Today, I had a very bad idea to use an online calculator to figure out how long it’s been since I received the call that your battle was over. I’ll be honest, the sight of the cold, hard truth has left me extremely overwhelmed. Did you realize that it’s been 6 years, 7 months, 29 days (or 2433 days) since your body decided “enough is enough”? So much has happened, but then again, maybe not much has changed.
I still haven’t crossed paths with that cemetery where they claim your bones were laid. I don’t have any plans to go. That wasn’t what you wanted, you wanted to be cremated. So out of respect, I stand in protest.
Remember when you made me promise to find myself? Surprise, surprise–I still don’t know who I am or where I am going. In fact, I spend most days trying to carefully package my personality to be “acceptable” to people. The irony is that people still don’t “get” me even with the semi-upbeat veneer. Who am I fooling? On that same day, you told me to watch after my older sisters because in your eyes I could handle your impending demise. The problem was (as it still remains): who will look out for me?
The most important thing that hasn’t changed is that I’m still not over us. I feel like I’m in a one-sided relationship in which you don’t want me anymore but I cling to hope that one day you will take me back. How do I live without letting the memories of the life we shared not eat away at my daily existence? How do I love myself when every time I catch a glimpse of my reflection I see you…you with all your bad habits and behavior but if I stare juuuust long enough, I see the good. And it makes me so sad. How do I live and not forget you when it feels like everyday I lose yet another piece of you?
Mommy, did you realize it has been 6 years, 7 months, 29 days (or 2433 days) since the 4am call? I hope you still recognize me. Admittedly, I am envious of mothers who work hard to build their children’s self esteem but there’s always one thing you have done very well: you embraced me as a flawed human being. So on days like this when I miss you and our silly conversations, I know that it’s okay to let my eyes leak like a broken faucet all night if I have to. You didn’t love me because I was perfect, you loved me because I was me. I hope you still do, wherever you are.
Your chicken (#3 that is)