Posted by: Ingrid | March 29, 2008

Nine months

Nine months is long and short.  Short in that it’s only bit of a year.  A large bit, perhaps, but still not the whole.  Long in that so much changes and happens so quickly.  As I was driving to work my sister sent me a text message.  “It’s been 9 months today.”  And it has.  I have very vivid memories of this time last year.  Being newly married, my too few trips back to Fresno, the worry and concern, the fears unspoken, the creeping pain and regrets, the thought of death were all so close.  If I let it, my mind will run a relentless slide show of memories, pictures, music, feelings, snapshots forever burned into my memory of what the last three-quarters of a year have held.

It is still painful.  It is deceptive, the ease with which we slip back into normal life.  A slide back and then a sharp remembering that everything is different.  It is hard to feel now because everything needs explanation.  We don’t like it when people are “fine” because that’s a lie.  But we also can’t handle it when people are not fine because that’s simply too much and too messy.  There are some days I move through life with almost no conscious thought of my mom.  There are other days when she feels tangible in how I live and the things I say.  There are so many times that something catches me off guard, the grief hits, the tears come and it all… requires too much explanation.

Today my new co-worker came out of my office and asked me who the little girl was in the picture with me and my husband. I couldn’t remember any such picture until she pointed to a picture of me with my parents in Golden Gate park from 1980.  I was the little girl.  She was just admiring a picture, wanting to compare and contrast all the similarities and differences between me and my mom.  It’s times like those I want to explain why such an innocuous conversation triggers such a throbbing burst of pain.  Times like that when I just want people to know.

“She’s dead!  My mom is dead.  My God she’s dead!”

And it all becomes real again.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: