Mom died a year ago. Actually it’s been a year and a few weeks. The date came and went, slipped by without anyone falling apart. Thank God for memories. If I closed my eyes and spoke with her, my imagination would put me sitting side by side on the glider at the lake. She would be speaking clearly, the stroke not yet having arrived and confiscated her life. We would be discussing the kids and she would be reminding me to pick my battles carefully and not make an issue out of the small things.
I miss her. They say making it through the one year mark is huge, the sailing should be smooth from then on. I hope “they” are right. Yet somehow, as time goes by, I feel her absence more and more.
Well, we can’t expect these fragile bodies to last forever, right? I mean, death is a part of life. It’s so simple, so matter of fact, yet for most of us, so hard to accept. The world marches on, with or without us, proving just how insignificant we are, how precious life is, and how important it is to live each day to the fullest.
When I am missing her, I remind myself that we will be together again one day. It’s not a fairy tale, not a lie to make us feel better. It’s a truth that I embrace, a truth that loosens the reigns on my aching heart and puts proper perspective on the future. I can imagine her now, without the stroke, a new body, pain free and carefree, alive in the presence of God.
So, the first year slipped on through with major changes and adjustments, yet considering it all, quite smoothly. I don’t know why, but having one under the belt, as the saying goes, hasn’t brought on a huge relief. What it has done is force us to accept that which we have no control of, the reality that we don’t always get our way. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, our plans are thwarted and destiny laughs in our faces.
The joke, it seams, is on us!