It's been two months since she died. Sixty long and painfully distorted days. How does one go on without their mother? Even though I do so, I do not know the answer to that question. Even though I make strides in my own life, though I have experienced laughter and have worked with focus, I turn to her voice, I pause to move a wisp of her hair from her forehead. I hear her at night, hear her calling for help, my memory of those nights making me sit up at her need.
Sixty days is an eternity. Sixty days is but a single thought in time. The days, the days, the days, stacking atop each other into weeks and now she's been gone for two months. How is it possible, this passing of time when no one is looking, this passing of time when I struggle to see her face, the shine of her cinnamon eyes?
How long it has been since I put my fingers through her hair, touched her cheek, told her I loved her. How long it has been since I said Mom out loud, since she said my name, since she said, I love you too.
3 comments:
i first thought of a ferris bueller qoute but decided it was not fitting.
praying for you,sis.
There are no words at a time like this but know that you are wished well on your journey.
It's hard to believe it's already been two months. Hugs to you, Alison.
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