365 Days.
I sat down to write this post and was immediately taken back to writing momma’s first caring bridge, my goal to make everyone feel less scared than we all were, add some humor, and of course, a little sass. This is so different. I have no intention of sugar coating the truth of how it feels to have lived 365 days without my person.
I think the most surprising part of this whole grief experience is that time doesn’t heal loss. I talked about that phrase before in wanting to fast forward to the place of being healed, but I’ve learned that for me, I don’t see time ever healing, but more providing me with experience in better ways to cope with the waves of sadness, or at least, I hope. I know some of you are probably thinking, there hasn’t been enough time passed, you will heal, but I respectfully disagree. There is never going to be a point in my life where my heart doesn’t ache from her loss, where I wouldn’t want to pick up the phone and tell her what happened today, where I wouldn’t look at something so happy and instantly feel sad she’s missing it. That’s what happens when you have a mom, or person of that strength and force in your life, you don’t ever warm to the idea that their loss is ok, it’s impossible. I made it a point to write to her over the last seven months, as you’ll see below, and when I started I hoped I would see some magical timeline that went from sad to happy, but really, hurt is the center of it all regardless of how much space from her passing I was when writing. In efforts to share a glimpse of what goes on in my everyday life, I wanted to share with all of you some of my diaries to her.
April 3, 2021
Dear Momma,
I’m not sure if this is a good idea, or the worst I’ve had, but I need your help and figured what better way to talk to you. I’m having the hardest time without you and you’re the only person I want to talk to about it. Why did you have to be such a good listener? Your voice, your advice is the only one I want hear and you’re not here. So, I’ve decided to write to you everyday for the next two weeks. I’ve taken some time off of work to reset my head and find a better ratio of good to bad days which I know you’d fully support. I honestly think you’d be shocked that I’m actually listening to my feelings rather than pushing them away. It only took you 28 years to get me there. In efforts to connect with you, I’ve left Dallas for a few days to go to the beach. Don’t worry, I’m not alone, Tony is here. If you were here you’d have 40 layers of sun protected clothing on and you’d be under the umbrella with a good book and your toes in the sand. When I got here I could hear you say “this is SO awesome guys”. No matter how often we traveled or how cool the locations were, you never took it for granted - and I never will again. I sometimes feel like I took you for granted and how hard you fought to have the relationship we had. You fought probably too hard but I am so grateful you did. A lot of daughters don’t get the kind of relationship we had and I honestly can’t imagine anything better. MP reminded me how lucky I am to miss you this much, and although it hurts like hell, I am so grateful that I had you to miss. Since I’m now crying on the beach I think it’s enough for today. I’m going to listen to Adele with my toes in the sand for you today. Wish you were here.
April 4, 2021
Dear Momma,
I’m not sure this series is such a good idea. I spent every minute of yesterday thinking of you. Watching an older couple walk by, a mom nagging her kids about sunscreen, a mother and daughter waking on the beach, everything reminds me of you and makes me sad. I wish I could be strong enough to think first of the best memories we had together, but instead I can only think of everything you’re going to miss. Hopefully time helps with that. I don’t think people realize how much your thoughts are consumed with the person you’ve lost. At least once a day I think to call you, to send you a photo, to talk to you and share every detail of my day with you. That is the hardest part for me. Having so much to share but the only person who I want to share with is you. I know you would never want us to be this sad, but we are. When someone tells me that it’s best you aren’t in pain anymore, I selfishly disagree. I’d give anything to hold your warm, manicured hand, in the living room with the hum of your oxygen machine as background music. Those days were gut wrenching, but I wish for them every day because you were still here with us. I’m sorry for being selfish, you never would have thought that way, but I’m only a fraction as strong as you were. Benjamin always said you were tough as nails and he was so right. You’d be glad someone wasn’t suffering, but I’m not. I want you back.
Today I’m spending the day on the pool deck overlooking the ocean, a spot you’d LOVE. And I promise to sunscreen better today as I know you can see my lovely burned back. At least I’m wearing sunscreen now right? I love you so much it hurts. Miss you.
May 3, 2021
Dear Momma,
I’ve decided it’s okay that I can’t do this every day anymore. I shouldn’t force myself into a tough emotional state for the sake of routine. Today marks six months without you and I watched a video of grace that Aaron sent me with your sweet voice in it. I miss your laugh and the way you always called me babe and cheered me on every step of the way. Today I’m so grateful to have had you as a mom, and think of all the sweet memories we’ve had together as long as all the moments you’ll miss. I wish I had one more everything to show you just how much you meant to me. You’re my favorite person in the world. It’ll take a lot to change that momma. They don’t get much more special than you. In other news, I’m back to work today and it feels right. I’m so lucky to have the best team supporting me and that I was able to lean into the time off and get help. It wasn’t fun or easy, but I did it. I know you’d be so proud. I hope you really are watching me from above. I want to make you proud with everything I do. I love you mom. Have a great day. Also, I met a boy, and I’ll tell you all about it later. 😉
May 9, 2021
Dear Momma,
Today is the day. My first Mother’s Day without you. I got to FaceTime the boys with dad and grandma this morning and then cried my eyes out because I miss them, and I miss you. I hate that the boys don’t have you either. This sucks for all of us and no one can give what you did. Why did you have to be the absolute best? I met someone who held me and wiped my tears when I cried. Who told me I’m amazing, who did everything you’d want for me. I’m so sad he will never know you. I’m over this day. People don’t know how lucky they are. I’m going to dinner with Andy and Miriam and I feel so lucky but also empty. I miss you. I hope you can hear me talking to you every day. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.
