As it's been pointed out to me by folks who seem to think they know far more than I do about the healing process and my relationship with my mother and even my father - I am very "lucky to have had her as long as you did;" or "how fortunate you had such a loving relationship with your mother;" or "she would never want you to stay sad."
And while all those statements are so very true, it doesn't change the fact that my best friend is gone and I'm lonely for her.
Still, I made a concerted effort to stay focused, cheerful and positive during this past week...
Until yesterday morning...
My husband and I went to a local hot-spot for breakfast yesterday with some friends and ran into a woman whom immediately began talking about my mother, how sweet she is, how lucky I am, and then asked, "How is she doing?"
I found myself completely blind-sided, a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck. First of all, I honestly did not know who this woman was and second of all, everyone knew my mother has passed away. How could there possibly be anyone who doesn't know?
So, I told her that I had lost Mom.
She was apologetic and said that she didn't know and that if she had known she wouldn't have asked.
No kidding.
Of course, there I am in the middle of the restaurant, crying.
It was the beginning of what became "one of those days," as I then ran into two friends who really are lucky -- they both still have their mothers who are the same age as mine. I was quite jealous, having to excuse myself from them so I could get emotional and then re-group.
Then I tried to go Christmas shopping, where at every turn I saw items that I used to purchase for my mother's gift-giving list.
I'm sure we all have someone like this in our families: someone who faithfully gives the gift of jammies. My mom was that person. She gave all of us new pajamas every year. And for those of us who collect certain things, like my younger sister collects Christmas cookie jars, Mom would also buy an item for their collection.
Because the isles at most stores are packed solid with impulse buys during the holiday season, there's rarely enough space to get a wheelchair through, so mom had opted to stay home during the past two retail seasons. She would give me a list, and I'd shop for her.
Yesterday I found myself reaching for those items as I sauntered through the mall, much like I often find myself reaching for the phone to call and check on her. The pajamas were exactly what she would have wanted me to buy and check off her list. I saw cookie jars and aprons and ballet shoes and more -- all the things mom would give to my siblings and to her grand children.
The cool thing though, pajamas went into my basket. So, for some of the family, pajamas will still be under the Christmas tree this year.
Do I have moments when my breath is taken away because of a sudden memory?
Of course.
Is that wrong?
Nope.
And no one is going to convince me that my healing process should be completed by now. No one is going to convince me that they know what's best for me when it comes to this process of acceptance of loss.
No two people are the same.
Period.
While I was shopping, I found and bought a small, hand-painted sign that reads,
"Mirror, mirror on the wall. I am my mother afterall."
That's not such a bad thing.
Merry Christmas to me.
