It's painful.
Like a thousand needles stabbing every inch of your body simultaneously. You wake up on this day feeling so helpless, almost dead, and all you want to do is let the pain take over. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing the pain would go away. You wonder what it must feel like - a day without this pain; you wonder if you will ever wake up without this feeling ever again.
As you climb out of bed, every joint seems to ache a thousand times more than usual. Your eyes well up and you sigh, trying to fight the tears. You peek out the window. It's sunny and windy. Women are walking down the sidewalk wearing pink, pushing strollers, holding hands, receiving bouquets. You close your eyes to blink and a tear escapes.
You avoid any reminders of what day it is, because the more you think about it and the more you witness things, the stronger the pain feels. Instead of needles, it's knives - sharp knives penetrating every inch of your heart.
You feel guilty for feeling such pain because you know there are others out there who are experiencing worse things in life. You know that life goes on - you've managed to survive so far - but today is the day that the sea of pink triggers the painful reminders, and the family brunches remind you of everything you have lost. And you think, today, I'm allowed to feel this way.
Today, I had no Mother's Day brunch or family dinner. I didn't participate in the Race for the Cure. Instead, I spent today by myself, avoiding all things Facebook, Twitter, pink and the Art Museum area because it all bears painful reminders of what others get to celebrate and cherish and what I have lost.
Each year it gets tougher and tougher, and the friend I wish would help me through this day, doesn't even acknowledge what today represents for me.
My heart aches.
All the time.
Every day.
A pink balloon
For my mother, on Mother's day.
Keep watching over me...
Logging you in...
This is heartbreaking. I'll be honest and say I wanted to invite you over with me to spend time with my mother, however, I felt that it would be more of a heartbreaking reminder than a kind gesture. People forget that mother's day has a whole different set of people -- children who have lost mothers and mothers who have lost children.
ReplyDeleteKeep going strong, as you always have, and you'll get through, as you always will.
I made that shit up. Write it down, it's a good one.
You have completely nailed the essence of beautiful brokenness. You are an amazing writer... she is most definitely looking down and smiling. Proud.
ReplyDeleteBest,
Hannah Katy
This is so touchingly arresting. Your words made me stop in my tracks... I am offering a moment of silence in remembrance of your mom and anyone out there who has lost a mother or child. There aren't enough hugs in the world to make up for this, but know that your words really reached me.
ReplyDeleteI stayed inside all day, trying to lose myself and the day. I attempted to ignore facebook and twitter bc each post was a reminder that she was gone. I got a txt from a good friend who lost his mom about a month before mine. He called me "another half orphan". I wish we didn't share that bond.
ReplyDeleteI'll be going through the same thing on Father's Day, so I can feel you-as much as anybody can know anybody's pain.
ReplyDeleteIt will never stop, ever-but I think it fades. I hope it does. Or we learn to cope, somehow.
F.Scott Fitzgerald wrote that a broken person is like a cracked plate- you can glue the plate back together, and it will do all the things a plate is supposed to do-but it will never be the same plate again.
Here's to you. Good luck.
This made me cry at my desk. It's a horrible thing that you've had to go through, not once but twice. I constantly admire your strength and am in awe. My heart goes out to you, everyday.
ReplyDelete