Has it really been a year?

Photo credit: https://www.pexels.com/photo/grayscale-photography-of-woman-2297667

It’s been a year since my mom passed away. Even as I stare at those words I’ve written, it feels surreal. I still feel the same numbness and shock I felt that day and 12 months later I am still searching for some kind of closure and acceptance so I can move forward in some way.

Losing someone is hard, but losing someone unexpectedly an hour after you saw them is beyond devastating. My last text from her, twenty minutes before her heart took its last beat, was a picture of her hospital dinner – a hamburger with mustard – and a sarcastic “yum.” My mother wasn’t dying, and that is what has made this year that much harder.

I know I will never get the answers to the questions I have and the only thing I can do is try to move forward, but it’s hard to when it still doesn’t feel real. I’m still waiting to awaken from this terrible nightmare that I just can’t get to end.

I turned 40 earlier this year. I went to bed that night and a few minutes later my phone had a new voicemail message. It hadn’t rung, just a notification of a new voicemail message. I picked up my phone and saw the screen – Mom Cell – Voicemail. Shaken, I played the message, one from two years ago that never came to me of my mom calling to say Happy Birthday. I have no doubt that wasn’t some Verizon blip, that message was my mom.

As I sat down to write this, a spider crawled on my arm. My mother’s fear of spiders was like nothing I’ve ever seen. Granted, I don’t care for them either, but over the past 12 months, I’ve grown more tolerant. When I see a spider now, I stop and pause. Spiders have become my little messengers from my mom. (I’m sure she would not like knowing that.) Their creepy little bodies carry with them memories of my mother in her purest form – uncensored and unreserved. My grandmother looks for cardinals as her messengers, but it’s the spiders I notice.

From her death, I have learned valuable lessons in forgiveness, love, and strength. I hope she smiles as she watches my daughter grow up and keeps sending us spiders to let us know she’s there. (The small kind though.) I hope she watches me helping people and is proud of what I am doing and is happy I found something I love.

Most of all, I hope this year brings some closure and acceptance for our family.