The Hardest Days

And now we enter the hardest days of my year. Cried myself to sleep last night. Woke up at 4am and finally got up at 5:30am to work. Anything to distract, at this point.

The usual.

I asked Keith when it will happen that I’ll stop missing my mom so much. We both know that WON’T happen. All that will happen is a little bit of relief as more time passes. And that, in itself, is sad too.

It’s just a hard time for me. Talk to me after Thursday. I should be more myself by then.

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  1. Ali December 26, 2004 at 6:58 pm

    It doesn’t get “easier”. It gets more cope-able (if that’s even a word). You learn to deal with your grief more constructively. The sadness gets channeled in different ways. You still have your days of completely paralyzing pain, but they sometimes come on different days than the typical anniversaries. Big moments in your life that she’ll miss become times for wistful thoughts and memories and reflections. And you think of new ways to share with your loved ones (especially children, if you have them eventually) the incredible person who helped shape you into the person they know and love today.
    You are much loved, honey. Don’t ever forget that. XOXO

  2. Aimercat December 26, 2004 at 8:03 pm

    Hope you got my phone message. Love you bons! *big hug*

  3. Tiffany December 26, 2004 at 11:28 pm

    Perhaps you should call your brother, I am sure he would love to talk to you about mama C. He misses her too you know… We all do.
    — Tiff

  4. Hal December 27, 2004 at 12:05 pm

    This time of year is hard for my family, too. Three years ago on December 30, my Dad died of non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. In July of that year, he was practically given a clean bill of health after a battle with prostate cancer, and then in November, he suddenly became feverish with intense sweats. His lymph nodes were like a couple of walnuts. They were removed and they told him he had non-Hodgkins Lymphoma with an agrressive cancer. He underwent chemo, and seemed to be slowly regaining his strength, but at some point, his vital signs began to slowly decline until he died peacefully in his sleep.
    Since that time, we have kept his memory alive in many ways, and when we were in Medina this past Christmas, I could feel him smiling down on all of us as we talked and laughed with Mom. I don’t think you ever stop missing your loved ones when they pass on, so what we all do is to honor him in everything we do, because we know he’s there with all of us.
    From what you say, it sounds like you are doing the same thing, and I’m sure she is smiling down on you and your family with pride.
    Good luck! 🙂

  5. Bon December 27, 2004 at 3:39 pm

    Bon –
    I tried several times to post a comment but my computer doesn’t want to cooperate (no matter how many times I log in, it says “you must first log in. Log in here.”) ……
    ………. but just know that I know. I think it “gets easier” in that we don’t still grieve round the clock, but that it “never gets easier” in that the grief continues to pop up, either in the expected (for me it’s Christmas [when she was diagnosed], May [when she died] and August [her birthday]), or the unexpected … like sometimes when I get stressed out and have a problem or have exciting news and all of a sudden I burst into tears because “I want my mommy!” I had the hardest freaking time getting the ball rolling with this wedding, and I had a few moments of panic as I tried to figure out WHY I was so reluctant to start planning something that I’d waited so long for … until I realized how deeply I felt her absence. (Geez, I couldn’t even get through typing that without losing it).
    Anyway, as a very wise and dear friend said to me once upon a time: “Let yourself feel it. Think of the alternative. It’s so much better to be able to feel than to shut down and not feel anything.” (Which, over the course of my very raw grief, got boiled down to “It’s better to feel.”)
    Much love and many hugs,
    Tracy 🙂