When will I stop marking the days, weeks, and months since she left us?
I found myself at my daughter’s dance class, staring blankly, oblivious to the teacher’s puzzled look as I sat in her usual chair. My mind drifted back to Mama’s hospice room, where I stood vigil for ten long days, hoping she would finally let go of the frail body that once held her spirit. It struck me that it had been exactly a week since she took her last breath, and in that moment, I experienced yet another loss—the dementia had taken not just her mind but her essence, too.
Two weeks and four days later, we finally coaxed my dad into joining us for pizza, a beloved family tradition. As we requested a table for five, I momentarily forgot that there were only four of us now. “Jean would have loved that salad,” Dad remarked as I settled in. Reminders of her presence lingered, yet life kept moving forward, unyielding to our grief.
One month and two days later, we gathered to celebrate my dad’s 84th birthday—the first without my mama by his side in over six decades. The atmosphere at the Chinese buffet was heavy with sorrow, though the children’s laughter filled the gaps, their joy contrasting starkly with our sadness.
One month and nine days after her passing, during a conference in Baltimore, I instinctively reached for my phone to share my day with Mama. To my surprise, Dad answered. It took me a moment to shift gears and fill him in on my rental car and the traffic I faced.
Two months and 12 days later, at a birthday party filled with laughter, my daughter snuggled closer and whispered, “I miss Nana.” Heartbreakingly sweet, her words reminded me just how deeply we felt the void.
Three months after losing my mother, I still find myself crying over memories and smiling at photographs. Friends have stopped asking how we’re holding up—they seem satisfied with my “I’m fine” responses. We finally completed the wheelchair ramp that Mama would have needed, now serving to support my dad as he navigates his own grief. His movements are slower, his body more frail, a testament to a 60-year love that ended before he was ready.
As Thanksgiving and Christmas approach, we brace ourselves for the emotional challenges of celebrating without her, trying to mask our feelings while gathering with family and friends. Those moments of realization will hit again, reminding us that the world has changed irrevocably.
When will I stop counting the days, weeks, and months since my mother passed away?