There is no consolation for missing someone who can't come back, but there are things you can do to feel closer to your person, and I am thankful to be able to continue something that we both loved together.
But that’s grief, isn’t it? It comes when you least expect it. When you find a video you sent to your mum, of you in a pyjama set she bought you, tucked in a bed she kissed you goodnight in, cuddling the cat you both loved so much together.
There’s a small scar above my left eye, a keepsake from the time my sister and I tried to dig our way to China. I don’t remember the exact thought process that led to this bold venture, but since I was 5 and she was 13, I’m sure our reasoning was perfectly sound. I’m also sure that living in southeastern Idaho played a role in the decision because 1) We had nothing else going on, and 2) Local authorities hadn’t yet enacted any laws against minors procuring gardening shovels, ladders, and gas lanterns, and 3) There were plenty of other kids around who were eager to help (probably because we promised them fields of free fortune cookies upon job completion).
I see a girl who got through a difficult year of her life. It was nothing like the worst, but it was nothing like the easiest. I see a girl who has been hurt, who has healed, and who looks to the future with bright eyes. I see a girl who is not perfect, who makes a plethora of mistakes, who has a library of stories and someone who keeps on trying, no matter what.
Losing our mum aged me in so many ways, which I have mentioned a lot in blog posts before. Mum would always call me a "party girl" which used to make me cringe, but I quite liked the colourful description. I liked that people thought I was colourful and energetic.
Thank you for being here. Thank you to the silent readers who don't comment. Thank you to the readers who do comment. Thank you to the people who come from our social media. Thank you to the people who stumble across our blog and never come back. Thank you to the people who keep coming back. Thank you for being here with me as I grow and navigate this world without my Mum.
Merry Christmas and Happy New year, Grievers, and as difficult as it may be, try to begin each day with a smile. It really does help. 🙂 Peace and blessings!
I would like my next project to be lavender with bees buzzing around it. I will look at it and remember my mum cross-stitching her hair rocking chair by the fire, and how she would look over her glasses at me. I will look at it and remember how she bought a magnifying lamp for her cross-stitch and how Katie and I would laugh at her peering into it.
We never had any Big Talks. But over those three months we slowly rediscovered each other. Nothing magical (unless you count being able to laugh together again magical). Just us.
Your grief is seen and felt, even at the time of the Christmas spirit and when all is merry. You are seen. You are heard. Your loved one, nor you, is forgotten.