8
We’re back with year 8 y’all. Eight friggin’ years and every single phase of life has me missing her and noticing her absence in ways I never expected.
At 22, it was trouble with friends at school, it was going into surgery, it was graduation, it was passing my NCLEX, it was getting my first (of many) speeding tickets, it was job applications and interviews, to name a few.
At 25, it was big moves across the country, then the world, serious relationships, serious heartbreaks, meeting some of my best friends, meeting people who understood loss, and people who did not.
At 28, it’s just plain old adulting, a global pandemic, picking out the curtains and the bed sheets, decorating for Christmas on my own, quitting my first big girl job, moving in with my boyfriend, making big life decisions, and contemplating my career, my identity, my passions, and my purpose.
I miss her in the sad moments, but I really miss her in the happy moments. I wonder what it would be like to know her now: to have a glass of red wine with her, to laugh about the disagreements we had when I was a teenager, to thank her for loving me even when I was being a bi0tch, to hear her own stories from her teenage and crazy college years that she couldn’t fully tell me when I was 15. What was her first boyfriend like? Her first heartbreak? Her first job? Her first quarter-life crisis?
While my grief is not as agonizing as it once was, crippling me on a daily basis, it is ever-changing and still very much present. As I get older, my grief does too. As I mature, so does my grief. As I enter new phases of my life, you guessed it, my grief is right along for the ride. While it has become easier to live with, it finds new ways to be a part of my life. I guess this is my reminder that my mom is never truly gone from me. There will always be moments she should be a part of, moments she is deeply missed, and moments I still need her. So, whether it’s been months or in my case, years since you lost your person and you find yourself wondering “why am I still feeling this way?”, I hope you give yourself compassion. As I put my pen to paper to write this blog post, I have to remind myself to do the same. Even though this journal entry is just for my own introspection, I have this nagging voice in my head saying: "We get it, your Mom died; shouldn't you have moved on by now?" If you find yourself in a similar situation, I get it. But I believe that the extent of our love reflects the extent of our grief. The undeniable truth is that they should still be here, and the lingering sense of loss serves as an unwavering testament to the enduring love that remains within you. So it's okay if your heart still aches. They should be here, even all these years later.
Love you — mean it,