Complicated mending

1 year, 1.5 years, 4 years, 7 years, more. I guess I do just have to live one day at a time. 

Courageous

I got an email today encouraging me to be courageous. This is me, trying to do that.

It's been almost a year and a half since my mom died (Friday marks the day). Overall, things are easier. I can remember her before her stroke. I've started expecting good things instead of bad. I have a great community, a loving boyfriend, faithful friends and a deep connection with Jesus.

But grief still comes in waves.

I'm still watching Gilmore girls (and even more so now that it's on Netflix!)

Sometimes I relive those last days as if they were yesterday.

I wish I could talk to my best friend: about boys, about haircuts, about family, about how much I love her.

I'm trying to balance grief and gratitude.

My eyes are so puffy it looks like they got bit by mosquitos.

And more than anything today I'm feeling the pain of loving her more than one more day.

All is not better. I still miss her so much I want to throw up. But it will get better. Slowly, with lots of help and lots of love. I have a lot to look forward to after this wave of grief recedes.

October 5

Today is my birthday. And it's been a hard one.

Harder than last year. Even though last year was my first birthday without my mom, I still felt connected to her - I celebrated in San Jose, and even invited my friends to sleep over at my dad's. She wasn't there, but she still was. Her chair was there, her presence.

This year she's so much farther away. This year she's really gone. This year I'm really without her. This year, last year, every year from now she's not calling me to wish me a happy birthday (even though that's what I want more than anything in the world).

Even with an amazing birthday weekend spent with my boyfriend, even with beautiful friends who celebrated me today in thoughtful ways, I'm missing her. Missing her so much.

I wish, instead of missing her, I could just stay in the other birthday moments, the magical ones, the special ones. Because I know she'd want me to. Because I want to. Because I want my birthday to be filled with joy, not grief.

I should know by now that that's not how that works. Joy and grief - they aren't opposites. More often than not they go hand in hand, they exist right next to each other. Can I sit in that tension?

Today I don't want to. But maybe, tomorrow, since I'm now a year older and wiser, it'll make a little more sense.