To write about grief is one thing, but to actually live through it is another. Both of my past two books have been inspired by grief. Another Dance was inspired by the fear of grief when the threat was lurking too closely to my family for comfort. Then other stories helped me solidify the details and immerse myself in the possibility while writing Annie's perspective. Road Maps was inspired by the sudden death of my father after not speaking for ten years. I grieved, but I didn't feel like I was exactly allowed to. Since he had already been absent from my life, the absence brought on by death wasn't an abrupt change. But I still grieved the possibility of reconciliation, and I experienced anger and regret and what was left unsaid and what could never be.
Real, all-consuming grief has finally cornered my reality with the sudden death of my mother. She was my biggest fan, my loudest cheerleader, and my dearest friend. I would often talk to her every day, or at least text. She would alert me of food recalls, imminent weather, and family updates. She was my lifeline to so many aspects of my world, and now I am floundering without her.
Her death came as a surprise, but also not. It was a twenty-day ordeal that began with a doctor's appointment, her being put on oxygen, getting a bed at the hospital, receiving a diagnosis of small-cell lung cancer, accepting that it was too late for treatment, and finally spending her last week in a hospice facility. For twenty days, I saw her whether she was at my house in the beginning or I was visiting her every day at the hospital or hospice. I saw her decline daily, we said our goodbyes and "I love you" every visit, and she passed away with nothing left unsaid. I knew she loved me; she knew how much I loved her. I was prepared for her passing, but I was not prepared for the sheer amount of emptiness I would feel once she was truly gone.
I was lucky to have such an amazing mother, to know what it was like to be someone's whole world. Did she probably dote on us too much? Sure. Was she a helicopter grandma? Definitely. But did she love us with a type of unconditional love that is rarely experienced in life? Every. Day.
It's weird to go on about life knowing that I won't get to talk to her about it. Every morning, I wake up and instantly wonder when I'm going to call her that day. The realization that she's not there to answer is a daily dose of heartbreak and nausea. But I can talk to her. And I can talk about her. And that's what I'm doing. My mom was an amazing woman, and I plan on honoring her every day through my words, my writing, and my love.
I know I will write about grief again and every time I do so, I know it will be touched by more loss, more pain, and more growth. Grief is a universal experience that can tear people apart as well as bring them together. The outreach of love and support at my mom's passing has warmed my heart so much that even though I've lost one of the most important people in my life, I know I am not alone. As humans, we are not alone. We will continue to share stories, console one another, and connect over experience. Unfortunately, my fictional musings are now all-too-real, but I'll continue to write, to enjoy life, and to be strong. Because that's what my mom would have wanted. I love you always, Mom. Thank you for being everything I could have ever wanted in a mother. Everything I do has and will always be for you.
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