there, and we'd give each other that look, and someone would reluctantly start the prayer and eating process.
//when we got back from burying her, in the midst of all the condolences cards there was a paper from the elementary school inviting the kids to parent teacher conferences. I laughed right out loud. Those are still happening? Then you have the weird realization that normal things are still going to happen, even though for you, nothing will ever be normal again.
//salespeople on the phone make you cry. "No, she's not here. No, there's not a more convenient time to reach her."
//I realized the value of sentimentality. I was left with only a few handwritten notes and journals, photographs, a bottle of perfume, and some voice recordings to preserve my mom's life. Those became the most treasured things in the house. That's also a big reason why I started blogging. I learned the value of preserving the everyday moments, the importance of documenting a daily life, of leaving a map for others of what my life looks and feels like.
//it's hard. It's hard beyond hard, and it's not fair, and it takes a long time before it gets easier. It's a lot of crying yourself to sleep, and that grief that hurts so hard it's like a cannonball went through your stomach.
//little things set you off, like the sound of the engine from the big car she used to drive. When you hear that engine sound on your street, your heart jumps and you think for just a moment that she's coming home from the grocery store like normal. Then you remember.
//you learn it's okay to cry in public.
//the good news is we never have to hit rock bottom. Even in the midst of all our questioning and sorrow and remembering, it's never going to be too hard to handle, because someone already handled that for us. Someone already suffered for us, and He turns grief into hope. It's a temporary separation, and the older I get, the more I realize my mom's closer than I know.
//that's the truth for me. It's different for everyone, and there's no right answer, but for me, on this early Monday morning, that's my reality and that's my truth.
Read more thoughts on my angel mother and grief here.
