Today a new writer friend made the comment that her friend’s mother had recently passed away, even after all these years I still can’t bring myself to say died, and she said to her friend that she doesn’t want to know how her friend feels, but she will be there for her to help her get through it. I said, “No, you really don’t want to know how she feels.” I was not offended by her comment, and hope her friend wasn’t, and I wasn’t trying to offend her by agreeing. Being in the motherless daughter club is not prestigious. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, and wish we all would not be sisters through loss.
I also said that I have learned how to be happy in spite of my grief but I have not gotten over it. I will never get over it. I am thankful that people who don’t know how awful this loss is have finally stopped telling me it’s been long enough and they don’t understand why I am still mourning and I need to get over it. They don’t understand and the only thing I need to get over is the need to listen to them or the guilt I sometimes feel because yeah it has been a long time and I have things I should be happy about. But that’s the thing. It’s been 16 years since my life changed forever. The hole in my heart is still as big as it was that last day of my old normal. Time has put a thin layer of new normal over the hole that allows me to have moments of happiness so I can enjoy my new life, but I also now have constant feelings of how bittersweet whatever I’m happy about is because I can’t share it with my mother. Then the thin layer of normalcy gets ripped off, usually by something completely mundane and unexpected, and I’m drowning in the grief again. It’s a constant swing and I can’t stay on the positive side long enough. It’s exhausting at times.
I’ve been very emotional lately. Mother’s Day just passed and soon will be her birthday and then her anniversary. I hate to rush time but it will be easier when August is here and I have a break before the painful holidays begin again. I haven’t written because I’ve been busy with my new job and my fundraising event, and I’ve been ok about that, but it seems that whenever I talk to the woman I talked to today I am inspired to write again. Perhaps Mom is talking to me through her, and giving me “permission” to write about her, or maybe I just have built up enough sadness and it needs to be released and it’s just coincidence that I talked about it today. I don’t know. I just wish that the pain would go away.