Saturday, March 23, 2013
Mom died three months ago today. A blur of weeks passed. Hardly nothing, and yet three entire months. How could it be? As the days have floated on, my memories are fewer of how frail she was, laying in the stark hospice room, and more of her smile and spirited personality. She loved her music--especially the Eagles. She had a thing for 80s movies and the Dallas Cowboys. I inherited a lot from her, but especially my big brown eyes, my hearty laugh and my affinities for Super Nintendo and junk food.
I really miss her. My heart is still so overwhelmingly full of just sad. I miss everything that was, but more so, my thoughts are of everything that never was. I have a fantastic stepmom who has been a huge fixture in my life for most of my 27 years. And I love and appreciate her endlessly. And my relationship with my mom was far from perfect. But I'm still so deeply broken over the experiences that I will never share with my mom. The woman who makes up half of who I am. My mom and I will never giddily shop for wedding dresses together, or sit next to each other at my baby shower. We never really traveled together, nor will we sit on a cluttered living room floor, wrapping Christmas presents together, or cook a family meal, side-by-side. My memories of us together are sacred, but selfishly, in her absence now, I miss what never was.
After having lost a handful of incredibly dear people in my life, I've come to know that the day of death isn't at all the worst of it. The shock of the loss inevitably washes away, but the absence of that person's light is what leaves the most gnawing pain. The mere knowledge that, that person won't share any more laughs with you, or exchange another knowing glance over a story they told a thousand times. The knowing that you won't ever get to embrace them again and inhale their familiar scent and soak up their warmth. The knowing that sharing any piece of your future with them isn't a possibility anymore is hard enough, but it's worse knowing that some of the best parts of your past are forever over too. The finality of it all makes me feel more adult than I care to admit, or experience.
Seemingly unrelatedly, last fall, I was wanting a simple, thin, gold band to wear on my right hand. Something dainty and feminine, nothing too matrimonial or trendy. For whatever reason, it never happened, nothing I ever found was quite right, When my mom passed away, I was given a handful of her trinkets. Among them was a collection of the rings she wore everyday--and one of those, a simple, thin, gold band. I wear it every single day.
While I know the reel of memories with mom is over, my heart is comforted by the idea of wearing this everyday. It's the closest thing I have to having her, and that's good enough for me.