8/20/23

An anniversary. A commemoration. A mourning. A celebration.

Burdensome. Meaningful. Hollow. Shocking. Special. Absurd. Lonely.

After the initial shock of loss, the remembering is the worst part of grieving. Feeling obligated to commemorate, to celebrate, to mourn in a way that is publicly acceptable—and to do that on one or two days a year to prove that you care. But not too often or else people will just tell you to move on—is unrealistic, un-human.

I miss my mother in small moments on random days, and a lot of times it feels like it would be better to forget than remember.

But her impact on me is resurrected by a box of Coco Wheats, beach-themed wallart, the smell of warm sauerkraut, "Margaritaville" and "Anticipation," overwatered cacti, spotless countertops, Dove dark chocolates, raspberries, and so much more that I forget until I'm reminded.

Sometimes it feels like another person's pain that I'm bearing. To a 27-year-old, five years is a lifetime ago. Or maybe that's just how loss works. It makes every year after a loved one's death feel doubly as difficult and doubly as fortunate.

[from Instagram]