A few months ago I read an article by a woman who lost her father. This particular paragraph took my breath away.
My father died on November 14th, 1995, when I was 14. Every day since the day he died I am one day farther away from him than I was before. This is the truest thing about me. It is the most important and worst thing to ever happen to me. It is me. My father died when I was 14. I will tell people this forever. It is the truest thing about me. I was 14 when he died. My father. I was 14.
– ‘Before You Know It Something’s Over‘ by Riese Bernard
When I read it, I just changed the date and age in my head.
My mother died on September 15th, 2004, when I was 19. Every day since the day she died I am one day farther away from her than I was before. This is the truest thing about me. It is the most important and worst thing to ever happen to me. It is me. My mother died when I was 19. I will tell people this forever. It is the truest thing about me. I was 19 when she died. My mother. I was 19.
There are a lot of thoughts swirling around in my head on this day but the one I will share is this – most days I can’t even believe she’s gone. So for the calendar to show that she has been gone for ten whole years is, quite simply, mind-boggling. It’s crazy that it has been this long since I touched her; longer still since she consciously touched me. We were very affectionate, my mother and I. We would kiss each other on both cheeks, forehead, and lips whenever one of us left the house. I wish I could say that it feels like it was just last week since I felt her face on mine, but no. It actually feels exactly like ten years ago. Her last kiss feels as old as it is in age, and just as far away.
Ten years on, and not only am I still grieving, but I am still mourning. I suspect I forever will be.