It creeps up on me in unexpected ways. I'd think that I was actually coping very well, and then suddenly, the tendrils of memory reach out and twine themselves around me, taking my breath away with the bittersweet sadness of it all.
I miss my mother. So much. It has now been 230 days. At times her memory is so bright and clear and sharp that I half-believe for a few moments that she is just a phone call or a text message away, that she will tell me what she had for dinner, or what she saw at the mall, or watched on TV. And yet some reminiscences are soft and blurry around the edges, and I have to focus to catch these fleeting vignettes -- her touching concern when my sister or I would be sick, the way she would send an SMS just saying "Hi".
After seeing her bravely face the "Big C", keeping as positive an outlook as possible the whole time, we all kept on praying and hoping that she would emerge victorious. But medicine had its limits, and her prognosis worsened. From praying for a full recovery, we eventually included asking for a peaceful transition from this Life to the Next.
I am very, very thankful that the latter was granted to us. That we, her family, were there with her in her last moments, hopefully helping ease her passing, if even for a second.
Christmas was "her" holiday. It was from her that I got my love of gift-giving and holiday decorations and Christmas songs. Of shiny wrapping paper and twinkling lights.
This Christmas was the first one we spent without her. A lot of the traditions continued -- putting up the Christmas tree and other ornaments, looking for the perfect presents, placing the red/green tablecloth on the table, the Christmas lunch with the family.
On the surface everything seemed to be unchanged. And yet things were never going to be the same again. For my father, for my sister, for me. And for the numerous lives she has touched over the years.
Life goes on. I miss her still.
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