Sometimes I know exactly what I want to write about, sometimes not. Today was the latter. However, when I woke up and was reminded of my Facebook memories, I knew what I would share with you today. It has been thirteen years since my mom died… Continue reading
Three years and one day. This I cannot wrap my mind around, it feels like it was just yesterday. Continue reading
I was just at the American Association of Suicidology’s 50th Annual Conference in Phoenix, AZ this past week, where I had the honor to speak at twice (which is kind of a big deal for me). Yeah, that is a mouthful, you should have seen the faces of people on the plane when they asked what conference I was going to and speaking at. I digress, which I apologize ahead of time with this one, I am a little jet-lagged, which I will get to. Continue reading
Thursdays. They have not bothered me in a long time, however, last Thursday did. Jesse and Maribella died on a Thursday. For a really long time, much like one does with a newborn (oh, they are blank weeks old), it was, oh, it has been blank weeks since they have been gone. It was a welcome relief when my subconscious gave me a break on that. Continue reading
The other day, I came across a Facebook memory of Bella, a quote that embodies her personality, “everyday is my favorite day but Saturday is my best best day.” It was from April 8, 2014. I explained that over the next month, any Facebook memory from 2014 captures the last month my daughter was alive. It is bittersweet and fucked up at the same time when you think of it like that. Continue reading
I almost named this one anniversaries part 2. Jesse would have been 37 this past Saturday. I posted on my Facebook wall the day prior how much I hated anniversaries. Well, it may have said how much I fucking hated anniversaries, but details. I was with some friends the week prior, and one of my dearest was having her 50th birthday party this past Saturday. She and her husband both asked if I was coming. All I had to reply was that it was Jesse’s birthday, and they nodded, gave me a squeeze, knowing that I needed to be alone. Continue reading
I was asked awhile ago by someone if I would always be so affected by all these anniversaries. I had no answer except “I don’t know.”
People respond differently of course to death. After my mom died, the anniversary of her death was this point of reference in my summer that was daunting. I lost her when I was eight months pregnant with Raffi, never got to say goodbye in person, and even though it was something I expected at some point (she was an alcoholic), I did not envision it when she was 61. The first anniversary I took the day off, went to the beach for the day to reflect and think. It was my mom. I loved and missed her, I wanted so much to share the things that were happening with my newborn, ask her the gazillion questions that I had, say I was sorry. Until you become a parent, you cannot appreciate the flaws that you so readily criticized. Subsequent anniversaries it slowly got less daunting. I think there was even a year that I may have gotten through the day without even realizing. It is not that I still don’t miss her. It is more a veil that is always there, thin like, that if I tap into, I can go there at any point verses this day that is overwhelming. Continue reading