Today marks three years since my mom passed away.
As usual, it’s been the days leading up to today that were the hardest and not the actual day itself. I think the anticipation is what stresses me out the most because really, today is just as bad as any other. It’s not like I miss her more today than every other day of every other year. It’s not like the hole in my heart grows bigger today or that her memory is stronger.
Maybe I’m doing this whole grief thing wrong, but it doesn’t really get easier. Sure, it’s not as intense and all-consuming as it was in the very beginning, but it hasn’t really lessened either. I don’t cry uncontrollably every day anymore, but I still think of her almost constantly every single day. I still miss her. I still feel incomplete without her here.
Three years ago today my entire world came crashing down and my identity was tossed up in the air. I don’t know what it is, but losing my mother, watching her suffer for months and then die, really messed up my sense of self and who I am. Despite the fact that I was 29 years old at the time, married, and living on my own, I was still her daughter – and now who am I if she’s not here? This loss is unlike any other I’ve ever experienced.
Three years ago today I learned a very difficult lesson: praying about something, begging God for something, won’t make it happen if it’s not in His plan. And oftentimes, His plan is very different from our plans. I prayed harder than I ever had in my entire life for God to heal my mother, for Him to take her cancer away and give it to me instead, but it didn’t matter because that’s not what He had planned. A year later when I prayed and prayed for Christina not to die, that didn’t matter either. She died anyway. I realized today when I was thinking about it, that it’s not that I’ve suffered a blow to my faith in God, but rather that I don’t believe prayer does any good anymore.
I realize this all sounds very depressing and gloomy, but let me assure you that 99% of the time, I am OK. I go to work and out with my friends and laugh and have a good time. I am a functioning member of society. I do what I need to do, but I also have my moments and I think that’s OK. I think it’s OK for me to still miss her. I think it’s OK for me to still hurt. I think everyone grieves differently and that it’s OK if I’m still dealing with this loss three years later. It has not stopped me from living my life, but I am most certainly not “over it” like many people probably imagine me to be. I don’t think I ever will be, as her death is something that permanently changed me.
I have not yet reached the point of being able to talk about her and smile about the good times (key word in that sentence is “yet” – I am still hopeful). Just having to say the words “my mother” out loud brings me to tears. I don’t talk about her with anyone other than my husband and dad, and even that is rare. It’s not that I want to forget her, it’s that I’m tired of feeling sad about her and it’s easier for me to just not talk about it. I deal with it in my own private way and that works for me.