YOU GUYS. Look at me, writing two months in a row. It’s almost like I’m a real blogger or something. I’m sure this will pass, but let’s enjoy this while it lasts. My poor little one is sick, which has caused us all to slow down a little bit. We spent the weekend just hanging around and sleeping, which I think is needed sometimes! But slowing down also creates the opportunity for my mind to wander, and it always wanders back to her. Always. And at first it’s because something made me think of her. Something little that reminds me of her, the way Eleanor holds her tongue when she’s trying really hard to do something, that matches the way my mother used to. Something that makes me laugh and I know she would think was funny too. But the smile quickly fades and I’m left reliving the days of her passing and the immediate aftermath in quick thirty second intervals, like flashbacks in a movie, to all of the really horrible parts. As if one part is worse than another. It makes me wish that I could somehow keep tally of how often this happens, how often I let myself go there. It’s at least once a day, if not more.

Can you imagine reliving the absolute worst moment of your life, every day, over and over? Once I’ve willingly swam out way past where my feet can touch, I think to myself, Why do you do this to yourself? I think it’s because I don’t want to lose any of it. Even the bad parts. I don’t want to forget one second of the memories I have of her, especially the last ones. I remember her voice, but just in little blurbs here and there, I can hear her in my voice when I say things to Isabel sometimes, or when I’m talking to my sister. Thank God for cell phone technology and videos, I can play them over and over and for a second she’s alive again. She’s alive and I’m alive and we’re together and we’re laughing and everything is normal. And then the video is over and she’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

Isn’t it funny how time, the alleged curer of all ailments, has failed to cure me of mine? I don’t miss her less, I don’t love her less, I don’t think of her less, this certainly doesn’t hurt less. So what the actual fuck?! When the FUCK does this become dull? When does my pain match the attitude of everyone else? Because everyone else is tired of hearing how much I miss my mommy. Everyone else has moved on with their own lives, their own problems, their own stuff. I can just feel the eye roll that happens every time I post something about her, about missing her, about living without her. It’s been over a year, and I think the year threshold is when people stop giving a fuck.

But you know what? In my world, my life is missing something, and the problems in my life are centered around that very fact, and my “stuff” is that my mom dropped dead one day and how do you just live your life like normal after that? How are you ever normal again? In my world, the birds don’t chirp and nothing is as important as everyone else thinks it is. None of the things I used to care about matter anymore. Problem at work? Who cares? It’ll be there tomorrow. Or it won’t. And you’ll go on with your life and everything will be fine. But this, this rips the carpet out right from under you, rolls you up in it and sets it on fire, and then doesn’t allow you to die with it. Not totally. Just a little bit. Enough that you know it’s gone. It’s gone. It’s gone. It’s gone.

For anyone who knows this feeling, cheers to making it through another day. There’s strength in surviving, even if you have to fake it sometimes.

Until next time…

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