Griefaries: Ten

I've been considering the concept of death anniversaries lately.  This time of year generally reminds me the most of Mom, just because the holidays were really nothing without her (something I've only come to learn since being forced to live without her).

Technically, Mom hasn't been gone for five years yet. We're only (somehow actually *already*) at four and some change years missing her. But none of this is true, thanks to the fickleness of time or perhaps the way we've all been taught to count it.

We are already living through our fifth year without her.  The fifth year started the day after her death anniversary - August 15, 2024- was the fifth August 15 that passed by without Mom.

This Thanksgiving was already our fifth one without her.

Christmas will be our fifth one without her.

We will begrudgingly enter the technical fifth year without her.  The fifth New Year celebration where Mom has missed the ball drop.  Where we don't ring in the next chapter together.

Where she's still gone.

I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to realize that we're experiencing time this way.  Perhaps it's because the fifth year is a milestone year.

There's surviving the first year.

Then somehow you've blinked and reached five.

Tomorrow I'll wake up and it'll be the tenth anniversary.

Perhaps in two weeks I'll be 35 and teaching my kids all about their grandma they never met.

Perhaps in four months, I'll be retiring.

Perhaps tomorrow I wake up and it's actually tomorrow.  It will really be December 9, 2024.  The fifth December 9 I experienced without my mom.

A day that, previously, held zero importance.  A day that, post her death, still holds zero importance.

Aside from the fact that every single day is a day spent missing her.

I was talking with Heather recently about how I used to have to squat down so far just to hug Mom because she was a few inches shorter than all of us.

I would give anything for another deep-squat hug.

I would give up all the holidays because what are they without her magic anyway?

I would give anything to hear her speak our weird language again.

I would give up every tomorrow to relive just one day with her.

Time is a thief.  My recent realization somehow manages to steal time from me before it's even gone.

Mom has not even been gone for five whole years yet...

And yet she has, hasn't she?

Gone, gone, gone.

Missing another wedding anniversary.

Missing another Easter.

Another Memorial Day.

Another Mother's Day.

Her own birthday.

Then her death date comes and goes, the same as every single day before it, only much heavier and more melancholic.

Out with the fifth, and in with the sixth.

The seventh.

Eighth.

Ninth.

I can't even fathom double digits.  I can hardly swallow the truth of the present.

I swear you were just here.   I swear we were all just sitting together in Grandma's living room, listening to the too-loud TV and talking over the volume to decide which fast food to grab for dinner.  I swear I just talked to you.  I swear August 13, 2020, was just yesterday and you were still alive.  You weren't feeling well, and I had naively assumed you would recover like you always did, but you were alive.

I swear the very early morning of August 14, 2020, was just yesterday and not four whole years ago.  You can't possibly have been gone for this long already...  How has it been so long?

I prefer to hide in the past where you once were - that was when I was happiest.

I miss you terribly.  I love you forever and ever and even longer after that.

You are my star 🌟💙