Picking up the pieces

After an entire month I’m back in the office. This is probably some of the best medicine for me – to work – and try to get my mind off of things. But it’s hard, especially when 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. roll around. Those were the times I usually called mom. And when I left work.

The fact that she’s gone is still a hard concept for me to grasp. I continue to mentally and visually go back to her time in hospice, trying to visualize her in bed, me there by her side just watching her.

Simple and plain, I miss her. I look at photos I have of mom around the house. I’m wearing some of her sweaters and tops. I stare down at my toes polished in her color and imagine I’m looking down at her feet. I try to hear her voice in my head.

Everyone processes death of a loved one differently and grieves differently. My way of processing this is to keep mom close by – be it wearing her jewelry, clothes, using her make-up brushes and using her nail polish color.

I haven’t had the courage to call her beloved T. yet. I’ve emailed him and have told him I just can’t talk yet. I’m sure he feels the same. He once wrote to mom that when the time comes, he hopes that he goes first because he just couldn’t imagine a day without her.

Neither can I and there is a huge hole in my heart.

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