The intensity with which I miss him surprises me, much like so many other pieces of whatever this is.
Confusing and overwhelming, I am unable to explain it all, and have somewhat given up on trying. I can focus on the twelve hundred miles between us. I can think of possibilities, both good and bad.
Last night, he said that in ten years, the memory of our first morning together would still be one of the predominant memories of his life. I didn’t know how to take that. I’m elated that he might think of me just as fondly in ten years. I wonder if he thinks of some future version of us, or if that day is just imprinted. I worry that the only part of him I’ll have that many years from now are the memories.
I didn’t write a post last year on the holiday. It was a painful one, but I felt like I’ve said everything I have to say until I’m blue in the face.
Last year was my sister’s first. This year, she has a second child. It’s also a rough day for her, it seems, as she adjusts to life with two little ones.
I am trying not to feel sorry for myself. I try to remember there will come a year when I’m grieving my mother and think of those who’ve lost theirs, recently or otherwise. I try to remember those I know who are mothers but who happen to be having a tough year. There are also those still in the thick of hoping motherhood is only eluding them temporarily.
I am grateful for the friends who think of me. I am happy to get to talk to my mother. I am relieved that I’m not having to hide my oversensitivity.