It’s Friday again.
For many, Friday brings a sigh of relief. It’s the end of the work and school week, the beginning of the weekend. Time to relax, to be at home with family, to spend time with friends. Fridays are the beginning of something great.
Fridays have changed for me. They are now the day that I wake up and I count. I count how many weeks its been since Mom died. Morbid, maybe, but that’s my first thought as soon I realize it’s Friday. Today is 12 weeks. It’s been 3 months since we had to say goodbye.
It’s been a little over 3 months since I had a conversation with my mom – that is mind-blowing to me. When she was alive, if I went longer than a week without talking to her, it meant that I was annoyed with her, I was doing something that I knew would annoy her, or she was literally out of the country and out of reach.
If I think of how many times over the past three months I have thought, “oh, I should tell Mom that” or “I need to ask Mom about that”, man – it was a fulltime job being my mom. Because whenever I used to think that, I would call Mom. Pretty much every time. That was a lot of time on the phone. And she never wavered – “It’s ok, hon – you call anytime.”
I’m realizing now the enormity of my relationship with my mom – what a massive part of my life she was. At the same time, I’m adjusting. Starting to figure out what life without Mom looks like.
Last month we had Dad come over for supper to celebrate the boys’ graduation from college and there was an awful moment that it struck me that it was becoming normal, having just Dad come over. I literally stopped and was horrified with myself – how can this be normal?
Today I turned my family calendar to July to find a page full of pictures from the cabin. Looking at the pictures – one of Dad with my little nephew, Dad standing by the BBQ – it also looked normal. This calendar was made last fall, with last year’s pictures – just so happens to be that Mom isn’t in the pictures. She was there for all of them. But again, it looked a little normal for a minute.
I don’t know how to feel about this. I go between being absolutely horrified with myself – how I could I possibly think this is normal! – and thinking maybe this is what healing looks like. I don’t know what this means – the number of times I still catch myself grabbing my phone to text Mom is monumental, yet I’m getting used to having just Dad.
Just another stage on the journey of grief, I guess. For now, what I know for sure, is that it’s Friday again and I’m still counting.