I counted.

It’s been 3,031 days, or eight years, three months and 18 days.

The passage of time has taught me that it does get easier. Even for me, she who takes a while to “get over” things. Even for me.

But every now and again it creeps up behind me, and it latches on to me for much longer than I would allow or could cope with. It consumes me, not in a sudden, strangling way like it just happened, but with the behaviour of a sorrow that has evolved and deepened; thick, and slow, and somehow even more overwhelming than it was the first time.

Truly, I have never experienced anything more painful than this interminable longing for my mother.


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