One Year

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this…”.  I spoke those words into the phone as I sobbed delivering the news that my mom had passed away.  That was one year ago today.   At the time, I truly didn’t know how I was going to get through those first hours, those first days, those first weeks and months, and honestly, thinking about it now, I really meant I didn’t know how I was going to even return to any normalcy ever…..but here I am.  One year later.  

I have written this post so many times over the past year.  3 months….6 months…7 months, but each time I hesitated to post.  I don’t know what it is about grief, it’s just something that we only seem to talk about the first few months, then we’re sort of left to figure it out.  Something would happen and I would have a break down, something insignificant, something that reminded me, not that  I had forgot, and I felt compelled to write, so I’d sit down and type and retype and retype again, only to think to myself…”Nobody wants to hear this…”  

When I stop to think about a whole year passing, a whole year of “firsts”, it’s unbelievable to me.  In ways, it seems like days ago, in other ways, years.

After those first few weeks, that only God and the love of my friends and family got me through.  I jumped head first back into work and building my bakery business.  One of the things that “saved” me during those  months , funny enough, was the Farmer’s Market.  I started selling at the Farmer’s Market almost a month to the day after my mom passed.  In the weeks that followed, it would be something for me, as well as my dad and sister to focus on, something that was new, something that we didn’t have to think about what we were going through, something that was ours, something that took our minds off what we had lost.    In many ways, at least for me,  it was therapy.  We saw so many people who knew my mom on those Saturdays throughout the summer.  They would offer condolences and talk about her.  It was always great to hear how many people’s lives she had touched.  I often think now, about how she would have loved to be up there visiting with people she knew (she wouldn’t have liked that early 7:30am start time).   

In those months, the grief came and went, just like they say…in waves.   On an almost daily basis,  I would replay the day, the events over and over and over in my head.  It almost always left me still in some state of disbelief… “not my mom, it’s not possible.”   One Thursday morning, a morning of no particular note, I pulled out of the driveway to go to work and by the time I got to the stop light at Main Street, I was in tears.   OUT OF NOWHERE! That day I cried at least 3 more times before I got home from work, then cried on the phone again telling my sister about all the times I had cried… she cried too.  In retrospect, I realize now that during that time, I had just been sick for the first time in forever, tired and worn down, feeling all kinds of pressure (completely self induced) about work and the bakery and life in general.  It was one of those times I needed my mom to talk to.  She would, of course, tell me I was doing too much, that I was getting older and I needed to slow down and stop working so much .

I found some real comfort in listening to Anderson Cooper’s podcast, “All There Is”.  I would listen to it on my drive to work, tears streaming down my face so many times.  So many moving , emotional conversations and advice for those going through loss.  One of my biggest takeaways, the  thing that really hit me, was the idea that yes, I was grieving the loss of my mother, but I was also grieving the loss of the little boy that only MY mother knew.  It wrecked me.  

As you would imagine, the holidays were different.  I won’t say they were particularly difficult, but definitely different.  We did all the things we normally do.  It was the little things that got me.  Standing in my kitchen alone tearing up the bread for dressing, tears streaming down my face.  The Macy’s Parade….tears.  We got through it.  We celebrated Christmas as normally as we could, for me at least, it wasn’t as emotional as Thanksgiving….We did all our usual things.  We had breakfast Christmas morning, and something stopped me….I had this sense to stop and take it all in.  I sat at the table as we talked and laughed and  took time to look around.  To absorb it into my memory so it could never be taken away.  I knew it might be the last Christmas morning breakfast we ate at that table, in that kitchen, in that house.  Shortly after the turn of the year, Dad decided to sell the house.  It sold quickly and we shared loads of memories sorting through the nearly 60 years of accumulation.   It was a bittersweet time.  Now that it’s done, it’s a huge relief for all of us. 

There are the normal things…songs on the radio, smells in the air, the taste of a certain food.  They can all, at any moment, trigger a pang of grief, a reminder of what we will never know again.      

A month or so ago, Shawn and I went to Chicago to see Tina: The Tina Turner Musical.  I had  to laugh to myself when we were exiting the theater.  I imagined a  moment in my head in which I would tell my mom about how great the show was and the songs and I could imagine her doing her very best  “Proud Mary!”

There are times when I hear her.   Yes, in my head, but also actually coming out of my mouth.  I realize now how much like her I am.  She always said it, but I never really saw it.  I do now, and that makes me happy.  

So, here we are…one year later.  We have survived, like millions of people do everyday.  I am blessed to have such wonderful people in my life who have helped me and my family through these past 12 months.  Always checking in, always willing to lend a listening ear, always with an understanding heart.  Of course, my faith has been the center of my journey through this year.  God is good.  I have never doubted that.  My mom would want me to remember that. 

I got a tattoo with my mom’s handwriting underneath a butterfly.  It reminds me everyday how lucky I was to have her as my mom.  Grieving just means you truly loved. 

A final thought.    I can’t tell you all the ways I have changed in the past year, but believe me, I have.  My family has.   We know all too well that tomorrow is not promised.  So, I beg you to live a life that makes you happy.  Love the people in your life and tell them .  Take in the moments.  I am comforted with the fact that as long as I have memory, my mom is right here with me.  

I wish you all love.

xo

Greg