Vacuum. Dust. Change the sheets. Sweep the floor. Clean the bathrooms. Dust the baseboards. Mop the floors. Wipe down the appliances. Laundry laundry laundry. Clean, dry, fold, put away. Plan the meals. Shop. Make the meals. Pack a lunch. Iron the shirts. Pay the bills. Sort the mail. File the papers. Wash the diapers. Box up the outgrown clothes. Fill the drawers with the ones that are still too big. Make the phone calls. Set up the appointments. Pick up the toys. Sewing projects. The dog needs a walk. Knitting projects. Thoughts of going back to work. Cleaning out closets. Plans to cull, give to Goodwill, get rid of those things I've saved that I don't want, don't need, never liked in the first place so why did I keep them? Keeping up the chatter.
Trying, so hard, to keep myself busy so I don't remember. So I don't think about it.
It's coming.
Ten years. The anniversary. Ten years since she died.
Even still, it comes back, familiar and strange. When you're busy, doing, making, being the responsible one. Trying to not let it in. But it's there. It comes.
The sounds. Ksh! Chip! The smell of cigarette smoke. The door to her room, still closed. The garbage sacks full of clanking cans, sour dripping, ashes.
The phone ringing and ringing and ringing.
No one wants to talk about it anymore. They turned out fine, they are responsible adults. She really was a great mom, considering. Too bad it happened that way, but now they've moved on. Look how happy they are now. See, it's OK.
But it's not.
I still need her. I still miss her every day of my life. And I still hate that she couldn't stop, wouldn't, until it was too late.
Ten years gone, and it's as raw as ever.
10 comments:
Bless you and many hugs to you. You brought back memories and tears for me too. We tried. Remember there are many who loved her and love you and your sister now. Never forget you still have family. Jo&
(((ronica)))
I think no matter how long it will be it will always hurt.
I am thinking about you.
Oh, honey. (((((((((((Ronica))))))))))
We can't fix the hurt for you. But I can share in it. I miss her, too. She was the one who let me feel like a grown up, even when I wasn't. She never made me feel like a little kid when she was around.
We all saw how she tried to cover the hurt, but we also knew her wonderful personality and the person she was inside. She was able to raise two amazing daughters!
I can't fix it, I can't diminish it, but I can tell you that you aren't alone in thinking of her. And really, that is a very, very good thing. She left strong and wonderful impressions on all of us.
Talk all you want, Mrs. B., I'd love to listen!
Hugs and love to you and your guardian angel.
R - We will never, ever forget your mom, and don't want to. I cannot imagine how painful it is for you. I am sobbing just reading your post. The memories you share are an amazing gift to those of us who knew and loved her, and to others who will wish they did. We love you and really do understand that it is not ok ... and may never be. We are here for you. love - j in vt
Sending huge calins and bises from Paris, and so wishing I was able to do more. (Can I send you a favorite treat?) Don't fight whatever you're feeling. Just let it be there when it comes up, and when it recedes -- like a wave -- you can breathe again and move onto the next moment in your life. She would be so proud of you.
Wishing I could somehow take away the pain for you. Know that she was loved, and that you are loved. We are always here for you.
I had a dream about her the other night. She came to meet Lilia. It was so nice to see her again, and she made Lilia giggle. The same way she could always make me giggle. I miss her too.
Sending lots of love and hugs your way.
Having lost my father this year I really understand how much you and your sister miss your Mom. It just doesn't seem fair that our loved ones are gone and we will never get over their passing.
{{{HUGS}}}
Melissa
April 20th was the 27th anniversary of my father passing away. I still cry, these many years later, at the man I lost, knowing that he was just a few years older than my husband is now when he died, and he has now been gone for more than half my life.
At 45 I cry for the grandchildren he never met, the weddings he never danced at and the talks we failed to have. Then I look at my sons and realize that he missed nothing. And he met them long before I met my babies, bounced them on his knee, kissed them and sent them to meet me. How else would my youngest have learned to whistle just like him if my father hadn't passed the technique down?
I don't believe in ghosts or the supernatural. But this I believe in wholeheartedly.
My feelings of loss are still raw but mixed now with bittersweet. It sounds strange, but embrace the pain. Then kiss your baby and look into her eyes. Your mother is there.
NJSue
I'm still feeling these things and it's been 13 years since my father passed. It gets both better, and worse in different aspects.
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