susan and mom june 2023

 

One Year. Three hundred sixty-five days since the most challenging time of my life ended. Only to usher in a new ache.

Watching Mom deteriorate so quickly from cancer, caring for her for weeks with hospice’s guidance. She left us before she took her last breath, so the finality of her passing in the early morning of 17 March 2023 came with a sense of relief that she was at peace along with unbearable loss.

When I finally left Pennsylvania and returned to Maine, it took months to shake the fog of loss and find interest in anything. At times, it was possible to forget that she was gone. Then, a flash out of the blue of “I need to call Mom.” Or “It’s been a bit, I haven’t talked to Mom lately.” Or waking from a nap only to realize the phone call was a dream.

The heavy blanket of grief has been replaced with a veil of sorrow, which sometimes feels unbearable. My creativity has faded, coming in fits and starts. My motivation is hit or miss. Each first without her hurts—my birthday, Mother’s Day, her birthday, Christmas, and today.

Grief comes out of the blue. I can be rolling along just fine, busy with work, family, critters, and trips to Dad’s – and then it hits. I’ve found that trying to stay busy to keep the feelings at bay doesn’t really work. The grief waits for those moments when my mind is free before swooping in, often in the middle of the night.

Three hundred sixty-five days – how can it have gone by so quickly and yet feel like a lifetime?

Love you, Mom.