Today it has been one month since my mother’s passing. It seems like no more than half that time. It’s funny how time gets all twisted in our heads. Christmas, which was a week more recent, seems much farther in the past. I’ve been told more than once that it gets easier and I know that’s true. Is it? I’m not ready for it to get easier and yet, some days it seems like it is getting easier – that I’m getting used to the new reality. But still, other days all I can think of is, “She’s gone and I can never go visit her or talk to her again.”
There are the usual regrets. I should have went to visit her more often. I should have called her more often. She said she was going to live another 20 years and was so positive she almost made me believe it. I thought “realistically” maybe ten. But in reality even that wasn’t realistic. We can never really be realistic about these things.
Sometimes it’s strange what brings comfort. The things that I was afraid I could never enjoy again because they were things she enjoyed. The things I have that used to belong to her. The photos. It’s almost like I am enjoying these things for her. And when I see something I know she would have liked I feel like I need to take an extra minute or two to enjoy it for her.
But still, writing about her is hard and talking impossible. But I need to do something and I have this space for writing so writing it is and I hope I’m not boring or depressing anyone too much.