It’s been almost 5 years since I lost my mother. I was only 19 years old. I made funeral arrangements such as picking out an urn, putting together a playlist, and creating a collage of photographs so people could see the life my mother had lived.
It was a time of my life that became more of a blur. Family and friends came and went to help and console. I was thankful, but probably didn’t show it then.
Now, I can say that with each passing day it gets easier, but the pain doesn’t truly go away. I used to cry myself to sleep every night. Then it became less frequent and I would only cry on Mother’s Day, her birthday, and the anniversary of her death.
With much surprise though, Mother’s Day passed this year with no tears shed. I have conflicting feelings about this. On one hand, I enjoyed sleeping soundly and not waking up with a searing headache. Then I think, shouldn’t I still be mourning my mother? Does not crying mean I don’t care anymore? For a split second, I felt guilty, but then again I know I shouldn’t have. I know that time has finally brought me peace, something my mother would want me to have.
While my mother being gone is a horrible tragedy, I know that I can’t go on being sad all the time. It will drive me crazy…and those of the people close to me.
So, I will no longer feel bad when big events pass by and I don’t cry my eyes out. Instead, they may water a bit while I think back about things like how we spent hours watching Friends. Or when she would come into my bedroom the morning of my birthday to sing to me. She taught me how to make her Thanksgiving deviled eggs explaining each step so that I would understand it. I have happily accepted the job of making these now that she is gone.
I do wish that my mother was here to see all that I have accomplished. At my college graduation I pictured her jumping up and down screaming when my name was called, then sitting down a crying a bit because she was proud.
I can tell far in advance that certain events in my life will be difficult without her like going shopping for a wedding dress or picking out baby clothes for her grandchild. I know she will be with me in my heart, but I would love to see her face.
So, while time has healed this wound, what’s left is a scar that’s there to remind me of what I have lost. My dearest mother Lisa.