The worst type of crying wasn’t the kind everyone could see — the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes, the sore throat and burning eyes. No, the worst kind happens when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it. A part of it withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived. – Katie McGarry
I wish someone would have told me that this wasn’t something that would just go away in a few months. I mean, I knew but that was the equivalent of being told that a storm was coming but not knowing how much damage it would cause in its wake.
To be honest with you, this is really hard to talk about because I’m not sure how I am suppose to sound. Does that make sense?
Like, if I told you that I am beginning to hate holidays because they remind me of how my family used to gather together to celebrate them and with her gone, I know that isn’t going to happen anymore… am I wrong to feel that way? Should I be making the effort to take up the mantle and continue the legacy even though pain I feel each time I think about cooking the things that we used to make together brings me tears?
But at the same time wanting to do it to ensure that I don’t lose what she instilled in me. The lessons of the kitchen that she enjoyed being in so much during those holidays. The smile of satisfaction that she wore as she watched us eat, completely content and happy. I can only imagine how that must have felt to her. To see her family at the table like that. It was an perspective that I never really considered. I always thought she was weird to go through all that work and not eat with us.
I mean no one said that when someone that you cherished and loved dies, you don’t lose them in one fatal swoop. It is a gradual and slow process. Pieces of her disappearing right before your very eyes. The obvious phone calls stop and the conversations that you used to have them ceases. Their presence and aura begins to fade from her favorite places in the house. Each passing day comes with realization and the forceful acceptance that this is now an reality without them in it.
And out of now where, just when you think things are returning back to some sort of normalcy, something hits you.
You see something that sparks an memory. You smell something that reminds you of them. Someone says something that takes you back.
The thought is overwhelming and without warning, you feel the tears begin to swell behind your eyes. Today, it was seeing my brother with a plate of food because of the holiday. I ended up crying myself into a small nap and woke up a wreck of emotions because my phone was ringing. It was my grandfather, making his routine call to check up on me. His voice brought me to tears again.
This wound is still fresh and I am learning everyday of the different types of pain it can inflict at a moment’s whim. It the grand scheme of things, April 11th feels like yesterday. The days leading up to her admittance in the hospital weeks ago. The conversations we had about traveling to Las Vegas together still fresh in my mind.
And somehow… I can still smile.
Every one of those moments had meaning, more than I ever could have imagined… our time together taken for granted because we were just living our lives. All those conversations that stirred up laughter, all the fights that left us saying things that we didn’t mean, those times that we apologized for our actions and moved on. We never really considered how sacred these moments are. How can we? We see them everyday.
But when they leave, you start to see things in a whole different lens. It wasn’t just a dinner where you tried to get them to try sushi for the first time or finally getting them to sit down and see her enjoy something that you love. They weren’t just reprimanding you for mismanaging your money because you found the love of you life or telling you all of their stories of when they were young like you were.
These moments were everything.
It was life in its purest form, full of imperfections and mistakes.
The loss only makes you aware of how beautiful life can truly be. It makes you appreciate all those that you still have around you. All the memories you will still get to make. It makes you want to live you best life because deep down, you want someone to remember you. To cherish the memory of you long after your gone.
“And when your sorrow is comforted, you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend. You will want to laugh with me. And you will sometimes open your window, so for that pleasure… and your friends will be properly astonished to see you laughing as you look up at the sky. Then you will say to them, “Yes, the stars always make me laugh!” And they will think you’re crazy. – Antonie de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince.
Thanks for reading.