A Year and A Day

I saw my mother alive, awake, talking a year ago yesterday. That was the last time. When I saw her in December she was gone in mind, if not in body. I was around to watch the body go.

I miss her, you know. Time has smoothed over the horrors and the anger and the hurt and mostly what I remember are the good times now. I miss those times.

In these cold, grey and dreary days of November, I am  tired. Weary. Sad.

I think about the family I have built up around me and how it is starting to change as the nieces and nephews move on to other things. I think about everyone I’ve said goodbye to.

I’ve said a lot of goodbyes in the last year.

You would think I would be better at it. You would think that change should have become second nature. You would think I should easily and quickly bring all of my resilience to the table.

I say it’s the change of the seasons. The increasing dark, the wet and heavy days. I run a bit further for the energy, seek the sun where I can find it. I light candles and cook stew against the darkness.

It’s just November, I say. I tell myself this. I tell myself that I will get through the first anniversary of her death, of Gabe’s death and then will come Christmas.

It’s just November, after all.

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2 Responses to A Year and A Day

  1. sharah says:

    It’s just November. Which is a hard enough month as it is, with the dark and the cold and the time change, and adding grief milestones on top of that just makes it worse. There’s no getting used to goodbyes, so be extra gentle to yourself right now.

  2. loribeth says:

    As you know, I am no fan of November myself. :p It’s been a bit better since I stopped working (no year-end madness to stress through anymore) — but it’s still November, and my daughter isn’t here to celebrate what should have been her birthday. Sending (((hugs))).

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