When will I stop tallying the days, weeks, and months since she left us?
As I sat through my daughter’s dance class, my gaze was distant, oblivious to the concerned looks from the instructor at the desk I had unknowingly occupied. My mind drifted back to that fateful moment in my mother’s hospice room, where I had spent ten long days at her side, hoping she would let go of the frail body that had once held so much life. It struck me that it had been exactly one week since she took her last breath—a moment that took my heart anew, as dementia had already stolen her essence long before.
Fast forward two weeks and four days later, we finally coaxed my father into joining us for a pizza dinner—a family favorite. As we settled at the table for five, a pang of grief hit when my dad remarked, “Jean would have loved that salad.” She was everywhere, yet life marched on, indifferent to our sorrow.
One month and two days later, we gathered to celebrate my dad’s 84th birthday—the first without my mother in over sixty years. At the Chinese buffet, a somber mood lingered, though the children’s laughter was a bittersweet reminder of innocence untouched by grief.
Another month and nine days passed, and during a conference in Baltimore, I reached for my phone to share my day with Mama. Instead, my father answered, momentarily catching me off guard before I shifted gears to discuss the rental car and journey.
Two months and twelve days after our loss, my daughter and I attended a birthday party bursting with joy. As the birthday girl blew out her candles, I felt my daughter inch closer, wrap her tiny arms around my neck, and whisper, “I miss Nana.”
Three months post-loss, memories still tug at my heartstrings, eliciting both tears and smiles. Friends have stopped asking how we’re holding up, satisfied with the “I’m fine” responses of the past. We finally completed the wheelchair ramp that Mama would have needed; now it stands as support for my father, whose steps are slower and whose posture is more stooped. The end of a 60-year love story has left him fragile, unprepared for such a farewell.
As Thanksgiving and Christmas approach, we brace ourselves for the emotional hurdles ahead, attempting to mask our feelings while celebrating with family and friends, some of whom we haven’t seen since her passing. Each encounter will be a stark reminder that life has changed irrevocably.
When will I cease counting the days, weeks, and months since my mother departed?