This, as all of these entries have been, is hard to
write. It’s hard for a couple reasons. One is that I know all the outsiders are
expecting us to start moving on by now.
Another is that you were a mother figure to me and I have a perfectly
good biological mother who is still here (and my rock and amazing and perfect)—but
I still feel the sting of loss when I remember you fondly as a parent.
Mother’s day felt like—half.
That’s the only way I can explain it.
I woke up, called mom, and then I just felt like something was
missing. I mean—it obviously is
missing. I would have made two phone
calls that Sunday, if you were still here.
So I got off the phone with mom and I didn’t have anyone else to call,
so I cried. I took so many things for
granted in the past—I have a lot of regret for that.
In the afternoon, dad and I made a trip out to the
cemetery. I don’t know what I’m supposed
to talk about when I’m out there, but nothing ever seems right.
This year of firsts is heart-breaking and I’m just not quite
strong enough. I feel bad that I never
want to stand around and cry with a whole group of family like everyone seems
to want to, but I know my brain is wired in such a way that if I really let
myself feel the weight of this, I’ll sink to a darker place that I don’t have
time to hang out in right now.
I, as yet, feel un-vindicated regarding why you had to be
taken from us so soon. There has not been
some miraculous reason that has presented itself and made all the pieces fit
together. It still feels really
unfair. And Bailey and I turned another
year older, Mother’s day has come and gone, and things just keep going. And I miss you so much and I’m so grateful
for every memory and photograph and I’m starting to get to the point where I’m
smiling instead of crying… I just had this major half-emptiness inside me on Mother’s
day that wouldn’t have been there if you were still here.
