Well, here goes.
As the calendar speeds closer and closer to the one year anniversary of my mother's death, I become both more agitated and more quiet inside.
I shall confess here to a little magical thinking - when the year is up... POOF! I will be able to take off my figurative "widow weeds" and move on.
The difference in the grieving process between my parents is so...well, different. Silly me for thinking they would be the same.
The edge of grief that is my father's death is dull and rarely causes pain anymore. Could it be because his, though sudden, was expected? He had an incurable cancer, there was no question it would kill him. Maybe it's because it's been 13 years.
Just yesterday, the song "Addicted to Love" came over the airwaves while I was shopping and it made me smile - because my dad knew and liked that song from his late nights watching VH1.
My mother's march to death was sad and slow and destroyed every bit of the person she used to be.
This grief regularly dropkicks me.
At the costume jewelry section in Kohl's, at restaurants where we used to eat, sometimes passing neighborhoods we used to drive through looking at houses.
Boston Terriers. Beaded Christmas ornaments. Cookie books. The smell of coconut custard. Jello salad. Barbie dolls. Old school script handwriting. Fabric stores. Tea with milk. When I'm driving (Your father would have gone then.).
Everywhere. Every day.
