December 29th 2018 my mom died of melanoma cancer.
She didn't tell us how bad it was, until one week before she was gone.
I write her a letter every month.
Because it is hard to say goodbye to your mom.
I found your mother's day card from last year. I forgot to send it. I told you, I'd send it this year. I had no idea. I never would have thought you'd be gone now. I should have just sent it late.
In the past four months, since you've been gone, life has changed. In the morning, your absence, it's almost like part of getting dressed. Like putting on a harsh and heavy 'Oh yeah, your mom is dead' sweater, before I start my day. As if this new reality hasn't steeped into my dreams. I still have mornings when I'll wake up, and think it is all a recurring nightmare. I'm going to call you, and tell you all about it. Then a few moments pass. That sickening feeling sinks in. The world turns upside down, and I remember. There is no waking up from this. No calling you, to tell you all about it. I can't talk to you anymore. I can't see you anymore. We can't make memories together anymore. You're gone.
I never could have imagined, how much this would effect me. Losing you, it is truly heartbreaking, and opened me up to a new kind of loneliness I never knew existed.
Part of me gets it. In life, you have death. We are all in the same race, with different finish lines.
The other part of me, wants to sleep forever. Hide in my bed, pull the cover tightly over my head, and pretend I can justify wanting to drown in my own self pity, abandonment, and anger. I'll just lay here as if there is a limit of pain per lifetime, and I can be done now.
Sometimes, just being aware, hurts.
I don't want to be consumed by it. Be an annoyance about it, or a broken record. But it really is hard to, 'get over', or 'let it go'. There is no magical bandaid to make everything be ok.
I know someday, I'll be able to lay this pain down, and get up in the morning, and the air will be lighter. I know it, but today's not that day.
All around me, people are getting ready for mothers day. It just reminds me, I don't have one anymore.
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