When I woke this morning, I reached over to pet Dixie and she immediately jumped off the bed, ever eager as she is to get outside and see what's there and assess if anything is out of place because if there is, by gosh, she's going to bark and bark at whatever it is until she is satisfied that her world is right again. I rolled my eyes, looked at the clock then pulled the covers over my head. I thought of how Cheyenne would always flip over on her back in the mornings, presenting her belly for a nice rub. She'd sometimes fall back asleep and then I would fall back asleep. I wished for that this morning. Just for a moment. A small wish, self-serving. I wanted to sleep deeply and undisturbed.
Six years. It's been six years since my mother passed. A day in the calendar, just a date. I don't mean to even be aware of it but here it is. I miss her. Six years have done nothing to lessen that. I miss her wit and the shape of her hands. I miss her smile and her wisdom, her hand writing and opinions. I miss borrowing her shoes and the way my name sounded in her voice. I miss her being here, alive, present.
Dixie insisted that I get up, and for much of the morning I moped around the house beneath the weight of my sadness and that made me even more sad because it was pathetic. It's not as if this date is a surprise to me and it's not as if she was here yesterday. Then again, I can't control how I feel and I cannot control wanting to crawl under the covers on this day. What I can control though is the mess that I let my house get over the weekend. Dixie dragged dirt and sticks inside, the clean laundry was overflowing, the kitchen, oh dear the kitchen was a disaster of messy counters, a dishwasher that was full of clean dishes and a sink that was full of dirty dishes. So I got busy. And while that didn't make me feel good, it did make me stop moping.
I miss my mom. I will always miss her. There's less struggle inside me trying to resolve the woman I knew and loved with the woman who was angry, confused and unraveled by dementia. I counted on time to help me there and it has and for that I am relieved. Still, today, by the date, is a sad one for me. It is a marker of how much time has passed, the worst of anniversaries.