Made it to December Mom.
Without you there’s a hole.
Without you there’s a focus, an obsession of your absence in this day, every day.
Sitting in the corner, with no one to talk too, I’m reminded of your far too soon departure in our physical world. I still don’t know who I’m suppose to call when all you want to talk too is your mom, who is “second best”?
Sitting here hearing the voices of other moms makes me yearn for the last time I heard yours.
Hugging other people’s moms, wishing they were you. Wishing they said something to me that you’d say, or I’d flashback to your most beautiful smile. Or anything that would happen that I could force into a spiritual reason how it possibly could have been tied back to you trying to connect to me here. This is hard.
Seeing portraits with families of moms makes me feel envious that they still get to love theirs.
Theres so much love I loathe to give you, but now you can feel it in my soul.
So many moments of looking in space, hoping to go back to a time where I was happiest. It was the last day I had you.
My grief is a ball inside a box.
Today my box is smaller, emotions large. but I’ll get through today without your physical presence, and tomorrow the box may be a little bigger.
The larger the box, the less often your ball of grief hits the walls of your emotions. Frequency only changes, intensity of your feelings will not.
Point is, we made it halfway through the first Christmas without you. Not by choice, because we have to stay in the sun. We have to be the sun.
Be the light for me to shine, help me. Guide me.