I recall a day earlier this year, when my mother’s upcoming death was a certainty but not imminent, that she and I spent an entire afternoon in her closet, as she picked things out for me to try on (we were always the same size in absolutely everything).
When my children were born (especially that first one), I moved from one understanding of life and how it lived to another. My perspective shifted. I was the same person living a new reality. Let’s not get too sentimental, though.
I woke up in the middle of the night with my mother on my mind. No, I wasn’t dreaming about her (I haven’t yet, I don’t think). But I was having trouble regulating my body temperature (too warm despite the air conditioning) and awoke thinking about the advice my mom had given me about menopause.
My stepdad told me he is doing a lot better these days (even though he’s never once admitted to doing badly). He said this at the very same moment that he was choking on tears. And I totally get that. I’m doing a lot better too, except when there’s a giant lump in my throat and my eyes are stinging.
Okay, I’ve been holding back on this one for a while. But I’ve been receiving condolences now for over four weeks. Every single day, no exaggeration. These days, it may be just one or two people in a twenty-four hour period.