Mother's Day

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.