There are stages of grief. My shorthand list of the stages of grief are: shock, anger, numbness, shame, explosion, beer/chocolate, and dealing with it. (No one ever said I was a mental health professional.)
I am dealing with it-most days. I grieved for her over years of strained conversations and emotional chasms. I was accustomed to not having.
When we reconciled, awkwardly and anti-climactically, in a cold, dark hospital room, a small glimmer of something flashed in my heart. Perhaps we could build on this glimpse of connectedness. Maybe we could make something out of nothing. We only had six weeks. We built something.
That something rises up at the oddest times. In a restaurant I'll see a mother and daughter of any age and a tightness will grip my heart. On vacation, I made a mental list of souvenirs to be purchased and I noted where I could get her a turtle-even though she never liked them in the first place and, frankly, doesn't collect them anymore.
Today I took two roses to her grave-one for me and one from my brother. I also placed a turtle in the icy snow in front of the red quartz marker. It made me giggle, because it looked so happily ridiculous.
Today I won't shred my soul and ask the questions for which I know there are no answers. Today I am going to focus on the things I miss about Mom. I share them with you so maybe you can take a moment to remember things about your mom whether she is still here or not.
- I miss laying on my Mom's lap.
- I miss green jello with cabbage cut into rhombus shapes and arranged on lettuce.
- I miss her weirdly accurate accents.
- I miss turtles.
- I miss her plastic yahtzee game which was laying on the table by her favorite chair.
- I miss one and half sugars and a dash of milk in coffee.
- I miss looking out into any audience and not seeing her.
- I miss seasoning free cooking that fed the soul.
- I miss her laughing with me when the baby spit up all over everything, including her and I.
- I miss the possibility of hugging her small, strong frame.
- I miss her.