It’s one of those weeks where everything that could go right actually did. Workshops I was stressing over. Nailed them. New relationships I am trying to foster. They are coming along just fine. Boundaries I am trying to clarify and keep clarified. Work in progress. An overall good week.
Then the guilt of living in the moment washes over me like ice water. A rude awakening; my mother is gone two months and it seems like life has miraculously gone back to “normal.” Fall and another new school year is nigh.
I’m scared that I will one day wake up without her being the first thing I think of. I’m scared that the pain I harbor in my heart will one day be a distant thought. I’m scared her presence in my life will one day be dimmed by time’s movement. I never want to wake up or go to sleep and forget her absence. That my random tears will no longer flow at the mere thought of her name.
It is a fear we who have lost carry with us each day. That their life will be a mere ripple in our existence. This fear of forgetting, it grips and refuses to let go.