Coming Up For Air

I should never let an angsty post sit for so long. I know many of you worry. And I don't mean to worry anyone. I'm just writing what I know to be true. Sometimes I blog simply because I like to write. I like to string words together. I like to organise the words to create pretty pictures. I like to tell a story. Just like I think knitting is magic, I think stories are magic. I like to create magic.

But unfortunately I have to write what I know. No made up stories in me. Everything is true life. And sometimes I think my most powerful words come from a painful place. I think the need to dissect an emotion, distill it down to its very core is more prominent in ugly emotions. No one needs to over think happiness. They just feel it. They enjoy the moment until it passes. Stopping to say "Now why am I really happy" might just ruin the moment. Nope, no need to over think joyful emotions. But ugly emotions, they tend to beg for introspection. Rest assured I'm all done being introspective. I have purged and moved on. My focused has shifted from self-analysis to more important things like catching up on laundry, hugging my children and pondering whether I should get bangs.

You can all thank my Father for today's post. He called me begging for more blog posts. I told him I was rather busy with things (pondering bangs has taken up quite a bit of my time), but I promised him I would try to blog on Tuesday. Never mind the fact that the Tuesday in question happened to be Tuesday, April 15th. Today is Tuesday (right, it is Tuesday right?) so this totally counts. Right?

And since this is a Grandpa inspired post, I shall give the Grandpa what he's here for: GRANDCHILDREN!

Sorry two are sideways. Photobucket is giving me fits, and I've got limited time to mess with this, Sweet Pea will be waking up any minute now. I'll fix it later if I can. And I promise, knitting is coming. I've got one hot mess to show off!

And FYI, I've come down firmly on the side of no concerning the bang issue.

So today's the second anniversary of the day my Mom died. It's a very surreal kinda morning. Last year was surprisingly easy. I thought to myself (and this might sound callous) "She's already dead. What more can they do? They can't take her away again." And my day was quiet. I played with my children. I ate lots of chocolate. I sewed like my Mom did. It wasn't a great day, but it wasn't the worst day.

But this year is subtly different. There's nothing about today that is different from yesterday. I woke to the same giggly baby kicks I awoke to yesterday. The same pretty girl was standing by my bedside with yet another crazy question that made me internally groan wondering why these things could never wait until the sun was up. (Why does she only ponder the nature of the universe before six a.m.?) I'm sure when all my children are awake my house will be filled with the same laughter, hugs, whining, and occasional tears that make every day simultaneously different and mind numbingly the same (behold the joys of motherhood!).

Yet this morning is harder than yesterday. Harder than last year. It is almost as if I didn't realize until now how completely permanent this situation is. Nothing in my life has been this set in stone. I will never see my Mother in this life again. That's it. Never again. There is no miracle. No do over. No one will save the day in the final moment to change this. The time for miracles is past. And every day that marches on, every turn of the calendar, makes this clearer in my mind. And it just isn't fair.

Time marches on. Life moves on without her. In theory this is a good thing. We can not wallow in grief. She wouldn't want that. But not a day goes by that I don't think of her. Not a day passes that I don't miss her. It usually doesn't descend into wallowing, but sometimes the ache is sharper than other times.

Today is it razor sharp.

I miss my Mom.

But don't worry. I won't sit and wallow today either. In a fit of insanity, knowing full well what today is, I told my friend I would watch her two year old twins today. I love them, they're excellent children, but they're lively in a way my older children have outgrown. I must go lock the yarn cabinet and put away the step stool I keep in the bathroom. They should be here in an hour.

Whatever day today turns out to be, it will not be dull.

And life marches on.....