I find grief to be fickle and maybe a little bit fascinating. When you first lose a person, I'm going to use my mother as an example, I thought okay, this is bad, but it can't last forever. At some point I'm going to feel better. No body can endure that early, raw vulnerability, that shock and emptiness for very long. At some point that completely set adrift feeling has to end. It's different for everyone, but it does get better, sort of. It changes, turns in circles and around the corners of my life and heart. Some days I don't think of her at all and other days I know she is right here with me. Just out of reach, but there. Today I miss her desperately.
Maybe it's because, and please forgive the pity party here, the last few months have been just sh*t. Truly they have sucketh. Maybe this lingering ennui has left a crack in me that only she had the power to fill. Our relationship was complicated and occasionally messy, but she was the best mother ever. The best. All the finest moments of my younger life had her in them.
Look at her up there in the picture. She is the one in the middle, my father in the blue shirt. Next to Mom is her sister Ramona who was the only of her siblings to give physical evidence to the Native American blood lines from way back when. The other gent is Ramona's husband, Fred. They were up north on the deck and really happy. Mom was always a little bit more herself around Ramona. I think Ramona was her safe person. This is the way I want to remember her. Happy and safe.
In the end, I think grief is a kind of gift. It's hard to be sad, but the remembering, each time a new little walk down a memory road, is truly lovely. I will never, ever stop missing my dandelion loving mother or all her many faces and for that I am endlessly grateful.
Thanks for listening. Namaste. xo
"Once more into the breach, dear friends, the dandelions beckon." Mr. Breathed always manages to get it right.