It is now six months since mom died. I still cannot believe it. And yet at the same time, in my head, I am remembering her not as she was in the last ten years of her life, fading away after dad died, but I am remembering her when she was more vibrant--I am remembering her at the age I am now, on her 30th wedding anniversary party. Smiling, and hair and make up both done, with her great laugh. It was a good day.
All those calls, trying to get my aunt to manipulate me into doing something for mom--all the calls and texts between me and my siblings--all that is gone too.
Death during normal times is difficult enough, but during a pandemic it has broken me in a way I cannot articulate.
I am now finally starting to feel regret over everything--every unfinished task and every unfinished conversation. COVID took mom so quick, I had no idea my last phone call, which she rushed me off the phone--would be my last.
I am sure she wanted more than I was willing or able to give her, and I am sure she did not understand why I am the way I am; however, at the bare minimum, I hope she knew I wanted the best for her. I hope however I was able to show her I loved her, that it was enough.
Add to this, my dear friend Susan has been gone now a month--and her presence is missed daily.
Thanksgiving is in a few weeks. Sadly no one we normally host can be trusted to be vigilant with the protocols, and as a result we won't be hosting our big dinner.
I am so fortunate to have my husband, as if I had to endure all of this in complete solitude and isolation, I probably would have had more of an emotional breakdown than I already have had.
Mom and my friend Susan are gone--where does all the love go? Right now, it feels like it's all been sucked into a black hole.
