Some anniversaries suck. There’s no other way I can put it. Unlike the anniversary of a birth, which (at least if you still have a bunch of kids around), is a cause for a party and a celebration, and presents and cake and singing off-key, or the anniversary of a marriage, which (hopefully) is also a cause for celebration and if not cake, perhaps hot sex or close cuddles, the anniversary of a death is not fun.
Two years ago, my mom died. Mostly, I’ve adjusted to life without her at the other end of a phone line, without the visits to California, without the silly emails and the guilt-because-I-don’t-call-often-enough. Said guilt put on me, by me, by the way- she never said a word to make me feel that way, guess it’s part of my brain.
So mostly, I’ve gotten used to it, as I say. But there are still those times, when I really, really want to be able to talk to her. I want to tell her about the silly things one of the kids did, or when I’m feeling lonely and depressed, just to hear her calm voice, reminding me that we’re not given anything we can’t handle; to hear her say, as she often did, “Things have a way of working out.”
So today, it’s gray and cold, and I’m grateful for all the good things and people in my life, my wife and kids and friends; but, it’s still a sucky day, and I’m wishing that I could tell her, just once more, that I love her.
Filed under: death, depression
A Rock Feels No Pain 
*big hugs*
anything stopping you from writing her a letter? if that’s a little difficult, how about a private blog entry to her, just her?
thinking of you today friend, sending you loving thoughts and keeping you in my prayers.
k
xoxox
Sailor,
It’s been 30 years since my mom died, and every year the anniversary still haunts me. I still miss her, and think of her often.
Hugs!
This is a tough time of year for me. My grandma died three years ago, on my wedding anniversary. I spent the evening with her in the hospital the night she passed away.
Three years later, I still have her telephone number programmed in my phone. Even though it is no longer a functioning number, I dial it from time to time. Miss hearing her on the other side.
Hugs to you…
I keep clicking to comment, then clicking away. My dad is sick and I’m scared for him, and it makes me want to crawl in his lap and have him stroke my hair and tell me he’ll be around forever. I want to talk and listen and ask questions and capture every bit of Dadness there is, in case he leaves us soon, but it would never be enough. There will always be the urge to call to hear his voice, to ask how the hell you know what to invest in, whether I can get in trouble because I forgot to file city taxes, how much should furnace cleaning cost …
I guess I’m trying to say I can imagine how you feel, and I’m sorry you lost your mom.
You have already said how blessed you were to have her for a mother, and you have to believe that she felt the same way about you. How lucky you are to have expressed that before she passed. I never got to do that. Lucky Sailor even when the anniversary brings about sadness. Let it bring some joy in its memories.