It’s been 6 months since you left this earth.

6 months without a mother.

6 months of confusion and chaos.

6 months of unexpected bursts of tears.

6 months of knowing you’re at peace and you can finally rest in the arms of Jesus.

And somehow I’m jealous. I wished I could be there with you and feel your peace. When we were together on this earth, you had so much trauma. So many snakes that crept up and bit you. There was nothing you could do about it. And honestly I can’t blame you for anything anymore. You did the best you could with what you were given.

So many things make sense now. And somehow my emotions are still confused. I miss you but I’m relieved your gone for the sake of your own heart. I know you’re in a better place because this place on earth was hell for you. There were glimpses of joy, and laughter and happiness but all that was between the cracks of the cage you were in.

I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I’m so sorry that I didn’t get to grow old with you. I’m so sorry that you went through the horrible things you went through that I couldn’t understand until you were dead. Why couldn’t I just understand?

I cannot imagine the suffering you endured. I emptiness that consumed you and somehow you managed to not fade altogether.

I am reading the book you had checked out from the library when you died. Summer Rental. It’s good. I’m not really even a reader but I guess I am now. I remember you always reading books piled up on your night stand. I loved that you loved the outdoors and that you weren’t good with technology. And that you truly believed if you slapped the remote against our red couches, somehow it worked better.

Thank you for the freedom you gave us. Thank you for the inspiration you showed us, even though we never accepted it. It sunk in to our cores and we still use it all these years later.

I’m sorry I never visited you. I’m sorry but I’m not. I’m sorry for me, not you. I know you loved me and you know I loved you. We still love each other. The unbreakable bond. Somehow severed, but not lost.

Why is Heaven so far away, yet so close? I can still smell you when I walk into my bedroom on a hot summer day. Because the sun hits the furniture and the wood still smalls like you and it permeates the air.

Dad gave me a picture of you in a frame called Mother of Pearl. It was a sweet gesture but I didn’t want to see your face. It hurts so much. I love feeling your presence but I cannot bare to see your face. It sits on the mantle over the fireplace. It’s the picture of us at the high-school football field when I was nominated for Homecoming Court my freshman year. I looked hideous with the humidity that frizzed my hair. But you looked really good Mom. You weren’t overweight from subbing ice cream for the liquor. And you weren’t frail for subbing liquor for the ice cream. That jacket that I hated that now I can appreciate for its style. And there’s also a picture of Brett & his mom. So Emma decided to put a picture of us up there so that “she had a picture of her mom, too.”

She misses you… Emma. She cries about you. I didn’t realize how much it would affect her, since we haven’t seen you in so long. She says YaYa didn’t get to know the things she liked or her favorite color, I told her you know those things. And I believe you did. You always did good at keeping up with her.

I will forever be grateful for the 2 years we got to live with you, sober. The bugs you and Emma dug up; the dinners you cooked us; the night time ice cream and movie watching; watching you get ready at the vanity that now sits in my room where I get ready.

It is a painful bliss; bittersweet.

To know that you are gone. But to know that you are happy. That like Jesus promised, there’s no more suffering. At least for you.

I miss you.

And I love you so fiercely that it pierces my heart and sometimes takes my breath away.

I know that you would be proud of me. For being bad ass and not giving a shit about what other people think. And being myself which you always told me to do. Because that was extraordinary.

So with a Virginia Slim and a Captain Morgan in mind, I toast to you. I hold my chest and feel my heart beat for you. I take all of the good things and the bad things you taught me, I use them, and I think of you.

This grieving thing has a way of growing on you…

 

B