When an entire year goes by after a significant life event like a wedding, the birth of your baby or a death, you do a lot of reflecting. You think back to all you have accomplished since then. You think of the really fun times and the times that were hard. You realize that despite the times you felt like you just couldn't do it anymore, here you are -- a year later and you made it through and then the next years don't seem as scary anymore. This is true for a lot of things, but the anniversary of the death of a loved one is somewhat different. Different in that when you make it another year without them, it's not not scary... I mean, it's almost more scary. Scary because at one point in time, when everything was still "fresh," it seemed as though your whole world stopped. When I lost my mom, I felt like my life was on pause for the longest time. I felt like I watched everyone around me moving, smiling and being happy while I was stuck in place -- as if someone used a remote control to "pause" me. Then all of a sudden, it's a year later and everything that happened in that year is such a blur, especially in that first year without them. That's why it's scary, because you think to yourself, "When did someone press play again?"
It's something that is almost impossible to wrap your head around. One because it will always feel like "just yesterday" and two because you still just don't want to believe it's true. I look at the number three and cannot believe I have made it this far. I can't grasp the fact that it's been even a year because the pain is still there, the hurt is still there and the tears still come all the time. Does it ever really hit you that they're gone? To be honest, I still find myself wondering when she'll be home. And since we're being honest with each other, there are still days where I see someone who looks like her and think "maybe it is her and this was all a stunt." Then I have to quickly shake those ridiculous thoughts from my head -- even though deep, deep down, I will always wish that to be true.
Birthdays, holidays, they're all "easy" for us now, but there's something about the anniversary of her death that makes me want to throw up, truthfully. I guess it's because you never look at someone you love, and think, "Soon, there will be a date on the calendar that reminds me of the day you died, and that date will be burned in my head forever and ever." Death anniversaries are only that, for the people who have died, no one living has one. Birthdays are for everyone, holidays are for everyone - they are happy times, days dedicated to celebrating someone's life or being with the ones you love. They happen no matter what. So when June 7 rolls around, that's the big, annual reminder for me. It's the date that really puts so much into perspective, like how just over three years ago, the 7th of June wouldn't mean a thing to me and how I would not even have the thought in my head that one day there would be a death anniversary for my mom. It's the date on the calendar that I can't run from and the date that reminds me that she's gone - forever.
Here I am - three years have gone by without you. There have been so many hard times in those three years, but so many good times as well. People would always tell me that time would heal my wounds, but I quickly learn that to be false. Time is only a band-aid - it covers up the wound and tells you, "Wow, look how far you've come - see? I told you things would be okay." When in reality the wound will ALWAYS be there. The pain stays in your heart, on your mind and in your gut EVERY day, only needing the tiniest of triggers to spill over. Time has only made me realize that life HAS to move on, whether I wanted it to or not and that choosing to stay miserable would be on me and me only. It would not be because my mom passed away, it would be because I choose to metaphorically end my life along with hers. When I chose to go the other route, that's when I really started to live again. Making it three years without her is scary - scary because like I said, it means that you ARE capable of living without the person you thought you could never live without. There is, however, triumph in that as well. For me personally, the triumph is my happiness and confidence and mature-ness. This experience has matured me and shaped me in the sympathetic, selfless, over-emotional and caring woman I am today. It is been three years without you mom, and I can truthfully say that along with you watching over me, I am happy. So instead of looking at this day as a sad reminder of the pain I unfortunately had been dealt, I'm choosing to see it as a milestone.
I am living on my own, learning how to be a responsible adult, learning how to share my life with someone who loves me unconditionally and doing all this with you, mom, constantly in mind. I will not sulk in misery on June 7, but pray that in the next year-two-three-or 20- that I can still say I'm happy and blessed with the life I choose to live despite not having you here with me. That will forever be my endowment to you for bringing me into this world and now being the angel over my shoulder.
your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Psalm 23:4
May 25, 1967 - June 7, 2013
