The phrase "My mother always told me to..." has been stuck in my head.
I don't remember anything my mother told me any more. I want to talk to people about her, but I feel unable to ask anyone. I want to talk to my mother about her college years. Who she was friends with, what she liked to eat, where she hung out. I want to know who she would have wanted me to be and what I should strive for. I still feel like an 11 year old girl, who has been given "text books" to life, sent to counseling, and now I have to wander my way through life. I still feel like the girl who sat on her floor, back against her bed, and wish for anything to bring her mother back.
Grief is something that never goes away. It is this obstacle that you will face every day; the speed bump at the end of your driveway that you hit every time you leave the house. The first hundred times you will hit the bump either too fast or too slow, bringing it to your attention. Soon, it becomes habit to go the correct speed every time. You notice the bump, but you lean in to it; you respect it. Daily, I am reminded of the hollowness I felt realizing that my mother would never speak to me again, but I know how to ride that feeling for the next 5 minutes until I feel normal again. I don't know why counselors tell you that the feeling will go away. It won't. Do not expect it to.
I was given a book on super natural ways that parents (or children) reached out to their loved ones through reoccurring events or guardian warnings. Examples like "A stray cat showed up on the anniversary of my husband's death", or "she moves my keys back to the hook, even when I don't put them there", riddled the book.
My grandmother (Mom's mom) collected pennies believing my mother was leaving them for her. I thought my mother was leaving me dead butterflies (I used to collect them) when I lived in Tulsa. Now, it's pennies EVERYWHERE. My grandmother (mother's mother) passed away last winter and it's like she and my mother are littering them around me. I am scared to collect them, because it would mean admitting I believe in this stuff still.
Which I don't.
I know that is nonsense.
That is bologna.
but all these damn pennies.
Orchid is refusing to blooms. I am optimistic for blossoms in August.
Found out a lot of my readers are in Russia? Hey guys! What's that like?
