Grief is Strange

Yesterday was a good day at work. I had projects to fill my time, and good friends/coworkers to talk and laugh with. The day was beautiful, and when I got home I dragged out my lawnmower and cut my front yard. There was even a little breeze to keep me from getting too warm.

Back inside I took care of my finches, geckos, and snakes. I gave my inside and outside cats a treat. I washed dishes. And in the middle of scrubbing forks and knives I started crying.

I talked a lot to my mother in between the tears. I wanted to know if I was doing ok. I wanted her to know that I’m trying, and there are way more good days than bad, but sometimes the world seems just too heavy to bear.

I told her I loved her, and I missed her, and I just wanted her back.

I miss having someone to share the tiny details of every day life with. Someone to point out a beautiful cloud to or mention that one of the hens has gone broody. Someone to tell that I saw a three-car garage on a house near my dentist’s office and my goodness who needs three cars?

I talk to my mother a little bit every day, but it’s not the same. She’s not there.

Today I treated myself to lunch outside. I went to a local park and sat in the warm sunshine and ate my lunch and suddenly just wanted to cry. I thought of my sister, whom I’ve not mourned much at all in the breadth of my grief for my mother, and then I did cry.

 

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