Tomorrow is March 13. It's just another day. Really, it is. But I have been in a funky mood today and, truthfully, have wanted to do nothing but curl up in the fetal position. And I have a strong suspicion that it has something to do with tomorrow being the anniversary of my Mom's death.
I have written on here before about this particular day not being harder than any other day without her. Every day is a day that I cannot ask her for a recipe, or call her on the way home from work or share with her my favorite new song. Every day is a day that I wish I had my Mom to help me sew window treatments or to put the trivial challenges of my life into perspective. It is another day that I look at my boys and wish that she would be able to know them, and love them, and sew cool stuffed animals for them like she did for so many of my friends' children. Every day is just that. Another day without her.
But, when chatting with my friend Amy the other day, we discussed how the children she adopted from Ethiopia were experiencing some behavior changes as they approached the time of their mother's death. We talked about how children who don't even know that the anniversary may be coming seem to instinctively sense it... as if some cyclical force somehow reminded them-- even subconsciously-- of their loss.
All I know is that I have indeed been in a funk today. I miss her. I miss her calling and telling me to "put the rolls in!" when they were approaching our house around dinnertime. I miss the way she would call me "Kate-a-la" when she needed me or the silly box of newspaper clippings she'd always have waiting on us when we'd go for a visit. I miss all of it.
Tomorrow is just another day. But, for some reason, my heart hurts more than usual.
Today, tomorrow, and every day...I miss you, Mom.
Today, tomorrow, and every day...I miss you, Mom.
3 comments:
Here's what my adoption book says on the matter:
"How a person's mind and body keep track of an anniversary of trauma on a weekly or yearly schedule is not completely understood. But anniversary reactions are an accepted phenomenon among clinicians and researchers who study trauma. "
Praying for you this evening, friend! Love you!
Sweet Katie,
When I awoke this a.m. I immediately thought of Pat. I'd not read your blog until this evening, but somehow I knew what it would pertain to. Just know that she is loved and missed by many...nrb
I know exactly how you feel about your Mom. I too have lost my Mother and miss her terribly. She has been gone for 18 years now. But, still I miss her so much. Especially on certain days, like her birthday or the anniversary of her death, which also happens to be my birthday.
My son was nine years old when she died, he was very close to her and still is able to remember her and some of the special things that they did together.
My daughter was born after her death, so she only knows of my Mom through what I or others have told her.
I try to share with my daughter stories of my Mother as often as I can, and to pass on to her the things my Mom passed on to me.
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