I sat down to blog last week, because it had been so long since the last time I’d done it. I remember writing something about responsible website owners and how they update often and how I don’t even update on a monthly basis, it would appear. I wrote about my anniversary and how much fun Levi and I had had. I wrote about our lunch, it was delicious.
But… none of those things felt right to write about. But what is right to write about?
I don’t want to write about the seemingly infinite sadness I’ve fallen into, the tears I cry when I think about never seeing my mother again, the fact that I share more text messages with my husband than actual words these days, and my inability to get out of bed until noon. It’s not all sadness, I have good days but even on my good days there is always something to remind me of everything I’ve lost. Nothing seems right anymore.
I think the worst thing is how people react when I talk about my mother, how they cringe and squirm as if they want to avoid something uncomfortable. I’m not uncomfortable, why should they be? My mother was a very happy person. I hope that one day, like her, I’ll be able to still laugh and find happiness in the little things even with all of the shit that life finds a way to fling. I hope that one day I will be able to be as amazing as my mother was. I hope that one day I’ll be able to talk and joke about my mother without the apologies and condolences and prayers and thoughts.
A week or two ago I found the receipt from my mother’s funeral.
On the bottom is printed “THANK YOU!!! PLEASE COME AGAIN!!!”