Riding the waves

Several people have mentioned to me that my grief would roll in like waves. I nodded, figuring they knew what they were talking about even though I didn’t.  Now I get it. A wave rolled in yesterday and I’m still on it, trying to surf, or swim, or just jump off and go sit on the beach. I’m not a fan of the waves, because the further I get from December 8, the less “normal” it is for me to be randomly crying at the dog groomer. And yet, there’s nothing I can do but just ride the wave until it lets me go. 

I miss my mom. 

A long time friend from as far back as my 12th year of life wrote me a letter when she heard my mom had passed. She had lost her own mom recently in much the same way. She said, “There’s no one like a mom. Is there anyone who fully has your back but your mom?” And she’s right. And maybe that’s part of the wave of grief…the realization that a layer of protection has been stripped away and now it’s just me and the world. 

For me, another part of it is the remembrances of this time last year. It was one year ago on Christmas Day that she last walked into my house. 

Today is the day before my 47th birthday. I don’t mention that because my birthday matters to me, especially not this year. I mention it because it factors into the story. She called me on the 28th to wish me happy birthday. She was a day off. She might as well have been six months off because my mom never got anything wrong. She knew the birthday of her nieces-in-laws. I took that phone call and was shaken when I hung up. I knew then where things were and where they were going. 

And here we are one year later and I’m trying to get through one family event after another. Without her.  I think if I can just get off this particular wave, I’ll be sunning on the beach until her birthday, a week from now. 

They say that grief is the price of love and I believe it. It’s worth it. So if you see me and I look a little lost, don’t worry about me. I’m just a kid who got separated from her mom. For a little while. But I’ll find her again. Thank God for that. 

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6 thoughts on “Riding the waves

  1. Missy, you know how when the waves hit the beach and then recede, they leave little things behind. Little shells, pieces of sea glass, weeds, stinky fish, that kind of thing. That’s the way waves of grief are. Sometimes they leave stinky fish and sometimes they leave beautiful little things. Put the pretty stuff in your bucket and let the ugly stuff roll back into the sea. Love you loads.

  2. Wish I was there to hug you Missy. So powerfully written. I’m sorry for the sadness:(. Lots of us here hoping you know we’ve got your back ANY time and ANY way you should possibly need it

  3. Missy, just beautiful. I wish I could help beyond praying for all of you, but do know that time helps. It’s strange what triggers the bolt of grief. I hope your writing is cathartic for you, it brings peace and hope to me. As a mother with children close to your age, I can’t help but think of them and their reactions to my passing. You are a talented young woman, much loved by many.
    Praying – Donnie

  4. I feel you ! I’ve been there. Know you aren’t alone, nothing you feel at any point or time is weird or wrong. Loss affects us all differently, but fighting it just makes it worse. A song, a food, a smell or just about anything can trigger a memory and find you crying in a grocery store. It won’t pass as fast as you’d want it to , but eventually it dosent hurt as much and we can let memories comfort us, rather than pain us. You are blessed to have had a mother who left such a great void. I’m with you and here anytime you need to vent ❤️
    “ but just as grief crashes into us like a wave , it also rolls back like the tide . We are left not just not standing , but in some ways stronger. We can still love… we can still find joy.” -Sheryl Sandberg

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