It's weird how you mark time after a tragedy or significant event, Sunday was one month since my mom died. It doesn't feel like it's been a month, but then also, it does. It's strange because now for me, Thursday is the day she died and Sunday we buried her and Wednesday was her memorial. I know this will fade over time, but it's still so fresh, so present for me, and I'm not dealing with it well. I wasn't unprepared for her death, but I underestimated the impact it would have. I thought I could handle it, I thought my defenses were in place and I was strong, but I'm floundering.
I miss her a lot, much more than I thought I would. I call her cell phone just to listen to her voicemail greeting; I don't want to have it turned off because then even this tiny little part of her will go away too. A friend of hers wrote that Mom was one of her "anchorwomen," someone who kept her grounded, who was always there, and now she's gone. What happens when you lose your anchor? You're adrift, it's hard to stay stable.
I'm suffering because there were things I still wanted to do with her, because I thought there was more she wanted to do. I guess both of us thought we had more time. And I wonder, if she had a grandchild, would she have treated herself better? Sought treatment sooner? Had more of a reason to live? So there's guilt, and anger, and regret. And questions remain, with no answers.