In a week it will be two years since my Mom died.
It’s funny, a part of me has expected all along that I would have some sort of ‘aha’ moment by this time… That the pain would feel more like a Hallmark Card sentiment and less like a bowling ball to the chest.
I was wrong. It still hurts. It still feels fresh. It still seems as though Mom should just be somewhere else and biding her time for a visit. I still expect her to be somewhere doing Mom things. And at the same time she feels so much farther away, and the time passing reinforces again and again that she is all the way gone and never coming back.
It’s been especially raw for me lately. I said earlier that Baboo 2’s arrival has something to do with that. The anticipation of the anniversary day also weighs things down like lead and of course brings me right back to those days.
At my six-week check I found myself in tears, talking about the deployment and missing my mother. I was relieved that my doctor didn’t seem taken aback that I was sitting there blubbering away about something that ‘happened two years ago.’
There’s just no timetable as the websites, books, and experts might say. There is no ‘getting over it,’ as those who have not experienced a signifcant loss expect. The missing of my Mom is just always there. Somedays it manifests itself as my inner little girl crying, “Mommy!” and other days it is just a quiet knowing that she is gone and it still hurts. Some days it still stops me cold, and other days I walk with it tucked away in my pocket never letting on that it’s even there.
I miss her. I want her to still be with me. I suppose I have, ‘accepted’ that this cannot be the case, but it’s not what I want. I want to share Baboo 2 with her. I want to cry on her shoulder. I want to laugh with her.
I’m not over it. And I never will be.