I received news this weekend that an ex-pat friend of mine in Paris had lost her mother back in states. I've been thinking a lot about her these last few days. Another friend of mine once told me that once you lose someone close to you, you relive your own loss when it happens to someone else. Consequently, I've been thinking about my own mother a lot these past few days, too.
Today marks six months since my mom passed away. Mourning my mother isn't something I've blogged about for a number of reasons. For one, it's not really what this blog is about. For another, I think sometimes that it's too personal, this grieving. Finally, I think, in the beginning, anyway, it was just too damn hard to talk about.
I spent the first four months replaying the day she died in my head every night when I went to bed. Some nights, I was able to turn it off, like a television. Most nights, I couldn't. I sleep better now, but sometimes something happens that affects me like a smack in the face. For example, when we were packing up for the move, I ran across a picture I'd forgotten I had, of Mom and me and Steph. It was such a shock that I cried over it for half an hour. I've put it up in the living room. She looks radiant in it.
Another friend, who lost her Dad, told me six months ago that it gets easier with time. That we never stop missing them, but in time, it doesn't hurt so much.
Maybe it does hurt less now, but it still hurts.
And I miss her. Oh god, do I miss her.