Does It Get Any Better?

Perhaps this will happen every year as the anniversary of Mom's passing approaches. And on Christmas. And her birthday. And Easter. And Halloween. And my birthday. And the kid's birthdays. And every other day of any significance at all. Perhaps I will have a mini-breakdown each time. In two days, it will officially be two years since I laid eyes on my mom. And a bit longer since I had a  conversation with her. My heart hurts like it was yesterday, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Healthy or not, I try to block out a lot of the bad stuff that happened in the end. But sometimes, like tonight, it comes flooding into my mind and my heart and I struggle to fight the tears. And ultimately I lose. I've been asked a few times, by folks who have experienced a loss more recent than mine, "does it get any better?".  After almost two years, I just dried the tears on my cheeks, because I made the mistake of looking at some old pictures. I've got to tell ya....I just don't know an honest answer to that question.


There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of her. Not one. But with the distractions that day to day life brings and having 4 kids to keep me running from school to gymnastics to soccer, I don't cry nearly as much as I did in the beginning. Actually, I don't cry that much at all. That sting in my heart is most of the time non existent. Although I have noticed that, still, when I do something for the first time, or first few times, since she has been gone, the sting is alive and well. Like going to David's Grocery. It is the place where I went to see mom most everyday of the week at one point. I don't live close to Davids and since she has been gone my visits have been very few and far between. Going in there absolutely kills me. I love the place like an old friend or a sweet family member. But walking in that door dredges up some tough stuff that sends a debilitating ache right through me. The drive to Taylorsville is another thing. Most every week mom and I (and eventually the kids too) would make that trip. Every tree, house, sign, and anything else along the way is a reminder of all those countless rides to see Papaw and the aunts. I recently made the trip for only the third or fourth time since she has been gone. It was borderline impossible to keep my focus on the road as my mind tried to wander to a brighter day with her in the passenger seat. I know it will make me sound crazy, but sometimes I let myself get there on purpose. I mean, if everything falls into place just so, I get that feeling. That old feeling of her being here and everything being ok. It's kind of like I trick myself into forgetting she is gone. Sometimes, turning down her road can get me there...I can make that turn and if I'm lucky, I forget and all of a sudden I'm about to drive up and see her on the porch. It's a bit of a high that I love to indulge in from time to time. Coming down is fast and hard and torturous. But I get to feel her for just a second, and it's totally worth it. That feeling is getting harder and harder to come by, as her absence is becoming more and more the norm. Ah her absence. It's thick and heavy and deafening. It's too much sometimes. Like the stark silence that makes you hear the maddening and relentless ringing in your ears. Sometimes in my moments of over analytical craze, I wonder if she was ever even here. Did I just imagine this sweet and precious person? Did she really exist? It feels so long since I saw her and really felt her, it's hard to believe that she was ever actually here and was a huge part of my definition in life. That she was here and was my absolute best friend in the world. That we talked several times everyday. That we argued and gave each other the silent treatment and then made up. That we went shopping and giggled and just loved. Was it real? Then I remind myself, no extent of the wildest imagination could create the sheer beauty that was the bond between me and my mom. And there it is, the sting again. The sting, but wrapped in gratitude.


I don't know about you, but I don't want the sting to ever fully go away. To numb my feelings is to remove love from my life. And what is life without love? I want to always remember her. I want to always feel her in my heart, even if it hurts. I want to see in her the beauty that God gives my eyes to fall upon each day. Unfortunately, hanging on to these luxuries will always be accompanied by some amount of pain. The truth is, (and I'm trying to even convince myself of this as I type), it does get better. Things get a little easier. The sting subsides with time and only rears it's ugly head to remind us that we had something really incredible in this life. I assume the triggers for this will lessen more and more as each day passes. The sights, and smells and sounds that bring on vivid daydream type memories will eventually just give us a feeling of warmth and perhaps a twinge of sadness, but ultimately forge a smile on our face because we know how blessed we are to have such precious memories in the first place. If only for a limited amount of time, we had them. I had her.




How much better can it get?