September 15, 2021
Dear Momma,
It hurts less today, and I’m filled with sadness because of that. I miss you so much. Love you more than you ever knew.
October 15, 2021
Dear Momma,
It’s been a while since I’ve written to you - which makes me sad, but also probably good? I knew this was coming, a week or so ago I started to get so weepy thinking of you. Someone mentioned their mom and how much they loved them, and I couldn’t hold back the tears. You are in my dreams, and everything reminds me of you. Everything. I know what you’re thinking, this is my new normal, but I don’t want it. Today is a day where I don’t want to be near anyone, nothing anyone can say can brings me comfort and I could snap at any moment. It’s been almost a year since I’ve held your hand. I cannot fucking believe it. It’s not fair. It will never be fair and although time helps the world not feel like it’s crashing down daily, it doesn’t heal. People who made up these phrases clearly know nothing about grief. Time doesn’t make your absence hurt less, it almost hurts more. I’ve lived 365 days of life without you. That’s 365 days I don’t get to call you on my way to work, 365 days of not being annoyed that you hung up on me to talk to one of the boys, 365 days of telling you every little thing unapologetically monopolizing your time, you get it. I think I miss holding your hand the most. I can still feel how your skinny fingers wrapped around mine and you would squeeze gently in a fast pattern. I think part of it was soothing (just like your leg tap) and part of it was another reminder of how much you love me. You loved us so much it’s kind of insane. I know moms are supposed to love their children, but you made sure we knew how proud, how beautiful, smart, and talented we all were in the way which best recorded it. I’m biased, but you were the best of the best. I miss you. I wish we were feeding you ice cream in your hospital bed in the living room. I wish for moments with you all the time but it’s more intense. I hate this feeling. The grief that makes me ball up in bed and eat my feelings, that makes me push people away, that makes me feel like I will never be fully happy again, I absolutely hate it. I know you’d be rubbing my head telling me it’s okay, but it doesn’t feel that way. That’s the truth. I love you mom. I miss you immensely. I wish I could hug you one more time. It’s been the hardest 365 days of my life and no matter how much good that comes, the hole in my heart will never get smaller, your shoes are too big. How lucky am I to have something to miss so much, right? Forever your daughter. I love you always.
October 31, 2021
Dear Momma,
Today is Halloween, three days before the one year anniversary. I feel as heartbroken and sad writing this as I did the moment you took your last breaths. This time last year we were all just sitting around your bed waiting for the moments when you opened your eyes and smiled or squeezed our hands. Our lives revolved around gathering as the original 5 for every single time your medicine was due, for bed baths, to scratch your back from being itchy for laying so long, for dinners, everything we did was in that room with you. The boys and I sleeping at your feet, it was absolutely the hardest moments of my life just waiting for your pain to come to an end, but I’d kill for just one of those moments right now. I have needed so much alone time and space because I’m angry and sad, and I know you’d be really proud of me for taking the space I need. I am who I am because you are my mom. It’s not were my mom, you always will be my mom because I carry you everywhere. I feel your presence with me at work, in the spin room, when I’m cooking for people I love, in every aspect of my life I carry you with me. I hope you feel the connection wherever you are as strong as I do. I love you - no one is as lucky as the four of us to have had you as theirs. I miss you every minute of every day. Love your girl.
Needless to say, I have learned a lot in the last 365 days. I wish I hadn’t. That’s not sad, it’s just honest. I wish it was easier to explain this kind of grief to those who haven’t lived it. I wish I didn’t want to snap when someone tries to comfort me during my darkest of moments. I wish I could do a better job and not shut down during the hardest of grief days, but I’m still learning. I’ve learned how important it is to tell people how you feel. Regret is not just for taking chances and big life moments, it’s for the little things too. I regret not taking as many pictures with her as I could have. I regret not hugging her extra tight when we were in fights. I regret moments I missed choosing to live far away, but I wouldn’t change those things. She wanted to me just where I was and respected my decisions, after all, she made me confident enough to make them. I would change her being here with me of course, but since I can’t I think I’ll just keep writing to her in replacement of our daily phone calls. It’ll never be the same, but it’s something.
365 without her is only the beginning. I know there is much more grief to come and with each wave I will become stronger and more capable of living life through it. I also know I will find so much more of her in me and my siblings. Here’s to hoping the next 365 get just a little bit easier. Thanks for listening.
