Tuesday, October 27, 2015

The paralysis of being 2 years out

Because words don't seem to be today's thing:


I love you. I miss you. My heart feels clogged and stuffy when I allow myself to notice that you are no longer here.

I feel your presence in the very core of my being; you are in everything, you are here and present even as time marches farther from your physical manifestation.
And so I feel supported and loved as though nothing has changed, until I stop for a half a second.

Until I think of something perfect I just know you'd love to hear.

Until I find news that may help you somehow.

And I can't reach out to share.
I can't call, or text, or talk your ear off as I always did.
I can't hug, or tease, or comfort you and I can't subject you to my latest culinary experimentation...
In those moments, in those moments my heart breaks.

Part of me doesn't want to thrive anymore. Part of me wants to just stop and go find mom. Part of me thinks it's unfair for you to miss the best parts of my life, so I shouldn't strive for more than the wonderful things I have now.

But I also know that the part of you that refused to die because "Kate won't be Ok" would be hurt beyond belief if I gave up. That the part of you that gave up so much in the name of motherhood and giving your kids the best life had to offer would be offended, that your determination to do everything well would feel betrayed, were the child you raised to stop striving for her own goals and dreams, didn't jump at opportunity...

And really, I don't want to stop, I don't want to settle or lose my connection to my own children, even if they are harnessed to the breakneck speed of life and there is no looking back. 

But I miss you something fierce, mama, and I wish I could still have you here with me, and we could get to see the kooky old lady you were always supposed to become.

Mom & Hazel