Two Years Later. . .

I can’t explain it.  I can’t tell you why I am so compelled to come to this space and lay it all out there.  Why I take my insides and put them in black and white for anyone to see.  Truly, it makes no sense.  All I know is that from the beginning, pounding out my thoughts, feelings, highs and lows on the keyboard has somehow made me feel better.  For some reason, that I don’t fully understand, a huge part of my healing journey has come with the click of the “Publish Post” button. 

I come here now, two years later, to honor what brought me here in the first place.  I come here to pause, to recognize, and to reflect on a journey that has been anything but what I expected it to be. 

It has been two years.  Two full years.  Two years since my life changed forever.  Two years since our family changed forever. Two years of being a motherless daughter.  Two years of not hearing her voice, seeing her smile, experiencing her silliness.  It’s been more than two years since I’ve seen her hold one of my babies.  Two years since I’ve called her simply to say hey.  It has been more than two years since I’ve wrapped my arms around her in a hug or felt her arms envelop me.  It’s been more than two years since I’ve dialed her number to ask do I grill chicken on direct or indirect heat? for the umpteenth time.  It’s been more than two years since I’ve sent her a picture message just to show her how the kids are dressed.  It’s been more than two years since I’ve visited her house and eaten a regular salad that somehow tastes gourmet because Mom chopped the vegetables.  It has been two years since I’ve heard her say we are so proud of you.  Two years since her voice uttered, I love you.

It has been two years since hope for her healing died.

It has been two years since I’ve cried myself to sleep wondering if she will be okay tomorrow.  It has been two years since I’ve lived with constant anxiety wondering if it is a good day or a bad day for her.  It has been more than two years since she’s let me down or broken a promise.  It has been more than two years since I’ve felt the reversal of our roles.  It has been two years since I’ve wondered will today be the day? 

It has been two years since my Mom was set free.

Two years ago I didn’t know how we were going to get through it.  I didn’t understand how there could be a future.  Often, I went back to my Dad’s words. . . Summer, we take one day at a time and before we know it we’ll look back and be surprised at how far we’ve come.  Truer words have not been spoken.  He was right.  Two years ago I never would have guessed that this is where I would be.  One tentative step at a time. . . I move forward.

Over the last two years the world has become bigger and smaller at the same time.  My courage has grown and fears have diminished.  Life has become richer and love has become deeper.  Over the last two years the preciousness of life has become more real and I’ve come to understand that we only get one pass through this life.  I’ve vowed that I’m not going to just pass through, but I’m going to really live it and live it as authentically as I can. 

And here is the part that I can’t reconcile.  The part that doesn’t fit quite.  The looming questions:  would all of this had happened had we not lost her?  Did these things happen because we lost her?

Truth is, I don’t know.  What I do know is that I wish she could see me now.  I wish she could read this blog.  I wish she could see my pictures.  I wish she could watch my kids grow.  I wish she could meet Meadow.  I wish she were still #2 on my speed dial.  I wish we could go shopping together.  I wish she could see all that is happening in my sisters life.  I wish she could see the kind of Mom I’ve become.  I wish I could hear her voice one more time.

And so here I am, two years later. . . a Mom, still needing her Mom.  A daughter, missing her Mom.  The hurt is still there and the pain is always just below the surface, but you know what?  That’s okay.  I’ve become comfortable with the crashing waves of grief.  Comfortable with the unanswered questions.  Comfortable  taking one day at a time. 

And so I pause today to remember.  To remember the Mom that I loved so dearly.  The mom who walked by my side every day of my life.  The Mom who sent silly cards and loved with everything she had to give.  I pause to remember that there were more good days than bad.  That my heart is full of far more positive memories than negative ones.  I pause to breathe in a deep thank you, knowing that I was so blessed to have had her as my Mom.  I pause, in appreciation, knowing that even two years after her passing, she is the fuel that is making me better.