How has it already been four years? It feels just like yesterday, yet at the same time I’m having difficulty remembering all the details. Not just about Mom’s death, but her life. I will never truly forget my mother, but after being separated from a person with whom you’ve had no connection with other than your memories, they slowly become just that: a memory.
I’m afraid I’ll forget her stories. I’m afraid I’ll forget her laugh. I’m afraid I’ll forget how it felt to have her in my life. I know that’s ridiculous, how could I forget my mother? She was such a huge part of my life and shaped who I am today. Yet the longer I live with grief, it becomes less about missing my mother and more about remembering her, and that scares me.
I’ve gotten used to living life without her. The pain is still real, but it has lessened and is not as frequent. In some sense this is a relief, but it is also frustrating. Moving on is filled with guilt. I’m no longer in survival mode; getting used to the pain has become a way of life. How can you love someone so much and the next moment act as if they never existed? I don’t want to do that. I honestly don’t think I can, but it is a fear of mine.
My mom is more than a memory.
Pictures don’t do her justice. Not even home videos. Words come close, which is why I started blogging in the first place. I want to honor my mother’s memory, but it also in a way keeps her memory alive.
I no longer live at home, so I’m not pained by daily reminders. In a way this has made it easier for me to heal, but I often feel like something, someone, is missing. Then I remember.
I feel lucky to have loved someone, and been loved by someone, so much that the pain is worth remembering.