They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite.
― Cassandra Clare
On a Thursday morning earlier this year, I woke wanting to speak to my mother. The urge was so overwhelming I ended up in tears. Because as much as I feel like I can talk to her in spirit it is not the same. It will never be the same.
She used to tell me that she had to prepare her ears for when I got home from school, because I would share my entire day from the moment she dropped me off to the moment I saw her again. To be honest, that sharing went on well into adulthood, it was our routine, our thing, pretty much until the end.
These last six years have been well-lived and well-loved by the three of us. And while we have all experienced great joy and deep sorrow and everything in between; we – my sister, brother and I are very much aware that each day adds another day to the last time we spoke to you, shared a laugh or quarreled about getting your glasses fixed.
I know you could not have gone through six more months of pain…far less six years. I accept that. I still wonder. And these days when I see my brother with his infant son, I wonder how you would have worn grandmother-hood.
I’ve said it before and to those who feel it, they know that grief does not always come in waves. Sometimes, it a tsunami that catches you off guard and you are swept up before you even realize that you are engulfed in emotions with nothing to hold on to.
This year was particularly hard. I just celebrated my birthday and it’s a big, scary number. Scary because sometimes when the days are hard, all I want is my mother and I’m a grown ass woman. This is the age you’re supposed to have it all together, or it least shouldn’t it all be coming together?
Yet here I am…trying to find a way to go back in time and crawl back into my mother’s uterus and stay there. Emotions have been bubbling to the surface because I’m realizing that it doesn’t matter how old I get, I still need my mother.
I still need her on days when work stress gets to be too much and I really just want to come home and see her sitting in her favourite spot, doing her puzzles with the one-handled glasses, she refused to get fixed.
I still need her when my heart is breaking and I feel like she is the only one who really understands what it is to know, understand and love me unconditionally.
I still need her on my birthday…to wish me a happy birthday dammit! I still need her, because the older I get the more I realize that this shit does not get any easier but her love made it all the more bearable.
I still need her when all I want to do is behave like the child I feel like sometimes and I know she would understand. Because, of course mothers understand that no matter how old their child get, that child will always be their baby.
I still need you. I still miss you. Every. Single.Day.